Page 28 of Dirty Mafia King
“Do we have your permission to marry?” Renzo’s question jolts me from my thoughts.
“Sit.”
Renzo hesitates. Such a kind man. Such a troubled soul. He’s no match for his father. I tug his hand, and he finally takes a seat.
Sebastiano’s attention shifts between us, the mafioso not missing a thing.
“Alessia’s answer will decide what happens next.”
Okay. He’s actually considering it.
Renzo arrives at the same conclusion and relaxes.
“He calls you his angel?”
I frown, confused. This is what he needs clarification on? “Yes.”
“He believes you can fix him.”
I don’t dare glance at Renzo. “I have Renzo’s back. The best marriages are based on friendship.”
“Friendship. Not sex?” He flashes me a wicked smile, and my throat hitches. Marriage tohimwould involve sex, all kinds of wild, mind-blowing sex.
He’s toying with me. The virgin. The shy, fun-to-manipulate young woman. And suddenly, call it this new revelation I’ve had, call it an insane desire to please him, call it every dirty thought I’ve had about this man—whatever it is, I test the waters.
“Both.”
There. It. Is. The flare. The tic. Helikesmy boldness.
We stare at each other for a moment. Connecting in a way that doesn’t require words. For a second, I forget to be shy or afraid. It’s a strange feeling, being so attracted to a man that you can barely breathe. A primal urge that stirs my deepest desires. A reckless rush tempting me to act. Even beneath his stern regard, even despite the danger he presents, I feel his pull.
“I’ll consider you marrying my son.” His low, seductive tone elicits a shiver, and I’m slow to process his words.
I stare at my lap as reality settles in. He’ll allow Renzo and me to marry. So why do I feel so unsettled? Is it because, despite my best efforts, I keep having dirty thoughts about my future father-in-law?
“Look at me.”
My eyes snap up.
“But only if you’re honest. Capisci?”
“I swear it. I’ll do whatever you say.”
His eyes flash.
When I was a little girl, our family vacationed in a quaint cabin on a farm in upstate New York. A metal fence surrounded the property. One day, a horrible storm thundered in. My mother and I were on the porch when lightning struck, hitting the fence and sending a fireball spiraling around the top. With a loud boom, the fireball crashed into an old barn out back, igniting a blistering inferno that consumed the barn within minutes.
That’s how his piercing blue eyes feel. Like he’s about to set me on fire and consume me.
My reaction hits me straight between the thighs, and hot, wet need soaks my underwear. I squirm in my seat, struggling for control.
God help me. How could something this wrong feel so right?
His lips curl. He knows.
Then, like a sledgehammer, like the dangerous man he is, his smile disappears and he hurls another fireball into the room.
“Is Renzo an addict?”
