Page 2 of My Mafia Queen

So I stay.

I roll over to face him, slide my folded arm under my head, and observe him in perfect silence.

His hand is still on my body, close to my hip, inches away from the apex of my thighs.

His hand is heavy and possessive.

And it’s his hand.

My body knows that, so it gets warm underneath, signals traveling to my brain, fueling my pleasure.

The soft pulse between my legs reminds me that I’ve never been so close to a man I liked.

Being together in the same bed is not a good idea, especially since the tendrils of emotions have wrapped around us surreptitiously for some time.

Staying here is not a good idea, either, and I plan to go to my room, but for now, I peer at him, taking inventory of his muscular neck, hard chest, and white dress shirt open at the neckline.

His black hair sets a stark contrast to the pillow, and a sexy dusting of stubble sets off his villain look.

Even in his stillness, he says things to me, like how he enjoys my presence while allowing me to be myself, giving me space to grow into my own, and trying not to step onto my blossoming life, which is another first.

I feared most men I’d known.

My perception of them was skewed. My experience with them was horrible. And I learned how to deal with them––fighting them and staying away from them, especially the worst ones. Not that it has always worked.

It’s different with him.

We are some kind of friends, or maybe we have established an unusual alliance.

Damaso Salla and me.

What has brought him here?

What makes him want me to be here with him, a woman ten years younger, unfamiliar with his way of living?

I know why I’m here.

I’m a fugitive.

I was desperate.

Fate put him in my path.

He has a lot of power, Damaso Salla, and I have to say, it’s a nice thing to have, even though I know there is a price to pay, but there’s a price to pay with everything.

I am a little ashamed to admit I need him.

Needing people always backfires in the end, especially when those people are men who haven’t been vetted properly, so I try not to need him much.

But now, seemingly, I need him in more ways than one.

And for reasons that escape me, he needs me, too.

He needs me to stay, even though we stay in silence.

I am grateful for that, and I need that.

I’m grateful for everything.

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