Page 39 of Owned By the Italian Mafia Don

“You’re maddening and too intuitive.”

“I’m not too anything. Do not lie to me, Ari. I deserve to know what’s about to happen to me.”

“Rosie.” His fingers pinch my chin, a habit he has formed, and I fight him a bit, not wanting him to get his way so quickly. “Rosie,” he deepens my name, a tone that has me looking up at him immediately. “I’m not selling you,” he spits. “I’m not in that business. That’s disgusting. I know our marriage is unconventional, but I am a loyal man. You are my wife. My. Wife. No one will ever have you again. You are not in danger. I am not talking to a sex trafficker. Your imagination is wild, Tesoro.”

“You’re in the mafia. I don’t know everything you do.” I think about his words, how he said “You are my wife” with so much meaning, force, and determination. As if he meant what he said.

Is he so cut and dry that something as odd as our marriage makes him an honest husband? This is every girl’s dream.

“I’ll tell you everything I do if you stop asking questions that make no sense and get in the car.”

I cross my arms and, maybe, I glare at him.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Will you please get in the car?” he says sweetly. “You don’t want to be late for this.”

“Yes, I will get in the car. If I am your wife, talk to me like I am.” Nothing is wrong with what he said, I just feel like pushing his buttons at the moment.

When I slide in the car, he is right behind me, the door slamming shut, and then he is on my back, pinning me against the seat. His hand wraps around my throat and he lifts my head from the seat so I can breathe. His lips tease my ear, and he chuckles darkly. “You’ll be a fucking good girl then, wife.” He tightens his hand around my throat. “And you’ll listen to me when I say that I can’t wait to feel you tighten around my cock.”

My entire body heats and liquid pools in my panties from the gruff and crass words. He slightly rocks against me, readjusting himself so I can feel the intimidating length of his cock.

“That’s how I’ll talk to my wife if you aren’t careful,” he warns, his nose drifting up my throat. “So I suggest you choose your words wisely because you aren’t ready for me to talk to you the way I truly want.”

He lets me go, pressing those lips against my neck and I have to roll my lips together to stop myself from moaning.

“Go to the private airstrip, Gianni,” Ari states, sitting in the seat beside me.

I run my fingers through my hair and clear my throat, fixing my shirt so it’s in place. My heart is racing, a constant thunder in my chest. It’s so loud, I can barely hear myself think.

He buckles me in, that damn knowing smirk tilting those lips that make me want to let go of my control, anger, and regret just so I can feel what his kiss would taste like.

“I have to make sure mywifeis safe.”

“I’m fine.” I don’t sound believable at all.

He buckles himself in next and like before, he slides his hand in mine and holds on tight. This time, I don’t fight him. I enjoy him and more of the hate falls away as we drive out the black iron gates and onto the road.

The ride is quiet for a while, only soft music from the stereo filters the space.

“Why are we going to the airstrip? I thought you weren’t selling me,” I joke, tightening my hand so he knows I’m kidding.

“While the thought is tempting,” he squeezes my hand in return. “Like I said, it’s a good surprise, but you might even hate me more after. Something I’ve prepared myself for.”

I frown, not liking I’ve made him feel that way. “I won’t hate you more,” I say, believing myself. I’ve had time to decipher my feelings for him and while they are confusing, I like him. I grow to think about him more every day and instead of hate, I feel something else, something warm and safe.

“You might, but it’s okay.” He lifts my hand and presses it against his lips, giving me another soft kiss.

He likes giving me those and it’s those little things, along with getting me my favorite kind of shirts that have me feeling things for him that are far from hate.

When we pull into a private drive surrounded by big full trees, dust kicks up and clouds the area in front of us. We pull into a huge field that’s been cleared and a plane is sitting at the end of the single airstrip.

“Are we going somewhere?” I ask him, looking out the window in awe. “Do you own this plane? This land?”

“Yes,” he says, glancing out the side window too.

“Wow. I got into the wrong business then.”

He chuckles. “Well, you’re in it now.”

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