Page 6 of Stolen By the Mafia King
Her little breasts in that clinging silk white dress rise and fall a little quicker than before. Clasping her hands together like she’s preventing herself from reaching for me, she looks away.
Seems she likes what she sees well enough.
Knuckles white, she keeps her face averted. “How did they know? About my Australia plan?”
“Spyware on your phone.” It’s low. I keep tabs on my girl, but not even I would do that. It’s far beyond my need to see and protect her. It was an attempt to manipulate her in the crudest, most underhand way.
Her mouth presses into a hard line. “Figures. My brother always was a cheat.”
Exactly. We understand each other. When she hands over control, it will be because she trusts me. It will be when, in a fair competition, I’ve shown my approach gives her more.
“I don’t get it,” she says eventually. “What do you gain from this situation? You’ve saved me, but why? What do you want?”
And because she’s my girl, I give her the unfiltered truth. I don’t think before I speak. I say what is in my heart, and has been since the beginning.
“I wantyou.”
3
JESSA
The sun is setting as we travel along an endless old dry stone wall, then pull off the road through an entrance with a snug little gatekeeper’s house on one side, the windows lit, and high black metal electric gates that open noiselessly and close right behind us. The drive is lined with London plane trees, their patchy bark like camouflage in the evening light and the dangly earrings of young seeds hanging down.
Neither of us has spoken since Grant said the words that have been repeating through my head. Lyrics to a song I’ve never heard but seems familiar anyway.I want you.
That’s too close. Too much. Somehow he’s looked into my heart and seen that I long to be the centre of someone’s universe.
But ultimately, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t believe him. I’m nothing. Just normal, a lower-tier mafia princess. More like a middle-class mafia girl. He’s powerful and gorgeous and has experience and authority. Any woman would come running at his one lazy beckoning finger. Yes, he intervened when my own brother would have sent me to die alone on the other end of the earth. But who knows what mafia politics are at play here. There could be a host of financial and power game reasons Grant saved me.
He’s still languidly topless on the opposite side of the limo. He has watched me the whole way, like doing so was a compulsion. His phone buzzed constantly, and though he glanced at it, taking in whatever the messages were with a pinch of the eyebrows, he seemed content to simply be my jailor.
Or perhaps he expects me to try to escape. But I’m exhausted and beyond fighting. Seeing on the news a bomb was recovered in the hotel I was due to stay at chilled me into painful submission. I knew my brother was willing to sacrifice me, but the extent has cut me open. I’m truly alone.
So when the car stops and Grant offers me his hand, I accept it and tell myself I feel nothing as warm fingers clasp mine and his thumb smooths over my knuckles.
His house could be a set for a period drama film, all cream stone and enormous windows, and although I sneak a glance to both sides, I can’t even see how big it is. He leads me up the wide steps like I’m a princess rather than a runaway bride he picked up off the street.
Inside is predictably amazing. The entrance hall has marble floors, high ceilings, and a double staircase flows down into it. One of those in movies, and the hero and heroine meet in the middle. Though part of me adores this and wants to run around squealing like a five-year-old.
But the fact is, this might be a beautiful house, but Lambeth could let me go. I’ve been in a prison my whole life. No more.
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” he says as he shuts the door with a click and turns the key in the lock.
“No.” I stop, jolting out of his grasp as he tries to lead me to the stairs. He looks back and his brows lower into a scowl. “I’m going to Australia. Thank you for letting me know about my fiancé’s plan, but I’d like to go now.”
“I think you’ll find you’re not in a position to make demands,” he drawls.
“Because youkidnappedme.” He might have stopped me from being murdered, but I’m not conceding that he’s the good guy here. Abduction is still—you know—a crime.
“Yes.” He smirks. “Like I said. Not in a position to make demands.”
I guess he’s right. Gritting my teeth, I allow him to lead me up the stairs then down first one luxuriously wallpapered corridor then another, and already I’m a little lost. This house is enormous.
My gaze keeps skipping to Grant’s bare shoulders. They look strong. Really strong, and I discovered that earlier, didn’t I? As I fought him, he held me at bay effortlessly, never having to resort to hurting me.
“You’re going to stay here.” Grant opens a door and I step into a suite decorated in a pretty pale blue and white, with a carpet so plush my feet sink into it and a massive four-poster bed with soft floaty drapes. It is nearly perfect, and makes my fingers itch to fix the last details. He closes the door gently but firmly. “Give me a month to deal with your brother and fiancé and make you secure against their threats. Think of it like a little holiday before your trip. I’ll provide everything you need to plan your new life in Australia, or wherever you want to go.” I look around in time to see his mouth twist like he’s tasting something bitter.
And I realise he’s trying to trap me.
