Page 31 of Owned By the Mafia

I can’t avoid him, though. We have to work together because if we don’t, we have to explain why not. We would have to explain how we shacked up. We would have to admit we have feelings for each other. We would be disciplined. I am not a sister or brother or cousin. I am just a lowly soldier in a family of criminals. The only power I wield is that Katya is my friend, which means little in these situations.

So I cannot avoid him.

So I text him that I’ll be there. At eight.

My stomach does flip flops, and to distract myself, I print out photos from the surveillance of the Italian family that we now know are working against the coalition. It will be something to talk about if things are awkward.

Time ticks by slowly until it’s time to drive to his apartment. I park in the visitor's parking and take the short trip upstairs before knocking on his door.

When he answers, he’s in a suit, a button-up shirt, but no tie. I guess he opted to keep things professional, too. I’m in a pencil skirt, a button-up blouse, and heels. My long hair is pulled up into a ponytail.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, we stand there, both breathless. Finally, he steps aside. “Thank you for coming, Dina.”

“Thank you for having me. Dinner was something I couldn’t pass.” I can smell the aroma of food luring me to the square dining table. He leads me there and pulls my seat out for me. While I wait for him, I look around. The apartment is neater than I remember it being. He comes out with two steaming plates of food and sets mine in front of me.

“Steak, mash, and vegetables doused in a thick savory gravy,” he announces. He sets his food down and opens a bottle of Merlot, filling my glass.

“Molly must have made this, you’re a shit cook.” I look up at him with a cheeky smile.

He chuckles. “Of course. I can’t fucking cook.”

He fills his own glass and sets the bottle down, sitting opposite me.

“Enjoy,” he says, picking up his cutlery. I follow suit, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is the clinking of knives and forks against the plates.

“We’ve found photos of an Italian family that seems to be behind the attacks,” I say, looking up at him steadily. He meets my gaze and nods for me to continue. “We’ve had reports there was a pale, red-haired man with them but haven’t got an image of him yet.”

I hash through the information I have, and I’m surprised by how intently he watches me and how seriously he is taking me.

After I’m done, Robbie sets his cutlery down. “We’ve identified the guns as basic and easily-modifiable handguns.” He tells me about the lists they’ve compiled and how they’re going through CCTV footage of nearby shops.

“I think they’re going to try to hit the family lunch,” I say as I finish my food and wipe my mouth with a serviette. “I think we need to put our most trusted guys there.”

“If the higher-up members of the family and their partners are attacked, it will be war. If they die, it’ll create a huge vacuum for any old asshole with enough men to fill.” Robbie sighs and pushes his plate away from him.

Robbie gets up. “Let’s sit on the sofa so we’re more comfortable.”

I hesitate before I take my glass and move to the sofa. He brings the wine and refills my glass. He fills his and sets the bottle on the coffee table. He sits beside me, with a space between us, and now an awkward silence falls.

“I missed you.” There it is, the feelings.

I sip my wine, but before I can respond, he sets his glass down and looks at me. “I will burn down New York for you, Dina. I would kill every fucker that crossed you.”

“That’s the problem,” I say sternly, looking at him as seriously as I can. I try not to let my feelings betray me. I set my glass down. “We can’t have that kind of distraction. And our relationship? The men will never accept it. They will think we betrayed them.”

Robbie shifts forward, and I want to move back, but I don’t. He puts an arm around the back of the sofa. “They don’t have to know. This can stay between us until we get the men on our side.”

I swallow. When did I start breathing so hard? And audibly?

Robbie moves closer so our legs are touching, and his face is inches from mine. “You intoxicate me. All I can think of is you. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want. You know me, Dina. I fuck hard and rough and love to make you orgasm so hard you can’t walk.”

There’s a distinct wetness between my legs that I struggle to control the softer his voice becomes. I can feel his warm breath on my lips. He is rough and tough and crazy, and it is sexy as hell—even if I would never say it out loud.

His eyes are heavy-lidded as he studies my eyes, our gazes locked on each other. He shifts, and his hands grab my blouse and rip it open so my bra is exposed. My breasts are barely held back by my bra but still bounce from being released by the tight shirt fabric.

I lick my lips slowly. “Robbie.”

He runs the back of a finger over where he correctly guesses my nipple is hiding away. It sends a strong signal to my pussy. A longing ache.

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