Page 85 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

He repeats it. “Natalie.”

Ethan.

His hair is disheveled—the unruly lines serving as paths for where his fingers probably dug into. His expression is ragged and untamed, and his dressing…what happened to the buttons on his shirt?

Three of them are undone. No. They look like they’ve been yanked off, and half his shirt is hanging out of his pants while the other is haphazardly tucked in.

“What—?” I start to speak with my mouth full, then realize it’s impossible with the gummies. I raise a hand, gesturing for him to hold on, and Ethan laughs.

A deep, rich baritone that carries relief on its fringes. His eyes brighten, too, and his chest rises dramatically. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear your voice,” he says.

How good?

How good, he says? I chew harder on the food as words jam up my throat. How dare he come up with something like that, as if I’m the one who went away?!

He could’ve heard my voice any day. Anytime. Any fucking where.

Ethan’s eyes rake over me as I chew harder, and his gaze is raw and uncovered, spreading heat through my body. I feel it as it spreads, a shiver down my back, a warmth across my chest, and a bolt of awareness directly between my legs.

I’m mad.

Terribly angry. Yet, I can’t stop my body from acting the part of a traitor. The weeks that passed should’ve dulled the effect Ethan once had on me, but his possessive gaze, mapping across my curves, claiming me without a word, dissolves my resolve.

I hate it.

I hate that I still ache for him, even as the weight of our mistakes lingers between us. My anger simmers, dulled by the time it takes to find the right words, and when they finally come, they lack the bite I need them to have.

“You don’t get to just show up at my door and expect me to play host, Ethan.” My fingers tighten around the doorknob. “I’m not in a welcoming mood today.”

I push the door closed, but his foot shoots forward, wedging itself in the gap. The sickening thud of wood meeting bone makes me flinch.

An apology tumbles from my lips before I can stop it. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, eyes locking onto mine with something raw, something almost… broken. “No, I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet, nearly hoarse. “I have no right to be here.”

“That’s right.”

“But I needed to see you, Natalie.” He exhales, the sound heavy,aching. “I had to.”

There’s something in his voice, a tenderness I don’t want to acknowledge—something that makes my chest tighten. I tell myself to look away from his eyes, to keep the door closed so I don’t have to hurt again.

Yet… against my better judgment, I find myself questioning my ability to make the right decision.

Ethan runs his hand through his hair with a ragged breath. “Anthony is dead,” he murmurs. “I killed him.”

What?

What the fuck?

I stagger at his confession, taking a step back. My hand goes to my stomach as the image of blood and death runs through my head, making me sick.

Why would he tell me something like that? A threat? That he can do the same to me if I don’t let him have what he wants?

Fear ravages through my blood, but I force it to purge, pushing back with defiance. My eyes meet Ethan’s, and I hold my breath, forcing strength into my bones.

I know what he is—a dangerous man. Terrible. Hard. I know what he is.

The man who killed my parents.

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