Page 92 of Runaway in the Mafia
A beat passed. And another. A glance of mutual respect passed between us. We didn’t say thank you in our field. But if we did, I’d utter those words to him.
“Fine,” I muttered. That could just as well mean thank you. “I’ve already updated Martello.”
“I’m assuming he took it kindly?”
“He’s more annoyed that Daria wants to come to my wedding than that I slit my uncle’s neck.”
“Of course he would be. He hates Sicily.”
A tinge of pleasure was to be taken at my brother-in-law’s messed up schedule. “But he loves my sister more.”
“Good. We need him on our side. Massimo is in the know as well.”
I pushed the chair back and stood up. “Let’s get it over with, then.”
It waspast midnight when we wrapped up a tense meeting in one of the nightclubs in neutral territory. It went well. As in, noone got killed. Plenty of guns were pulled out, but no one took a shot.
With Andrea on our side and New York and Boston already on ours, it was easier to overpower Kola. But to be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was that attached to his right-hand man. It was more about the power play. So we made a deal. I killed his right-hand man. He killed my uncle. The one already dead. Win-win for both sides.
Some of the men drove further to one of our clubs, looking to rid themselves of all the hyped-up testosterone. Antonio’s eagerness to get to his wife was obvious when he drove off, taking his right-hand man, Marco, with him. To think that I had once considered their lives to be boring. I jumped into the car and drove in the opposite direction from where my bed was. On the way, I called Martello again and updated him. He was grumpy. Much more than his usual self. Still annoyed that Daria wanted to come to my wedding. But that wasn’t my problem. My problem was probably fast asleep in her room smelling of sweet fuckingFrangipani.
She wasn’t.
I stepped inside the room and shut the door quietly. She was seated behind her laptop, headphones and video on. I moved out of view to the armchair in the corner and sank into it.
It was past midnight, and she was still working. Talking to a client in New York, from the sound of it. She was dressed in a white shirt, her gold locket resting on her open collar, pretty, little Indian earrings dangling from her ears, and her face lightly made up. But my favourite part? Underneath the desk and out of view, she’d only got yellow satin on. And fuck if that wasn’t hot. Opportunity arose in my mind. One of them was to crawl under her desk and suck on her clit. But a warning glare kept me pinned to my seat. I’d let her be. This time. Next time, I was eating her out.
I rolled my head and rested it on the back of the chair. I didn’t have a cigar with me to calm the constant noise buzzing in my head. Nothing to lull my senses except her voice. She was confident. Firm but polite. Her voice hummed and rested on my skin like a familiar touch or a warm fucking blanket. I dreamed of a calm, tranquil place. One where only she and I existed. Where she was naked, and I was… also naked. She spoke of numbers and deadlines. I heard our future and smelled her sweetness.
I listened to her speak of budgets. Something warm pooled in my ribcage. It felt like pride. It felt new to me. She was fucking smart. She’d not only started her own business, she had international clients. I’d have to get a list so I could blast their heads off if they messed it up for her. I knew this company she was speaking with, and it wasn’t a small one.Fuck!My wife was an entrepreneur.
“You know I’m still going to work, right?”
It took me a moment to realise she was done with the call. I pulled my head up and observed her lazily. She was turned towards me. One long naked brown leg crossed over another. Yellow satin playing a game of hide and seek.
“Hello?” She snapped her fingers to her face. “I’m still going to work.”
“Sure,” I grunted.
She frowned. “What do you mean, sure?”
I shrugged. “Of course you are.”
“No.” She shook her head.
God dammit. I needed a dictionary to understand this woman.
“You don’t want to?” I frowned.
“No. Don’t lie to me and tell me I can work and take it back later.”
I pulled myself up and sat up straight. “La mia ammaliatrice,do I look like I’m lying to you?”
Scepticism clouded her eyes.Jesus.The damage that fucking bastard had done to her. It made me want to bring him back to life so I could saw each limb into ten pieces instead of six. “You can work. I won’t get involved with your work.” I’d have to forget about that list.
“You won’t?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“No.” I shook my head. “I know you think you want this financial independence. You don’t, but if it helps you sleep better, I won’t stand in your way. And you sure don’t need anyone’s help to rule your fucking kingdom. You’re more than capable of doing it yourself.”
