Page 5 of Ruthless Boss

I can’t remember the last time I lusted over someone. When I married Ciro, I was attracted to him but not in a wet dream-type way. To be fair, I didn’t know that kind of sizzling attraction even existed. I mean, I felt it toward celebrities. But not people in real life.

I married Ciro because, well, he seemed like a good guy. My mom had her share of disappointments after my father left, and when she met Aroldo, she thought she made the right choice. She didn’t know he was broke as a spoke and hid it well. Didn’t know he was quick to convince her to add his name to the assets she owned—our large home and the charming lake cabin, and then sell it without her consent. Two staples of my childhood were stolen from me.

I will those memories away. Thinking about them only stirs anger inside me—and there’s nothing I can do. Not anymore.

I arrive at Dante’s room and knock gently before twisting the door handle and entering. He’s a mobster, after all, so I don’t want him to shoot at me in the middle of the night, thinking I’m an intruder seeking revenge.

Then, I pick up the baby from the crib and take her to her nursery, where all her stuff is.

Her wailing decreases as I hold her in my arms, but it’s still there. I change her diaper, carry her to the rocking chair by the crib in her room, and sit there with her.

I give her the bottle, and she gladly takes it, her big green eyes looking at me. She touches my necklace, her little fingers tugging at the star, but I quickly remove her tiny hand before she can tear it off.

A warm glow travels through me, and my heart clutches. Poor baby. She doesn’t have a mom—at least I had mine for the first eighteen years. My mom didn’t always make the right decisions, but she was a good person. Too good. Most men took advantage of her.

“Hey, we’re okay. You’ll be okay,” I whisper.

It dawns on me that I haven’t talked to a soul in the past month, not since that night. Who would I confide in? I’m all alone.

I spoke the bare minimum with coworkers, but that was it. For some odd reason, holding AJ makes me feel present and enjoy the moment. And think.

I hate thinking.

If I think, I’ll remember what I’ve done.

My stepfather Aroldo is dead, and Ciro is missing an eye—probably looking for me like a madman, thirsty for revenge.

I shouldn’t feel guilty. They both deserved what they got.

She pushes the bottle away, and I take the cue to hold her upright and make her burp.

I searched for suitable burping methods online yesterday, and they paid off. AJ lets out a big one. I pat her back one more time, and she does it again. Then I swaddle her and rock the chair. Thankfully, in a few minutes, she’s asleep.

Weirdly, this moment with her is the most relaxed I’ve been in the past months. Even before I escaped, I didn’t know relaxation. Hell, especially then. Images of Ciro slamming me against the wall, shoving me until I hit the floor, and kicking me flood my brain. My throat feels thick and dry. I need to stop remembering. I need to… talk.

“You’re a lucky girl, AJ,” I say, looking down at her angelic face. When those words come out of my mouth, I stay present, and my sad past takes a temporary break. I exhale, loosening my shoulders.

“Why do you say that?” asks a deep male voice that quickens my pulse.

I raise my gaze to find Dante on the threshold of her nursery. Shirtless, with a pair of pajama pants hanging low on his waist.

I bite my tongue. Damn.

I already knew he had broad shoulders and a football player’s chest, but to see so much skin this close… I shiver. Tattoos swirl from his arms to his shoulders and chest, covering his body. The dark ink only accentuates the muscles that bunch as he takes steps toward me. It’s like porn poetry in motion.

I swallow. I can’t move, or I’ll wake her up. I can’t run.

“What?” I ask, his hotness distracting me.

“You said AJ was lucky. She lost her mom. How is she lucky?” he asks, his forest-green eyes trained on me. He squints them a little, showing the creases around his eyes.

I rock the chair gently. “She has a family who loves her. A dad. Uncles.” I wish I had someone other than my mom. My father never wanted responsibilities, so he left when I was a baby, and I never bothered to look for him.

He runs his fingers through his dark blond hair—a shade lighter than his brothers’—like he’s considering what I said. “A mom is different, though,” he says, sitting across from me. “I sure do miss mine.”

I’m guessing his mother is dead. I saw a picture of his parents and photographs of his father without her. I sigh. “I miss mine too.”

“What happened?”

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