Page 23 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
The scars on my chest, abdomen, shoulders and back reveal themselves. The twins didn’t have to deal with our father’s abuse. I killed him before he could do the same to them. Every morning, every night, my father would want me to learn how to become a real man…the lesson carved into me with a knife.
The day I stopped crying was the day he was no longer able to inflict pain on me.
It took years to build up the strength to not flinch, to not make a sound, to not scream, but eventually, I did. Now, I bear the marks that show my weakness.
Someone gasps behind me,
and without a word, I turn around. My pants are undone, and I let Delilah see the monster she’s tied to.
Nothing but death can separate us now.
Without blinking, I slam the door in her face, and punch the wall with my injured hand. My reflection mocks me, and without giving it another glance, I step out of my pants and head to the shower.
I toss my head back, letting the hot spray rush over me, coating my flesh. Spinning around, the water’s pressure beats against me. Chin to chest, I watch the water turn a light pink from washing off the blood from my knuckles.
I won’t apologize to Ari. He provoked me on purpose. Apologies are for people who feel regret and recognize what they’ve done wrong—I don’t fall into either category.
My life would have one less complication if I released her and let her go home, let her live the rest of her life without me—another shadow darkening her every step.
I press my palms against the wall. The water rushes down my back, and all I can think of is her fucking someone else, having someone else’s child. I can’t let that happen.
I won’t allow it to happen.
Her experiences are mine.
I need to accept that now. I’m not the same man I was this morning before she walked into my home. This man that I have become is confused, trigger-happy, and restless.
A new normal I’ll have to get used to with her around.
After washing, I turn off the water and grab a towel from the built-in shelves. I wrap it around my waist after drying myself and open the door to the bedroom.
She’s still standing there, looking pissed-off. Her hand is on her hip, but her eyes trail down my body slowly.
I grip the top of the doorframe and lean forward. “Look all you like, Sweetling. After today, it’s all yours.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and she steps away. Her attention moves to the scars, but she looks away and doesn’t ask about them.
Good. It’s none of her business. If I want to share it, I will.
“Sit down, please.” She points to the bed.
I let go of the doorframe and stalk forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”
I brush by her and sit down, the towel parting enough to show everything but my cock.
She gasps, flustered, takes my injured hand and places a frozen bag of peas on my knuckles.
“You act as if you’ve never seen a man naked, Delilah. You don’t have to play coy with me,” I say, enjoying the softness of her touch as she presses the bag against my hand.
She doesn’t say anything. Delilah won’t even look at me. Instead, she examines my knuckles and grabs the first aid kit. She sits out on the bed.
“What happened?” she asks, cleaning the wound with alcohol.
I hiss when it begins to burn.
“Really?” She lifts a brow at me. “Big bad Carmine Milazzo can handle gunshot wounds, but he can’t handle a little disinfectant?”
“It’s different,” I say, bristling at her criticism.
