Page 41 of Corrupted Heir (Mafia Kings: Corrupted 1)

I didn’t know how much time had passed when the light thud of footsteps passed my door and brought me awake. Unlike most mornings, there was no haze over my mind. No moment of pulling myself away from the sticky tendrils of sleep. The footsteps belonged to Dominic.

I was lying on his floor.

And I was a prisoner in his home.

A door closed somewhere in the hallway, and a moment later, I heard the muffled sound of a shower running. My treacherous mind filled in the blanks. Dominic tugging off the black V-neck. With his arms stretched up over his head, I could imagine every ridge and plane of his torso. Then the button and zipper of his jeans. I could see his thumbs hooking into the waist of his jeans and pulling them off while his chiseled glutes flexed as he moved. Every inch of my body felt sensitized. The hem of my dress tickled my thighs, and I could feel the rub of the fabric against my chest as I breathed in and out.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not that it helped because the images were playing behind my eyes, not in front of them. But it wasn’t my fault he was built like a freaking god. And no matter how much my body responded to him, I could still hate him. I was done being led around by my vagina.

No longer tired, the carpet that had seemed so plush a few hours ago felt rough beneath my cheek. I sat up, but halfway up, it hit me.

Dominic was in the shower. There’d been no other sound, nothing to suggest there was anyone else here. I stood up slowly, creeping toward the door. Images of the guns that had been shoved in my face flashed through my mind. They could still be there, but as I looked around at my prison, it was a chance I had to take.

I grit my teeth as I turned the handle, begging the thing not to make a sound. Once out of the room, I closed the door behind me, silently thanking it when it barely made a click. I tiptoed down the hall, past the bathroom where I could still hear the water running.

My legs felt like jelly, and my heart pounded like it was trying to burst out of my chest, but I made it out to the living room. Twenty more steps, and I was home-free. One after another, I crept across the living room on silent feet, but blood was whooshing so loudly in my ears, I didn’t realize the shower had stopped until the bathroom door clicked open. Without thinking, I spun around.

He stood outside the bathroom door with a towel slung low around his hips. The rippling eight-pack across his abdomen still glistened with moisture, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from following the droplets that dripped down the hard jut of his hips and disappeared into the towel’s edge. Even my fantasies couldn’t have conjured up this kind of perfection.

“Go ahead, open it,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I’d recommend not charging through it, though.”

He was too confident. Too damn cocky. If I opened the door, I had a feeling all I was going to get was an eyeful of cold steel. It was strange that even in the warmth of the apartment, I imagined the steel of a gun was cold.

“Let me go,” I said with more bravado than I felt. Still, I straightened my shoulders and drew up every ounce of hatred I felt for this man, letting it shine clear in my eyes.

“You know that’s not going to happen, Fallon. You’re here as much for your own safety as anything else. Tony Nova is a dangerous man.”

I scoffed. “A dangerous man? And you’re what? A saint?”

The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and his jaw ticked.

“I may be a lot of things, but don’t ever compare me to him,” he said then turned away and headed down the hall, out of sight.

My breath came out in a whoosh, and I sagged against the door. Now that I knew those men were still there, I could practically feel the cold of their guns seeping through the wood.

A dangerous man in here, dangerous men out there; I felt like I was trapped in a minefield, waiting for one wrong step.

I hadn’t moved when Dominic returned a few moments later. He was dressed in typical-Dominic style. A three-piece suit that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders. The black of his shirt seemed to darken his eyes so much they looked like storm clouds.

He walked straight to the kitchen, and though I couldn’t see him from my vantage point, I could hear him fiddling around in there. The quiet glug of a coffee maker filled the silence a moment later, and the rich, dark scent of coffee wafted through the apartment. He'd tasted like coffee when he’d kissed me. I’d been so hopped up on arousal, I’d wanted to draw the taste into me and feel it buzzing through my veins.

“Coffee?” he called out like I was an ordinary guest in his home.

I didn’t answer him, but he appeared a moment later with a black mug, filled to the brim in his hand. He stopped at the edge of the living room, holding out the mug.

“I left it black. You don’t seem to be in much of a sweet mood today,limone.”

If he thought I was going to waltz over there and accept the mug graciously, he could think again. I was more tempted to take it just so I could dump it on him. Tempted, but not quite brave enough, it seemed. I remained where I was with my back against the door.

“Suit yourself,” he said, retreating back to the kitchen.

A sizzling sound broke the silence a moment later, and a sweet, buttery scent mingled with the coffee aroma in the air. My stomach rumbled, and I was grateful I was too far away for him to hear it. I was hungry, but there was no way I was accepting anything he offered—assuming he offered anything at all. Maybe after rejecting the coffee, he’d decided I was on my own. Then again, it wouldn’t look very good if he was dragging a starving bride down the aisle.

Or maybe there wouldn’t be an aisle. Plenty of marriages now were just civil proceedings, no church, no aisle. It would be a far more practical solution just to use whatever justice of the peace they had in their pocket.

A tiny part of my heart ached like someone had taken a gouge out of it. I’d always dreamed of a big wedding in a pretty church. Not that it mattered. In none of those fantasies had I been forced into marriage by a freaking Godfather wannabe.

“Breakfast is ready,” he called, but he didn’t come out this time. “Unless you’ve decided to go on a hunger strike.”

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