Page 56 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

“Undecided. I don’t even know that itwillhappen, Nadia. But if it does, I—we—need to be prepared for it. And if that means getting the biggest player in the game on my side, then…that’s what I have to do.”

He doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Can I be there?”

“No.”

I scoff.

“What, so everyone gets together to gossip about me, and I don’t even get to attend? That’s some bullshit.”

Ren effortlessly hefts me up and sets me on the vanity like a misbehaving child. I freeze, his proximity overwhelming as I am pinned down and crowded in.

“Jon Dellucci will be there, Nadia.”

My stomach sours, objections smothered at once. He’s right. I don’t want to be there, looking Dellucci in the eye. Not after what I took from him. When I pushed his son over that railing, sunkmy teeth into his hand like something feral, I didn’t feel guilty about that; I felt justified. I still do. I was defending myself, my daughter—that doesn’t mean I wanted to hurt anybody’s kid.

“Still, I…I should be able to explain myself. To defend…everything that happened.”

“I’m defending you,” he says calmly.

“Why? I don’t even know if you want me around. Hell, Ren, I don’t even know why you’re keeping mealive. I don’t know if you know. Now you’re going to go out of your way and fight for me?”

I try to slide off the vanity, but Ren blocks me in. We haven’t touched since we slept together. We haven’t even talked about why it happened. For him, maybe that’s just part of the deal. Part of being his wife. But that wasn’t my reasoning. I couldn’t fuck a man because I owed him something, but maybe he doesn’t care why.

“What are you doing?” I demand, my hand pressed against his chest to keep him at bay.

“I’m telling you not to worry. As far as you’re concerned, it’s just dinner, Nadia. The rest is for me to handle, not you.”

“Oh, sure, when it sounds like my entire future hinges upon ‘just dinner.’”

I sling my legs away from him and slide down from the vanity. I’m not in the mood for Ren’s games, but he catches me by the wrist like a dance partner. I am reeled back into his armsand held captive, the planes of his chest straight against my shoulders.

“Ourfuture isn’t in jeopardy,” he practically growls. He slides his hand down the front of my shirt, following the buttons like breadcrumbs to the hem and then continuing down my skirt. A shiver dances across my spine and saps my breath. “That this belongs to me,” he hooks his hand under my skirt and drags it up, sliding his palm up between my legs, dragging and cupping my heat, “is not up for debate. Do you understand?”

His fingers grind the words into my pussy, like he’s signing his name on it.

I quake, weak under his touch. I know it’s just a pretty distraction.

I ignore the way my pulse flutters for him, the way heat pools heavy in my belly and inner thighs, rushing with the pace of his fingers.

“What happened today, Ren?” I demand. “One minute you can barely look at me, the next you can’t keep your hands off me. I never know what you’re going to want next—”

“You know exactly what I want—” The words brush against my neck, punctuated by his lips, his teeth.

I close my eyes, frustrated beyond all reason. His fingers try to persuade me to let this go and just agree.Resist, resist, resist.

“Right now you do,” I say, forcing the words out between my hitching breath. “Because you want to shut me up.”

He goes still.

He’s so close that I am washed in his cologne and his body heat. His thumb strokes my lips.

“If I wanted to shut you up, Nadia, I’d already have you gagged on my tie.”

My belly flutters without my permission, the drag of his fingers suddenly against damp fabric. The words burn in my belly.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continues.

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