Page 71 of My Mafia Queen

“You were a woman on a mission, and you got somewhere,’ he says, putting a few drops of aftershave in his palm and uniformly spreading it over his cheeks and neck.

A fresh, masculine scent instantly fills the bathroom.

He pivots to me.

“There are many things in you, Carmina. Persistence is only one of them. And you’ll get far with what you have.”

Somehow, our conversation has slipped into something that reminds me of my uncertain future. I don’t want to talk about my life after him. After he’s gone from my life.

I’ve barely found this spot where I want to linger for a while, and I’d rather talk about Roman goddesses and their special powers than me, a mere mortal doing uncertain things in some distant future.

He spends a moment observing me before talking again.

“Give me a moment. I need to put some clothes on.”

He exits the bathroom, and I hear him entering the closet and searching for new clothes while I ponder what he just said.

That sounded like a warning.

‘Don’t get too comfortable. This, what we have right here, won’t last for long.’

Maybe it wasn’t a warning. And I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose, but that’s how it sounded.

He walks back wearing a pair of fancy pants and a tailored dress shirt, open at the neckline and with its sleeves rolled up.

A narrow belt sits flat on his lower stomach, and his hair glistens, but it’s no longer damp.

He smells delicious, but his scent and charming smile don’t do much for me right now.

“Why did you say what you just said to me?” I ask, my brow creased into a frown.

He stretches his hand out and takes mine before I push to my feet.

Smoothly, he pivots with me so my back is turned to the mirror, and he stands in front of me before sliding his hands on either side of me.

He tilts forward, his eyes connected with mine, making my heart beat crazily fast.

“It’s the truth, baby.”

His raspy voice and insanely sexy smell do naughty things to me. It’s an important moment, and all I want is to be able to focus and get more information from him, but it’s impossible having him so close to me.

It’s like invisible tendrils of raw power loop around my brain, rendering it silent.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of the future,” he says, his eyes sliding down, grazing my chest and stalling on my legs.

My future is the last thing he has in mind, and not being afraid of it is the last thing I can do.

He looks hungry when he lifts his gaze, and judging by his smile, food is not what he has in mind, either.

He brings his fingers to my shoulder and drags them down, snagging the narrow strap attached to my top.

A moment later, my other strap is down beneath his fingers.

He seems completely engrossed in the process when he straightens, brings his hands to my top, and pushes it down so my breasts pop free.

“I thought we were going out.”

“We’re in no rush.”

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