Page 22 of My Mafia King

Beau won’t touch me as long as I’m in Damaso’s company, but that won’t last for long.

I don’t think so.

Disheartened, I tear my eyes away from him, although his face is a captivating story I don’t have time to delve into.

There are no real protectors if they want something in return.

I’m my only protector, and I need to act accordingly.

* * *

CARMINA

The elevator doorsglide open before he takes my hand and leads me out.

I was right.

His grip on me is not casual, limp, hesitant, or optional. And the men who’ve moved impatiently upstairs are not gone. They follow us from a close distance.

And they were waiting for us when we exited the elevator.

I look around, trying to spot Beau.

There is no trace of him.

Good.

He’s probably waiting for me where I parked my car.

Oh, the thought of having to go there and face him, fend for myself, and survive another day makes me shake with fury.

Speaking of that.

“Hey…” I say as we move toward the concierge desk. “I need to talk to that girl,” I add, glancing at Damaso. “I had an appointment with someone here today and missed it. I need to reschedule it.”

He listens to me intently, his head slightly tilted toward me, his eyes scanning the area around us and the space in front of the hotel.

“Appointment?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

It sounds like he’s questioning the truthfulness of my words as nagging suspicion lines his voice.

“For?”

“A job.”

He flicks his eyes to me.

“A job?”

Our eyes stay connected as I get distracted by his face.

I’ve rarely seen features like his.

Decisively set, strong, and sensual, making it so easy for him to express a large variety of emotions, from the sternest look––his favorite––and sharp focus to amusement and ferocity.

His gaze slides.

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