Page 49 of My Mafia Queen

I suck in a short breath and speak again.

“Okay, then… I’ll keep you posted,” I say.

A moment later, I end the call and shove my phone into my bag before sitting on the bed, propping my elbows on my knees and taking my face in my hands.

I close my eyes, trying not to think.

No one controls time or life, and as much as I’d love to be able to at least control my life and Tina’s, it’s impossible.

I peek at the digital clock on the nightstand.

It’s almost ten.

I should go out and look for him.

I barely finish that thought when someone opens the door to the main corridor and enters his suite.

“Carmina?”

9

CARMINA

It’s him.

I leap to my feet and dash to the door before realizing I need to get a grip and act cool.

Clearing my throat and running my hand over my skirt, I open the door.

“I’m here,” I say evenly, not looking in his direction, convinced my face would reveal my feelings, especially how I’m irresistibly getting attached to him.

Eventually, I spin around to face him while he walks to me, wearing a sexy smile, a white dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up, and a tailored vest and fitted pants that set off his muscular body.

The fabric––a muted shade of gray––pairs well with his metallic watch and silver or platinum jewelry––a necklace and a ring.

His eyes glint with a knowing smile.

I can’t keep my face straight for much longer, especially since he closes the space between us, opens his arms, and I practically fall into his chest.

“Where are you going?” he asks, hugging me tightly, his lips pressed against my hair.

I break away from him while he dips his eyes to study my blue dress with a halter-style neckline, a fit–and–flare shape, and a hemline that hits above my knee.

He touches my soft, fuzzy red cropped cardigan and seems pleased with how I look.

“I was about to go out, search for you, and ask you if you had any work for me,” I say while he observes me with a playful look on his face.

“Work? You still want to work for me?” he murmurs, still holding my hand.

I nod.

“Money is not enough, huh?” he tosses at me, and I remember how quickly I went through a third of the money he’d given me.

“It’s never enough,” I say.

“Tell me about it,” he says with humor and a delicious New York accent.

We both chuckle.

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