Page 12 of Secret Mafia Daddy

“Are you sure there is no other way?” she asks, biting on her lower lip.

“Those are your options. You should be happy. No one else gets to choose their fate.” I know my smile is positively predatorial.

She looks down at the ground. After a few seconds, she nods. “I’ll marry you,” she says. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me get back to my little girl.”

“I’ll take you to her,” I say. “But you will pack up your stuff and come with me right away. I need to get back to Chicago.”

“Okay,” she says shakily, and I usher her toward my car, away from the dead body on the ground. She looks back at him as we pass the alley, trembling.

I feel bad for her. I remember my first kill, my first dead body. It isn’t easy. Not that it gets any easier, but you learn to deal with it and the nightmares the lifestyle brings along. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’ll be the one doing the eating for as long as I can.

“Now, I know I met you before, but I can’t quite seem to place you.” It’s really frustrating. "So remind me of your name,” I command, and she’s afraid enough not to sass me.

“Catarina,” she says. “Catarina DeLuca.”

DeLuca. I’ve heard that name in some of Dante’s circles.

“You’re a little princess, aren’t you?” I say teasingly, and she scoffs.

“Not exactly.”

We walk to the Ritz and I get the valet to bring around my car, an unmarked sedan since I’m on a job. I usually drive a little two-seater, so it’s good luck that I have the sedan today, since apparently I’m about to become a stepfather.

I like kids, so I’m not too worried about it. They’re fun, always full of excitement and adrenaline, and that appeals to me. They’re just full of wonder, and I’ve always wanted a little rugrat of my own.

I surprise myself with how excited I am about this.

Catarina sits quietly for a few moments after giving me directions, and then she takes in a sharp breath.

“If we are really doing this—”

“Oh, we are doing this alright,” I cut her off.

She takes a deep breath and starts over. “If we are doing this, I think we should have some ground rules,” she says.

I snort at the idea of her having rules. That’s cute, that she thinks she has leverage on me since I could just decide to off her. But I’m a reasonable enough guy. And what’s with the finding her cute again? I almost growl at myself. I need to stop this shit. This is not a romantic relationship or a sexy hook up. This is a marriage of convenience here. Focus.

“All right, what are they?” I ask.

“No sex,” she says quickly, and I grin a little.

“None at all?”

“Absolutely not,” she says.

I shrug. “All right. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’m not going to ask,” she says flatly.

I ignore her statement and ask, “Anything else?”

“I get to have my daughter with me. And you have to make nice with my stepfather. He’s pretty powerful around here, and he’ll never allow the marriage without meeting you.”

“I’m good with dads,” I say, which is true. All my high school girlfriends’ dads loved me. I’m a good talker, and I can charm people.

“Of course you are,” she mutters, and a little sound like a whine or a groan escapes her and my head fills with the image of a goddess in bed, moaning my name.

Fuck, I’m instantly hard and this is definitely not the time or the place. What was that? I couldn’t see the goddess’s face but I know this is a memory, not a fantasy.

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