Page 31 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

“I—” I shake my head, forcing the stammer from my voice. “The apples are for Anthony. He asked those men to peel them for him or something. I took over because the kitchen is my job.”

Ethan sighs as he pulls his hand away without the apple. He folds his arms and stares at me, unblinking. “How did you know they were his?”

I shrug. “Because they said Mr. Cross.”

He looks like he wants to laugh—his lip twitches—but doesn’t. “Mr. Cross? I’m sure you know that Anthony and I share the same last name.”

“Yup,” I nod confidently.

His eyebrow arches. “And you think the apples are for him?”

I nod again. “Yeah.” I’m not certain where I’m getting the confidence from, but Ethan hasn’t said that he made the request, so he’s either trying to trip me with some reverse psychology or he’s just weird.

Ethan sighs. “I asked for them.”

I falter, my eyes squinting in confusion. “No, you didn’t,” I say, but it sounds weak this time.”

“How?” he asks. “How do you know? You just said thattheysaid,Mr. Cross. Which means they could’ve been talking about either of us. Why are you sure it’s Anthony?”

Why? Well, for a number of reasons.

Although I’m not so certain about those reasons, I won’t let Ethan make me feel like an idiot. I tilt my chin and take a defensive step forward.

“One, he asked them to get the apples,” I say, ticking it off my fingers, “then, if you’d asked for it, they wouldn’t have walked away without saying something when you got here.” That’s a smart reason, actually. “And three—” I give him the once over, “you look like you’ve been out all morning. It’s definitely not you,Mr. Cross.”

There’s enough sarcasm when I refer to him as Mr. Cross, and it doesn’t go unnoticed with the second arched brow.

I wait for Ethan to say something—either accept that he was trying to make me slip up or provide evidence for the latter.

He doesn’t do that.

Instead, his expression shifts into a vague mask of intent as his gaze settles on me. Slowly, his eyes trail downward from my face, lingering on my chest.

I inhale sharply, heat blooming where his attention seems to burn, the intensity sending a spark down to my stomach. My breath catches as his eyes darken, filled with something primal, something that sends my pulse racing.

“I—” What do I say? That I don’t want him looking at me like he wants something?

That I haven’t stopped thinking about the night in his car, and if he pinned me against the wall, I’d have no arguments?

Ethan’s gaze returns to my face, and there’s no thought behind his eyes. “The apples are for Anthony,” he says in a low tone, then stares at me for a moment longer and makes to leave.

No.

“Why?” I voice out before I can think of self-preservation.

“Why?” he echoes.

I might as well come out with it. “Why?” I repeat. “Is it that you don’t want me here? Because you seem to have a problem with my presence. I haven’t done anything to you that I know of,” I throw in when his eyes narrow, “and yet you treat me like I’m a … problem you didn’t ask for.”

My voice quivers slightly, but I push through, refusing to let his piercing gaze rattle me. “I’ve tried to be professional, I’ve tried to stay out of your way, but no matter what I do, you look at me like I don’t belong. So, if there’s something I’ve done—or something you think I’ve done—just say it.”

I stop, realizing I’m breathing harder than I should be. His expression remains unreadable, but his jaw tightens just slightly, and his hands flex at his sides.

The silence stretches unbearably, thick with tension, until finally, he steps closer, his voice low and measured.

“It doesn’t matter if I want you here,” he says slowly, his tone almost dangerous in its restraint. “It’s not my decision either way.”

Then he turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen without another word.

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