Page 64 of Runaway in the Mafia
And that was the hard truth. My heart pounded. There was no winning against him.
“I’ll come,” a meek voice answered. It must have been me. “Just give me a week.”
“Don’t fucking think so. Where’re you at that you need a week to get here? You used those legs to run away from me. Then use them to run back to me. Three days is all you get. A minute later, and I am cutting those legs of yours and shoving your family’s reputation down Delhi’s drains. Remember how pretty I painted you the last time? I’ll make a masterpiece of it this time. Now get the fuck over here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
VITALE
The paper weight was smooth, light, and cold in my palm. A paradox to the thoughts in my head. Across my desk, Andrea caught my distraction. A stranger in my fucking home. An unlit cigar between his lips. Cold observation in his eyes. He felt my agitation. My scowl did nothing to contradict him.
I was an idiot. A moron for letting a woman control my thoughts. But I couldn’t help it as much as a trigger finger itching to shoot a traitor. I wanted what I wanted, and what I wanted was not the name of the girl written in the document between us. I was as aware of it as the burning glare from across the room where Antonio was seated, with his hip resting on the windowsill.
“I’ve been thinking about this arrangement we want.” Andrea’s tone was cold. Calculated. “I’m sure it’s been on your mind too.”
Not really.Other things on my mind. Like the scent of seduction. The memory of silk fisted in my hand. Smooth velvet underneath my calloused palm.
“I think both parties are in need of this.”
I didn’t. What I needed was to pin her to a bed, didn’t matter where, when, or how. I might have also needed a cage. But I doubted metal bars could keep me away from her now that I’d tasted her. Sunk into her. She was an addiction. One that had been sneaking into my body drip by drip. But now that it was roaring inside, I couldn’t get it out of me if I tried.IfI tried.
“Don’t you agree?”
I was already annoyed at having spent the night questioning and icing off the Albanians found lurking around my warehouse in Palermo. Andrea’s demand to meet was only notching it up, like a jackhammer to a scale.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Andrea’s grey gaze was too sharp. I did something I’d never done before. I avoided eye contact and shifted my gaze to Antonio’s. Instant regret filled me. He was watching me like I was an escaped lunatic and he was deciding whether to bring me in or kill me himself. His eyes flashed. I glared. Fucking Andrea wouldn’t be a prick if Antonio had handed in the documents I’d already signed. Which, for some reason, he ignored, and I hadn’t bothered to remind him.
“Huh.” My gaze swung back to the man across from the table. “I missed that.”
“My daughter’s name.”
“What about it?”
“What is it?”
My patience snapped. “What is this? Twenty fucking questions? You need this,” I gestured to the paper in between us, “As much as we do. So let’s sign the damn thing and get on with it.”
I lunged for the pen on the table, and his fist clamped around it. “My daughter is not a damn thing.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m aware.”
“I’m not sure you are.”
Next to me, my phone vibrated. When Mamma’s name appeared on the display, I knew it was bad news. I could count on one hand the number of times she’d called me. From the corner of my eye, I caught Antonio shaking his head, but I was already reaching for it.
“You better not fucking answer it.”
I ignored Andrea’s warning.
“Vitale.” Mamma’s sobbing made an icy chill run along my spine. My lungs tightened, and I knew it before she said it.“She’s gone.”
It was pathetic that I didn't even have to ask who. It didn’t occur to me that I had come to my feet until the sound of the chair crashing resonated in my scrambled brain. She ran. She fucking ran.
I forced my voice out of a mouth that had gone parchment dry. “When?”
“Two hours ago. She went to the supermarket with Giuseppe and never came back. I think she… she—”
“Enough,” I snapped. “I’m on my way.”
