Page 138 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

I flush with his words. “A tiger?”

Dino grins.

“Hell yeah, baby.”

27

DINO

We can’t stay here forever.

Much as I’d be happy to just keep Marisol here, dry, warm, and completely isolated from the outside world, I know we need to move on. The rain is still coming down, and any minute the dirt floor is going to start to ooze, or the mud is going to come down the mountain and take us with it.

But, the image of her fainting?

That’s something that keeps me glued right here, where I can fuckin’ see her and hold onto her.

Where I can know that she’s safe, and that she isn’t going to collapse in the middle of the fucking jungle again.

The memory of that sends another chill through me, and I tuck her closer.

We’re both lying on the cot that was already in the little hut when we arrived. It’s tiny, cramped, and half of my body is hanging off the back, but fuck it.

I need to make sure she’s okay.

Hell.

I need toknowthat she’s okay, and the only way for me to do that right now is to just… touch her.

Marisol rolls in my arms, peering up at me. “You really see me as brave?”

I laugh softly. “Hell yes I do.”

“Why are you so…” she curls her lip, a mock-snarl that gives me the tiniest bit of joy.

Squeezing her close to me, I press a kiss onto her forehead. “Because, Marisol, I’m not gentle. I’m not sweet. It wouldn’t matter if you walked around fully armed to the teeth all the time. I’m proud of you and want the world to know you’re mine, so I’m gonna fuckin’ act like you’re mine, no matter how capable you are of taking care of yourself. Hell, I think it works even better because I know that if you ever need me, it’s because you really fuckin’ need me. I just want to be the man you need, even if I can’t be the man you deserve,” I murmur.

She frowns. “Who do I deserve?”

Possessiveness rumbles through my chest. “Don’t fuckin’ matter. I’m who you got.”

“Dino,” she scolds.

I sigh. “Fine. You deserve someone who can… walk into a room and not already have a beef with half the people in it. Someone who can fuckin’ write poetry or some shit. Someone who can wear a fucking suit and sit in a chair and create a world just for you to live in it.”

Marisol’s quiet just for a minute.

“That sounds like my dad.”

“What?”

She straightens, her brown eyes looking directly into mine. “You’re describing my dad. Or Marco, or Elio, if you’re not describing someone quite as vicious as Benicio.”

I frown.

Marisol sighs. “Dino, you’re who you are. I didn’t ask you to be Elio or Marco or my father… or yours,” she says softly. “I’ve had enough smooth-talking mafia men to last me a lifetime. I don’t want elegance and suits and all of that. I just want someone who sees me for who I am, and who chooses me. Someone that could look at the whole world, and every treasure or pleasure it offered, and turn them down to be with me.”

Fucking hell.

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