Page 65 of Runaway in the Mafia
I cut the line and dropped my balled fists on the table. We’d fucked. Every breath I took reminded me of her pussy clenching on my cock. I couldn’t even sleep without dreaming of her. When I was awake, she was my fucking nightmare. But she just walked out? Mamma was fucking lying. I didn’t believe this shit.
“What?” I snarled at the dick reclined across from me.
“You always pick up when a woman calls?”
“I’d move heaven and earth for the women in my life.”
“Good.” He nodded with approval. “I’d expect that treatment for my daughter.”
I picked up my keys. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s not my wife.” I strode to the door.
“Not—”
I turned to glare at him. “Not ever. The deal is off.”
I barrelled down the hallway to his yell. “You’ll regret this.”
I gave him my finger. I’d regret it more if I let that fucking woman get away from me. Somehow, I was pinning her down to me. She could do it willingly or not. I didn’t care anymore. She was fucking mine.
I left Antonio to deal with the shit show, as he always did. I didn’t care if he promised my firstborn to him to get out of it. Even if I felt that this was some weird trick of Mamma’s to get me to do something she wanted, even if I thought she was just going to be home working on one of her pretty little drawings, there was a one per cent chance that it wasn’t a lie. That was the per cent that made me hit the floor and come crashing down the driveway with smoke blasting off my engine.
I wasn’t even out of the car before the door flew open, and Lia stood behind it. I barrelled past her brimming red eyes and took the stairs three at a time.
It was a lie.Thank fuck.
Her room was just the way it was. Perfectly clean. Filled with her things. Her laptop was on the table, lined up with the mouse and keyboard. Her scent still hovered in the room. In the bathroom. Inside the cupboard. It was all a fucking joke. Relief slipped into my racing heart. She wasn’t gone. I pulled the closet door open, and her weekender stared back at me. Half filled, hastily packed andleft behind.
It wasn’t a lie.Something vile staggered up my throat.
“Fuck.”
She’d fucking run. My heart cracked. Rage exploded in my veins. My fists slammed into the cupboard. It shook against thewall, the wood creaking on its hinges. My knuckles bruised. Skin burst and blood spilled. It should have hurt. I couldn’t feel it.
I shook with anger while pacing the room with my hands in my hair. Heart beating to a tribal drumbeat.
“Please find her.” Mamma clouded my peripheral vision. She was devastated. I didn’t have it in me to comfort her. Another surge of anger hit me. It was all her fucking fault. She should never have brought her into our home. If I hadn’t met her... if I hadn’t fucked her... “Bloody fucking hell.” I stormed to the open closet door, heaved it off its hinges, and slammed it on the floor. The crash echoed off the tiled floors, the ringing reverberating around the room. I glared at Lia’s horror-filled eyes at Mamma’s.
“Who the fuck is she running from?”
“She needs protection.”
“Yeah?” I growled. “From whom?”
She met my gaze, saw my rage, and shook her head wordlessly. I lost it.
“Who the fuck is she running from?”
I gave her one second to think. Took a deep inhale. And an exhale.
“Who?” I asked her one more time. She saw the crazy in my eyes, but she still didn’t open her fucking mouth. Instead of calm sanity, marbles jiggled in my brain. I barrelled towards her.
“Vitale,” Lia screamed. But it sounded like she was three rooms away because my pulse beat rushed in my eardrums. Mamma blinked, and I crowded her against the door.
This was it. The single moment I realised I was exactly like my father. I had an addiction. One that was far worse than any drug. And I’d do anything to have it. Break a deal and cause a war. Maybe… my hand trembled on the wall next to Mamma… even terrify my own mother.
