Page 24 of Ruthless Boss

I chew my lower lip, frustrated. I want to say more, to open up, to give myself this little gift today of all days. But I can't. I can't say too much. I already jeopardized myself by mentioning my real birth date to a stranger when my fake driver's license was a different one. I can't out myself. Zenovia stares at me with her dark eyes, and my pulse jumps at my throat. Yes, she's a survivor too. But I can't open the door to the past—to my past when I've desperately tried to shut it for so long.

"I'll go shower," I say, breaking the silence and looking away. "Take advantage of that. AJ is asleep."

She makes a hand gesture. "Off you go."

I dash out of the kitchen, my heart beating like fierce dragons are haunting me.

An hour later, I've washed and finished drying my hair. I hear a knock on the door, wrap my robe around my waist, and open it.

On the other side stands Dante. He wears a white-sleeved shirt, black denim jeans, and a black jacket, and he looks more delicious than the cupcake he's holding. It appears vanilla with sprinkles and has a small red candle lit.

"Happy birthday, Lucia," he says.

I rear back, blinking, confused. How does he know? The smile on his face doesn't show any bad intentions. The nurse must have mentioned it to him earlier. That's the only way. Why didn't he say anything sooner, though?

He enters my bedroom, and I try to soften my facial expression so he won't notice how freaked out I am that he knows it's my birthday.

"Wow, hmm, thank you."

"Blow it," he says. "You need to blow it."

I clear my throat. He means the candle. I glance at it, close my eyes, and make a wish. I hope this on-the-run lifestyle will change soon, and I'll start a new life. Hopefully, I will no longer pretend to be Lucia—but be whoever I'm supposed to be. Not the Gia from the past, the one with no prospects. A better version of myself, surrounded by better people.

That's a tall order.

"You paid attention," I say. "Thanks."

"Why didn't you say anything?" He hands me the cupcake, and the moment I brush my fingers with his, a surge of awareness shoots up my arm. I swallow.

I look at the cupcake. Should I eat it in front of him? "I'm not a birthday person. Didn't want to make a big deal." I touch the frosting, scoop a generous amount, and take it to my mouth. It's delicious. I place the cupcake on the nightstand, and when I turn to him, I see his gaze intently on me.

"Well, I was thinking about getting you something, then realized I don't know enough about you," he says.

"You don't need to get me anything."You gave me plenty, I add inwardly. Memories from that night rush to my mind, and warmth spreads through my cheeks and neck.

"Nonsense. I always get Zenovia something."

He does? Is that common for mafia bosses? Hot jealousy courses through me. When I said he was hot and rich earlier, Zenovia didn't comment much. Did she sleep with him in the past? A nugget of disappointment forms in my heart. "I didn't know you knew her so well. That you were so close."

He shoots me a look of amusement. "Why? Are you jealous?"

I lift my hands in denial, waving them. "No. Of course not. Your personal life is not my business."How I wish that were true.

"As I was saying… What do you want?"

You.The answer burns the tip of my tongue. "I don't need anything. I appreciate the gesture."

"What if I want to do more than the gesture? What if I want to give you more?" he asks, closing the distance between us. Every inch he gets closer, my heart beats louder, drumming in my ears.

Send him away, my common sense pleads.Send him away.No good can come from sleeping with him again. "That depends. What are you offering?" I ask against my better judgment.

Our gazes collide, and I inhale deeply until what feels like the air of the entire bedroom is stuck in my lungs.

Different shades of green layer his eyes, enhanced by the gold flickering in his irises. "An orgasm or two. Maybe three. Four."

My heart lurches.Damn it, I'll be happy with one.I deserve it, right? I chew on my lower lip. It's a birthday gift, nothing more. "Is that the same gift you give Zenovia on her birthdays?" Asking this silly question ages me backward and puts a big dent in my pride, but I need to know if sleeping with his employees is the norm for him.

Even though we have no future together, if he'd slept with every female worker, a part of me would rebel against sleeping with him again. I don't have the right to feel special because I know that's false. But I still want to.

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