Page 12 of The Mobster's Angel

“Wow,” she whispers.

I grin like I’ve just won the goddamn lottery.

“I should go,” I tell her.

The sentence hangs in the air between us like a hot storm.

I’m giving her an out here.

She only has to say the word and I’ll leave.

“No…”

What?

“No?”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks down at the thick duvet, fiddling with it in her fingers. “I mean… It’s your house. It’s your room. I can’t exactly tell you to leave.”

I can’t help laughing at her obvious shyness. I suspected she would be like this, and I like it. In fact, I love her for it. She doesn’t even know how special she is. “Firstly, it’s your room. And secondly… I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you want me to leave, say the word. I won’t bother you until next Tuesday if that would make you happy.”

She looks up and smiles. “What happens next Tuesday?”

Nothing. I made it up in my head, but I want to make her smile again. “I buy the Rossi house for you.”

That does bring a smile, but then she raises her eyebrows. “You’re joking.”

“Yes and no,” I say through a grin. “If you want it, it’s yours. But so is this room. So is this house. And I know which one I’d rather you choose.”

That has her blushing and looking down at the duvet again. “You don’t even know me. Seriously. I have more issues thanVogue.”

“I know you get up early because you enjoy your own space. You like to swim, but hate a full suit. I know you’re a people person, but only once you let them in. Everyone else gets the lowered eyes, the girl who wants to fade into the background. I know you’re funny because I overheard you talking in the kitchen once with Brenda. That wasn’t the same girl I met in the living room. I know you like children because I watch you playing ball out back with the kids, and you probably should have been a nurse or something, but for whatever reason, you couldn’t. I know you have a grandmother who’s sick, and you love her a lot. You’re right, I don’t really know you. Just like you don’t really know me. But we have all the time in the world for that, and I’m telling you, I’m committed to making this work.”

She was looking at me like I’d just sprouted two heads when I started, but somehow I’ve managed to pull it back from the abyss. There’s a sparkle in her eye as she says, “You… you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“What do you want?”

CHAPTERSIX

Olivia

“What do you want?”

I swallow hard.

That’s not a question I’ve heard many times in my life.

But then, neither is anything else he’s said tonight.

I put the crush I had on Mr. Bennett in a box a long time ago. I remember not wanting to dream too big.

And now he’s just ripped that box open and trampled all over it.

My stomach is filled with butterflies, but they’re not the horrible ones that plagued me in the car when I was driving to the pawnshop.

These are good butterflies. Ones that hold promise. Excitement.

I’ve never experienced these many times in my life, either.

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