Page 67 of Shackled By the Mafia Boss

I’m too distracted to focus on anything fully for the rest of the day and time passes slowly. I watch the clock across from my desk and as soon as it’s time to clock out, I grab my things and run from the office.

Marcus’s SUV is parked outside and he is standing by the passenger door. A smile lights his face when he spots me.

I don’t return his smile. My hands are too cold and clammy, and my stomach too knotted to fake anything right now.

He opens the passenger door for me. “Good evening, princess.”

“Good evening.” I climb in and he shuts the door after me. Rounding the car, he gets in and the engine roars to life. “How was your day?”

I’m not in the mood for small talk. “Nothing spectacular.”

He takes his gaze from the road to look at me. “Is everything okay? You look unhappy.”

“I’m fine.” I rest my head on the window, watching the streetlamps and the cars that race past us. I stay lost in my thoughts and don’t realize we’re in front of my apartment building until Marcus turns off the engine.

“Have you had dinner? Would you like me to order something?”

I snort. “Order something?” Does he really think I’m in the mood to eat when I’ve just found out he might or might not have had something to do with my father’s murder. “That won’t be necessary.”

Anger hits me with so much force I’m trembling as I climb from the car, slam the door and stomp into the entrance of the building.

“Jane.” The sound of my name follows me and I walk even faster. I can’t face him right now. Cannot. Face. Him. “Jane!”

A , big, strong, warm hand grabs my wrist, then he whirls me around and hauls me into his body. I gasp as my body collides with his. His heartbeat is strong and fast, so loud I can hear it. He smells like aftershave and that cinnamon scent I’m getting addicted to.

I press my hands against his chest and push myself away from him. “What?”

“That’s what I want to know.” His voice is calm and cautious and doesn’t match the rage in mine. He steps closer and I take a step backward. “What is wrong?”

My eyes meet his. I don’t like the look of confusion and worry in his eyes. It’s giving me hope I might be overreacting, that he is innocent. Maybe he didn’t hurt my father after all.

But I know better than anyone who Marcus is. I know he wouldn’t bat an eyelid at hurting someone.

“Did you know who I was?” I ask, my breaths short and sharp. “Did you know who my father was?”

“Yes,” he answers, his voice cold and without emotion.

“Was that the reason you asked me why I joined the police force, because you knew whose daughter I was?”

He blinks once and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Yes.”

“Yes?” I laugh, but it does nothing to numb the stabbing pain in my chest. “Is that all you have to say?”

“If you’re looking for an explanation, then I can’t give you one.”

“Good. Don’t.”Breathe, stay calm.“Did you shoot him?”

“Yes, I shot him.”

Hot tears streak down my face and my vision blurs. “You’re a monster, Marcus. I hate you.”

He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he takes two steps closer, that familiar scent of cinnamon and cedarwood hitting my nose. “Do you really hate me?”

My chest tightens. My heart already knows the answer to that question. I know I can’t hate him, but I lie. I lie because the man standing in front of me killed my father, yet, no part of me wants to dislike him.

I should hate him, but I don’t. “Yes. I do. I hate you with every cell of my body.”

“Good. You’re finally growing up.”

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