Page 26 of Owned By the Italian Mafia Don

I can’t help but smile at her. I tilt my head back and chuckle. “And if you did say something, but you didn’t, I’d bend you over my lap right now, but since you didn’t say anything—”

“—I didn’t,” she lies.

“Then that won’t be happening.” I curl my fingers through hers to hold her hand.

She tries to yank it away, trying to shake me off like I’m a bug. “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding your hand. My love language is physical touch. Expect a lot of it.”

“I don’t speak your language.” She drops my hand. “And how do you know your love language?”

“Shut up and take my hand.” I snag her again, locking our fingers together, then tilt my head back against the seat.

She tries to shake my hand again, but I hold on tight, and eventually, she relents, exhaling with annoyance.

“Freaking unbelievable,” she mutters, but the hold she has on me loosens as she relaxes.

I’ve never told anyone how much I love to touch. I crave it and that’s probably because my entire life I have gone without it. I don’t go around and advertise how much I love physical connection. It will make me look weak and I know I’m not. I’m far from a weak man, but sitting here, holding the hand of a woman who hates me, it’s nice.

She won’t hate me forever. I’m impossible not to like me after you get to know me. I do what I need to but once I’m at home and I’m able to take the mask off, I’m a different man.

I’m not the villain she paints me to be.

“Rilo is there waiting for you with the contract,” Matias interrupts the silence.

“Okay, thank you, brother,” I say, not opening my eyes until we get to the compound.

“Wow, that was fast.”

I squeeze Rosie’s hand. “I am not the kind of man that wastes time. A deal is a deal. The sooner you’re protected by me, the better. It means we can get your family to safety.”

“You’re right.”

That has my eyes snapping open. I turn to her, my mouth parted in shock. “I’m sorry? Can you repeat that? Are you not going to argue with me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not on your life am I repeating that.”

If I’m not mistaken, a hint of a smile plays on her lips.

“I’m starting to think you’re not as serious as you seem,” she says, eyeing me as if she’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m one of those mafia guys who has a sense of humor. We’re rare.”

“Aw, you think you’re funny. That’s kind of cute.”

I want to lean in and kiss her mouth, silence her sass, and drink it in, swallow it, let it run through my veins so it can give me a buzz just like whiskey would.

I doubt my kiss would be welcome. She’s simply tolerating me right now.

“I’m hilarious,” I defend.

“No, he isn’t,” Matias drones in a monotone voice, bored as he looks at his phone.

“Don’t listen to him. I make him laugh. Don’t let his handsome face fool you.”

“You only think he has a handsome face because it’s your face.”

“He has my face,” Matias argues.

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