Page 43 of Runaway in the Mafia
I wasn’t going to marry the woman. But Iwasgoing to fuck her. I couldn’t erase an image of her. Naked, black silky locks tousled on my fucking silk sheets. I’d do anything to get her there.Anything.
Signing that contract hadn’t brought me any relief. But the decision to fuck her. A hot damn yes. My headaches were gone, and I hadn’t felt this light-hearted for a long time. I couldn’t remember when. Long before I killed the man who shared my genes. Long before I’d caught him cheating on Mamma. Again and again.
I shrugged and lit my cigar.Bygones.I had a task, and it started with an F and ended with K. Two letters to bridge and a witch in between. A breath of tobacco and my lungs filled with satisfaction. Finally, I could enjoy a cigar again. I frowned at the hand-rolled paper held within my fingers. Just when I was doubting its abilities.
The door clicked open, and the drift of her voice, together with Divya’s, came my way. I’d parked just around the corner, out of sight from the front door, but unfortunately not from the office. A small movement in the curtains brought my attention to it. Fucking Antonio.
It didn’t matter anymore. I just needed to fuck her once. To get her out of my blood. Then I’d marry…Bianca? Rosetta? Fuck, I really should look up this woman’s name.Whatever she was called, I’d marry Andrea’s daughter and stay faithful because fuck if I was going down Carlo’s path.
The gravel crunched softly underneath her shoes. I didn’t even have to pull my gaze off the ground to know when she saw me.
When I’d crossed Divya walking out of the front door, she’d asked me with a sparkle in her eyes if I had got what I had comefor. I’d told her it was a process. The longer it took, the larger the benefit. I wasn’t talking about the warehouse takeover we were negotiating with Andrea. I knew it, and she knew it. And I didn’t fucking care.
But the glare that met me when our eyes collided told me that the process might take longer than I’d like.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Sicily had ample warm days. Hot and blistering. But the nights. Those could be cold. The goosebumps on her bare arms and the silk ruffling gently on her waist were an indication of it.
“Buonasera, mia ammaliatrice.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that even mean?”
“Can’t come up with an exact translation.”
“Well, try.”
One day, her sassiness was going to get her fucked.
“Is it something you can call a friend?” Suspicion crisscrossed her face.
If it’s a friend you fuck.“Are we friends now?”
“I’d rather not be.”
“Fair enough.”I preferred fuck buddies.
My gaze hooked on her chest. The material was really quite flimsy. The thing she wore behind it, whatever that was called, was tiny. When she’d twirled in the kitchen, I’d seen the back of it. It was two sets of thin strings. Criss-crossing across her back. One yank and it could be off.
“Well?”
My gaze pulled up to hers. “What?” I’d lost track of the conversation. Fuckingammaliatrice.
She was impatient. A foot tapped.“Can I use it with a friend?”
I caught movement in my peripheral view.Could I fire my consigliere?
“If you want.” I was done with this. I pushed off the car and stubbed the cigar. “Now get in.”
“Uh, uh.” She shook her head vigorously. “I’m waiting for Giuseppe.”
“No, you are not.”
I strode to the passenger door and opened it.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Jesus. Fuck!” I rushed my hand through my hair. “Why does everything have to be a fight with you? What the fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m taking you home.”
