Page 2 of Captured By the Mafia Boss
Well, he’s the mafioso now, isn’t he?
I guess that was what he wanted: to be the ruler, the only one. He killed his brother, probably my father, and Trudy, all in the pursuit of power.
There was a time—a single night—when I imagined I saw something else in King. A warm, tender man who talked with me about books and films and laughed at my jokes. But in the morning, he was cold as ever. Anyone can play the good guy for an evening, I suppose.
I place the flowers by Trudy’s grave, palming the knife and making a soft sobbing noise that isn’t entirely feigned.
My heart thuds so loudly it’s a helicopter landing in my chest. I ease backwards, intending to accidentally brush King’s shoulder. The blade is impossibly sharp. I’ll slice open his arm through his suit, nick his skin, and be gone before he even realises he’s been cut.
A vice-like grip immobilises my wrist.
“Don’t.”
He jerks me back until my bottom is pressed to his front.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know. He can’t realise who I am. Henry hasn’t twigged, or any of the hangers-on. King barely knows me.
Even through my shapeless coat, I can feel him. His heat. His strength. The planes of his hard body where my curves meet his muscles.
His thighs shift against my arse, and for a second I’m sure I feel his solid hot length at the small of my back like a gun, primed and ready to go off.
“You don’t want to do that,” he murmurs, voice rough like soft fur brushed the wrong way.
He could kill me. Around us the low chatter of the rest of the mourners continues. Nobody has noticed our little scene playing out here. All they’d see would be me standing dangerously close to King.
Hecouldkill me.
But it’s okay, he won’t. I’m not important enough. He doesn’t know who—
“Olivia.” He says my name into my ear, his breath a caress.
I let out a tiny squeak as terror beats through me. The air clots in my throat.
Despite the pain shooting through my arm from his hold, I twist. Always my father’s daughter, finding a way to play this to my advantage. If I can just…
I mean to turn and slice his leg as I break away, but instead I find myself flush with him. He has effortlessly adjusted his grip and pulled me back in. My eyeline is at his pecs. And even disguised in this expensive suit, I see the shape of his broad chest. Muscle.
Fear shouldn’t heat my skin like this, like sun-warmed petals shaken from a blown-out rose. He’s terrifying. I look up and up and up until I’m staring belligerently into his face.
I haven’t seen him this close before and I can’t help but take him in, greedily. He obviously shaved this morning but already has a shadow of stubble. He has a face that would make models weep, all hard angles. His monstera-leaf green eyes and black hair shot through with silver give him a wild look totally at odds with his refined shirt and tie.
But his eyes. There’s something deep and dark and glittering there I’ve never seen before, not in all the time I felt them on me when I lived in the Camden castle with him and all his minions.Low in my belly, there’s an answering trill. Like a previously dormant part of me recognises this alpha male and wants him.
“Get out of here,” he growls softly.
But he doesn’t release my wrist. If I just flick the blade…
As I try to, King’s other hand covers mine and the knife falls to the grass with a soft thud as pain shoots up my arm. I stifle a cry.
His foot is on the blade before I can react.
“Now go. Live.” He shoves me away, but his eyes follow with depths of longing and conflict I can’t begin to unpack. “I don’t want to see you again.”
King is letting me go? I’ve survived an encounter with a hungry black bear.
“Run, flower girl,” he mouths.
