Page 27 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I knew my own feelings, too, like it happened minutes before I opened the door, and my nostrils flared as lust ravaged me, sinking through her jeans and the blouse she had on.

I knew what she looked like underneath everything,and it didn’t help the entire time.

That was why I had to shut myself indoors until she left—an hour ago.

I can still smell her,heavens. I can see her, too, twirling around the kitchen and humming sweetly. I don’t know how long I stood by the door, but it was long enough for my fingernails to dig into my palm and leave deep marks.

“I don’t think he’s using, though.” Anthony’s response cuts through my thoughts, but it’s hard to concentrate, and I clear my throat lightly. “It’s either he’s clean, or the employees are doing a good job of covering up for him,” he adds.

“I see,” I say with a thick voice laced with lust, and I clear my throat again. “Why don’t you dig deeper?”

He shrugs. “Sure. I could do that, or I could ask him myself.”

Pausing my train of thought, I arch my brow, posing Anthony a wordless question. He sighs in exasperation and throws his hands up.

“What can I say? It’s more efficient,” he argues. “And you seem pretty certain that he’s dipped his fingers in the pie. You know whathe’dsay about that.”

I don’t have to ask to know if he’s referring to my father. While Anthony’s father was ruthless, my dad was worse. Some people called himII Diattore,and others called himII Lupo.He was the dictator and the wolf.

He wouldn’t ask questions before delivering judgment. He hated that I gave people a chance to defend themselves or plead their innocence, but the punishments I meted out afterward were enough to earn his approval and respect.

Still, his system worked because most of the time, the people my father condemned turned out to be guilty. Anthony… not so much.

Changing the subject, I push the conversation towards something less comfortable.

“Why did you hire her again? You know the policy about keeping civilians out of our business. If she starts snooping, which she will,” I add firmly when he tries to interrupt, “will you put her down yourself? Will you do it?” I push as my tone hardens.

My last question comes out sharper than I intended, frustration biting at the edges of my words. It’s not just about Natalie.

It’s about the way she makes me feel. I don’t expect Anthony to answer, and part of me doesn’t want him to.

I don’t want him to say yes.

Anthony waves a dismissive hand, leaning back in his chair with that carefree air he always carries. “You’re overthinking this, cousin. Natalie’s harmless. I did a thorough background check before I hired her. She has no family and no skeletons in her closet. Her only friend is that girl, Danielle. You’ve probably seen her.”

I haven’t. I never pay attention to anything that doesn’t affect me directly. Natalie is the exception to a rule that’s been present all my life.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” I snap, leaning back and crossing my arms, my voice cutting sharper now. “If she were a spy, she’d make sure to cover her tracks. She wouldn’t leave anything obvious for you to find.”

Anthony laughs lightly, shaking his head as though I’ve just told the world’s funniest joke. “A spy? Really, Ethan? You think NatalieMonroe, who’s barely five feet tall and blushes when someone compliments her, is some undercover operative?”

I scowl, not appreciating his dismissive tone. “I didn’t say she’s definitely a spy. I said it’s a possibility. You’re too trusting.”

Anthony leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face full of amusement. “I know you’re paranoid by nature, but you’ve been spinning in circles over this woman for weeks now. What’s the real problem? Are you worried about her being a spy… or are you worried about how much you’re thinking about her?”

I stiffen, my jaw tightening. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smirks, sitting back. “I’m not the one being ridiculous. Look, if you’re so suspicious of her, do another background check. Hell, investigate her yourself.”

"But you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep overanalyzing everything she does,” he adds. “Sometimes, Ethan, people are just who they say they are.”

Anthony’s words hit harder than I’d like to admit. I don’t respond, keeping my expression carefully neutral as I unfold my arms and rise from my seat.

I don’t want our conversation to escalate into something heated, or I’d call him out on his past lax judgments, including about the lady friend who was a spy, the party he had last night, and more.

But he’s not going to see whatIsee.Anthony’s always viewed the world from a tilted perspective, which doesn’t allow him to see people for who they truly are. He sees only what they want him to see.

“Where are you going?” he asks as I head to the door.

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