Page 119 of My Mafia Queen

“You said you’d help me?” I murmur, studying his eyes.

“Yes, I did. And I will.”

He gives me a smile.

“You want me to say it now?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says, suddenly sobered up.

His arms peel away from me as he spins around and heads back to his suitcases.

He pulls his clothes out and sets them on the hangers in the closet.

I move closer to him.

“Why did you say that to me then?”

“We need to talk about it,” he eventually mutters, his eyes tipped down as he collects beautifully pressed dress shirts.

I get a sense he’s not happy with the topic despite acknowledging it’s something we need to talk about.

“Is this why we’re here?” I ask, baffled.

This can’t only be about work. Or his business. It’s about pleasure, too.

But it can’t only be about pleasure and leisure, either. We just came from Reno. And that was a vacation despite how it ended.

He keeps riffling through his clothes, cocking an eyebrow at me when I go silent.

Without answering, he turns around and walks into the closet.

A modern addition to the old estate, the closet has all the characteristics of a regular walk-in closet, including a chair.

I walk after him and slide into the chair.

“You know how I feel about you,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything.

“And I know how you feel about me,” I go on.

He looks at me this time and shows me to the exit.

“We’ll talk about this over dinner,” he says, keen to end our conversation.

I walk out but can’t keep my mouth shut.

“My initial plan was to make enough money, take my sister, and leave LA. I knew my stay with you would come to an end. And I knew it wouldn’t be easy. For me, at least. I know things have changed, and my plan no longer works, or we wouldn’t be here.”

He strides away without a reaction.

“Dinner,” he says sternly from the doorway, no longer looking at me.

I give up and watch him swagger away while I remain standing in the bedroom.

Why is this suddenly such a contentious issue?

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