Page 15 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
Delilah,
When you awaken, dinner is in the kitchen, and in the closet are fresh clothes. Please, get comfortable and meet me so we can review the contract.
Your Dearest Future Husband,
Carmine
I scoff, my fingers twitching to crumble the paper and throw it across the room.
Husband.
Out of all the people I thought I’d marry, I never once thought it would be someone like him. So cruel, so calculated, and so necessary.
Sighing, I fold the note and place it on the nightstand beside the bed. The moon's bright glow shines through the window, giving me enough light to walk to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I wince when I see the woman staring back at me.
My hair is a mess from sleeping, and I have indents from the pillow on the left side of my face. My lipstick is smeared, and my mascara has darkened my eyes.
With an annoyed groan, I flip the light in the closet and freeze when I see the clothes he talked about in the note.
One half of the closet is filled his with his pristine suits and Italian leather shoes. Even his plain white T-shirts are hung with care, aligned perfectly on black velvet hangers.
“Of course, you hang T-shirts on velvet,” I mutter.
I double-check to see if I’m alone and touch the deep blue suit jacket, loving how soft it feels. It’s like silk. Feeling bold, I drag my fingers over every suit hanging, ranging from black to blue. There’s even a dark purple blazer.
I bet it looked beautiful against his tanned skin.
I jerk my hand back as if burned. Being a captive shouldn’t look so good. Is he trying to buy my trust by filling the closet with pretty clothes and expensive purses? Everything is here.
Dresses, skirts, blouses, shirts, heels, sandals, belts, jeans, anything I could ever want is here. How did he know my size?
“Oh my God,” I whisper, in awe. I’m completely in love with the emerald green satin gown. I pull off the velvet hanger. There’s a full-body mirror in the corner, and I hurry to it, pressing the dress against my body to see what it would look like without playing dress-up.
The straps are thin, and the neckline plunges low, showing my cleavage. The bottom of the dress hits the floor—nothing a pair of heels wouldn’t fix. Hell, heels lined half the wall. I had an array of Louboutin’s, which red bottoms you’ll know immediately. I have them in every color to ensure I had a pair to go with everything.
After hanging the dress up on a hanger that probably costs more than my cell phone payment, I open the drawers next, only to slam them shut again.
He. Did. Not.
The audacity.
I take a deep breath through my nose and out through my mouth; my cheeks were on fire with what I’ve just seen. There’s no way Carmine bought that because if he did, he assumed I’d be wearing that for him.
How cocky is he to think I would want to wear lingerie for him? When I sign my life away to marry him and have his baby, I plan on lying there and waiting for it to be over.
Surely, I won’t want him.
But as I open the drawer again, taking the fine red lace in my hands, tracing the thick wire lining the cups that will hold my breasts, I know, I’ll want him.
Because I do want him.
I want the evil that cloaks him to darken my body and spiral me to the edge where his madness lives.
“I’m so fucked,” I sing, folding the lingerie in the drawer.
The other drawers contain sleepwear. They match and are made of cozy material, but I didn’t feel like being cozy. I wanted to ruffle his perfect feathers.
I undress, leaving my dirty clothes in the middle of the floor. Snagging his large black shirt off the hanger, I tug it on over my head and let it drop to my knees.
