Page 20 of Mafia King's Forbidden Vows

He gives me a stiff nod and marches through the hallway and down the stairs.

I walk back into the room, slamming the door behind me till it rattles from its hinges.

***

I am grateful that Cortez does not say a word to me when I ease myself into the back seat of the car. If he had tried to compliment me, even in a sincere way, I would have slammed my fist into his nose.

Now that I’m considering it, he looks like he’s way younger than Elio and, at the same time, older than I am.

His face is quite attractive, too, almost as attractive as his boss’s, clean-shaven with unblemished skin. His honey-brown hair is parted just enough for bangs to frame his face, softening the edges of his sculpted jawline.

Admittedly, he’s handsome, but nothing compared to Elio Donatelli.

A gasp escapes my lips. Why the fuck am I even entertaining the thought of how damn good Elio looks.

Aria Abruzzi, get your crap together!

As the car pulls into the mansion, he turns his head around but doesn’t catch my eyes, “We’re here, ma’am.”

The lock of the car unlatches, but before I can gather my purse and the flowing end of the gown out of the car, Cortez is at the door, holding it open for me.

“Thank you.”

Again, he acknowledges me with a stiff nod. Then, he proceeds to hand the keys over to another young looking, suit-clad man and points in the direction of the doors.

“This way.”

The golden heels on my feet clink against the polished marble floors. Every step I take into this unfamiliar territory feels like a trap. Especially because it’s one step further into Elio’s territory.

The grand building is built like a palace over a hill with breathtaking views. Its limestone façade glows warmly in the sunlight. The towering columns support the portico, while intricate stone carvings dance across some of the walls.

Inside the main building, crystal chandeliers refract hues and illuminate the lavish furnishings and artwork, adding magnificent beauty to the entire atmosphere. I cannot believe that this mansion is only one of Elio Donatelli’s many private residences.

Cortez stops before an ornate wooden door, knocking twice on the door before pushing it open.

A chandelier hanging from the ceiling illuminates the room with a warm glow.

My eyes do a quick survey, and there he is.

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city outside.

My eyes avoid the bare patch on his chest, with tufts of brown hair visible underneath the maroon robe that he is wearing.

Instead, I fix my gaze on the champagne he’s pouring into two flute glasses.

“Leave us.” He doesn’t even raise his head to acknowledge me or his man, Cortez.

Cortez lowers himself into a curt bow before striding out, and I’m left alone to gape at the floor, the ceilings, and the abstract artwork around the room until he walks up to me.

I cannot resist the urge to look into his dark eyes, narrowed into slits. A tendril has slipped off the top of his head, hanging loosely against his forehead, a drop of water trailing from it down his nose.

I dart my eyes away from his face before I do something stupid like kissing that drop of water off his nose.

What in the name of God is wrong with me?

My nose tingles from catching the scent of his aftershave as he hands one of the glasses over to me. I grab it from him with shaky hands and lift the rim to my lips, not stopping until I’ve downed the entire contents.

“Mmm…someone’s thirsty,” he rasps, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ears. My entire body reverberates from that singular act, and out of reflex, I take a couple of steps away from him.

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