Page 31 of Shadows of Steel
Mario had returned to Naples after the incident at the police station, someone had to oversee my territory, and it was clear I would be delayed in Palermo for a bit longer. Leonardo headed back to his duties as well, no longer required here. That left only my men, and not one of them had the faintest clue about what had transpired here.
I have questions. A lot of them.
And Harlow has a lot of explaining to do.
My grip tightens around the phone. I don’t know why I react to her this way. Possessiveness is not something I entertain. Not for a woman. Not for anyone.
But at the party, something surfaced, something raw, something unshakable. I’d slipped the ring onto her finger, and in that moment, a part of me had settled, had claimed. And despite everything, my cock had been rock hard all evening. This woman has a mouth on her, one that never knows when to quit, one I want to stuff full of my cock when she disobeys me so fucking prettily.
And I fucking hate it.
Harlow Moretti, Ricci, or whatever the fuck she is, needs to remain business. A wife is a liability, I won’t entertain. She’s also ten years younger than me. A problem wrapped in temptation.
I don’t have weaknesses.
Just one.
My jaw locks at the thought. I push it aside.
It doesn’t take long before I spot her through the tinted glass. She steps out of her apartment, a bag in hand, shoulders tense. Piero moves in to take it from her, but she doesn’t make it easy. Annoyance burns in her magnificent eyes. The moment she sees my car, she hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.
Then, she marches forward.
I step out, nodding toward the back of the car. Piero moves to load her bag, but before he can, she closes the distance, coming toe-to-toe with me.
“Don’t think for a moment that I’m naive.” Her voice is low, tinged with bite. “I know exactly what just transpired here.”
I remain silent.
Her glare sharpens, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I glance at Piero.
“Pack up everything she owns and bring it home.”
Her expression twists with something before she exhales frustrated and steps around me, sliding into the car without another word. Her vanilla scent wrapping around me.
Fucking hell.
I close the door behind her, pausing for a second before moving to the other side.
Sliding into the back seat beside Harlow, I settle in as the engine purrs to life, the car pulling smoothly away from the curb.
Silence settles between us.
She stares out the window, her posture rigid, her arms crossed. I steal a glance at her, and my jaw clenches.
I shouldn’t care.
I fucking don’t.
She’s a liability.
A distraction.
And I don’t have time for this.
The drive to the airport is silent, tension thick between us. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak.
And I don’t break first.
