Page 16 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
Even his plain shirts are softer than fresh clothes from the dryer.
I bet this shirt cost more money than my student loan payment.
After turning off the closet light, I wash up at the sink, then brush my hair and toss it up in a messy bun before heading to the doors that have kept me prisoner.
Quickly, I grip the knob and yank open the door. I’m almost surprised it opened easily, revealing a long hallway to lead me to my execution.
Or your salvation.
The floor is cold under the pads of my feet as I venture deeper into the mansion. I take my time, staring at the expensive paintings hanging on the wall, each with a light to illuminate the canvas.
Having no idea where to go when I get to the end of the hall, I continue straight to the living room. There I find a black-painted brick fireplace that takes up most of the wall. On most mantels, people usually display pictures of their family to make the place feel more at home, but not Carmine.
Some candles that have never been lit along with a small chest directly in the middle decorate the narrow ledge. The chest isn’t locked. Curious, I lift the lid but can’t see inside. I stand on my tiptoes and see rows of cigars.
I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I expected something darker…bloodier.
“What the fuck do you think you’re wearing?”
I jump when I hear his voice right next to my ear, his breath warm against my cheek. I spin around, my breasts rubbing against his chest. My nipples harden from the friction. His hands fall on my hips, and his fingers grip the shirt as if he wants to rip it off.
“Your shirt is huge. It fits me just fine. It’s like a dress. No one can see anything.”
“I bought you clothes.” His chest heaves, and he steps forward. Somehow, I find myself pinned against the fireplace. One arm is stretched to my right, his hand gripping the mantel as he leans forward.
I need to stop finding myself pinned against surfaces of this house with Carmine. Though, something about him trapping me affects me in ways that would disappoint a normal person. I press my thighs together, fighting the ache growing between my legs.
“I don’t want my brothers or anyone else seeing you in my clothes, Delilah. Go change.” He tilts his head to the side and leans forward. “Now.”
His lips are a ghost over mine, and my skin erupts in goosebumps alarming me of danger.
“No.”
His hand wraps around my throat like a necklace, and I tilt my head back, staring into the void of his eyes.
Except with him being so close, I notice a gold ring around his pupil with flecks of garnet dotting the iris—as if specs of blood have permanently found their home in his vision.
His lashes are long and dark. A man has no business with lashes like that. It’s dangerous for a woman like me because those eyes make it that much harder to fight the lust I deny I have for him.
“No one tells me no, Sweetling.” Wickedness laces his words.
His voice is rough, low and smoky, as if he just smoked a cigar.
“Get used to it. I won’t bow down to you, Carmine.”
His thumb presses against my bottom lip, and a slight smirk tilts his lips. “You’ll bow, eventually.” He kisses my cheek and brings his mouth to my ear. “Eventually, you’ll even get on your knees for me.”
I swallow, not wanting to give into the darkly decadent spell he is casting over me. “I’ll never get on my knees for you, Carmine.”
A soft chuckle grazes my neck as he leans closer. He’ll be able to feel the erratic pulse of my heartbeat if he places his lips against the side of my throat. All I have is the mask I’m wearing, and I can’t have him taking it off.
I can’t let him see how weak he makes me, how terrified he truly makes me feel.
“Want to bet?” he pulls away, a glint in his eyes tells me he knows something I don’t.
“You’ll lose.”
He tucks his hands in his pockets and stares at me with amusement. “There’s one thing you need to know about me, Delilah.”
