One day.
Mobsters might be ruthless killers, but they aren’t trained. They’d be dead before they lifted their weapons.
Mia crosses her arms. “Don’t joke about that.”
I laugh dryly.
“Don’t worry about me, princess. I can take care of myself. Your father doesn’t scare me,” I say firmly. It’s important Mia knows, if I’m to work my way into her life, I am powerful enough to face her family. I want her to feel confident introducing me to them quickly.
This is a turning point for me and the Dark Kings.
“Good, because he wants to meet you?” she says, a blush hitting her cheeks.
What?
I stare at her, taken by surprise.
Jesus.
It’s like life is being handed to me on a silver platter. The Mancini family and the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had. Except I’m not a fucking idiot. There’s something she’s not telling me. I walk around the kitchen island and stop a few feet away from her as she lifts her face.
Mia’s holding her breath, and my heart is thumping away in my chest.
“What have you done?” I growl, crossing my arms.
She mirrors me, but it’s a protective stance, and for a moment, I don’t like the vulnerability I see in her eyes.
Pawn.
“Mia, talk.”
“Before I say any more, I want you to know I didn’t plan this. It just fell out. There is no way I could’ve known I would, you know, end up here last night, and so...I got scared,”
“Of me?” I ask angrily. I do not want her to be afraid of me. That is unacceptable.
“No,” she replies quickly, and I nod.
“Keep going.”
“So, I’ve been living this double life, and my time is up, and then my father says I have to move back home. He’s canceled my lease, and I have to quit my job. Then I overheard my brother saying they’ve lined up Salvo Vitale to be my husband. God, he slurps his food.”
My brain is trying to take in the data, but all I hear are Nathans words:He’s brutal.
Staring at her and imagining that asshole with his hands on her...Well, I don’t like it at all.
She’s worried he slurps his food?Fuck, that’s the least of her fucking worries.
Double fuck.
“And he’s older, you know. Like, fifteen or more years older. I know you’re older. But like, good old.”
My brows lift and then drop in a frown. I may not know Mia well, but I do know when someone won’t stop talking, it’s because there’s something they do not want to say.
Usually, it’s followed by bad news.
What the hell has she done?
“Mia,” I say roughly.