Page 4 of Forbidden Mobster's Daughter

“Tell him in person.”

Nothing short of the Pope talking to my father would make him change his mind. His word is his currency. Whatever he says goes. Everyone knows that. “What will change? He’ll still say no.”

Matteo steps toward me, and I step back until I touch the wall. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I’m sure you’re persuasive.”

I tilt my head to the side. “How’s it working with you?”

He flashes me a smile that would surely melt most women’s underwear. It’s nearly working on me, even if I know better. “I’m only doing my job.”

“Your job is gross. Aren’t you too old to be my dad’s lap dog?”

“Apparently not, since he sent me over.”

“I can’t go. I hate my father,” I say.

He puts both hands on either side of me and flattens them on the wall. I’m cornered between them, and I know why he’s doing this—to intimidate me with his size. A shudder goes through me, and my nipples pucker under my shirt. I can’t believe my body is so weak, but then again, it’s not like it has built resistance to learn its way around a man.

I’m a thirsty woman crawling in the harsh desert, and Matteo is a tall drink of water with plenty of crushed ice inside.

“Join the club, sweetheart.” He lifts his eyebrow and then steps away from me. A dark expression crosses his ruggedly handsome face. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

I square my shoulders and lift my chin, hoping to act like I occupy more space in the room. “Of course I do. Your dad worked for mine. He died not long before my mom. I’m sorry about that, but if you think your sense of loyalty to my father?—”

He gives me a once-over, a quizzical look on his face. His brown eyes gleam with a touch of intensity, and his lips purse into a sarcastic expression. “Loyalty? Your father killed mine while I was in the next room. And that wasn’t enough for him. He threatened to kill my mother if I didn’t work for him. So my loyalty isn’t, hmm, organic.”

My knees feel weak, and my blood pressure lowers to a scary level. I plop down on the bed, digesting what he said. I’m not an idiot. I know my father has been responsible for people losing their lives, but why in the world would he hire the son of someone he murdered? I touch my chest. “What? Why did he kill your father?”

“There’s a lot they don’t tell you.”

A wave of sympathy washes over me. How hard must it have been for Matteo to work for my father? Why didn’t he go to the police? A small part of me wonders. Then I quickly remember my father has bought police before, but aside from that—if his mother’s life was in jeopardy, it makes sense that Matteo wouldn’t take the risk. “I’m sorry about your loss,” I say, though the words seem vain and ineffective.

He gives me the slightest nod. “You’re my last assignment. Your father made me work for him for ten years. And after I see you married, I’m off the hook. So, whatever sob story you have for me, you can save it.”

A lump lodges in my throat. Matteo can’t help me. He’s obviously on his own. I can’t blame him, of course. If there were a way to escape my father’s claws, I’d do anything too. “What will happen to me?”

“You’ll marry a sleazeball who’ll probably die of a drug overdose in five to ten years. Trust me, there are worse outcomes,” he says in an even tone.

“No,” I say, fully aware of my privilege. He had to work for his father’s killer for ten years. I’ll marry a rich and powerful man and have to deal with the fact he’s also soulless, evil, and ugly. Have to let him… take me to bed. Biles rises in my throat. “Don’t you have a sense of decency?”

“No.” He picks a stuffed animal from my shelf. It’s a worn-out, blue Care Bear with a rain cloud on its tummy. Grumpy. My mother gave it to me when I was little, a keepsake from her childhood. The image of this powerful man holding such a precious gift from my mother knots my stomach.

I bridge the gap between us and yank it from his hand. “Never touch this again.” I clutch Grumpy against my chest, wishing it could shield me from reality. Especially from the tall, broad-shouldered reality standing in front of me and making my every girl part sinfully aware.

He walks in a short circle, running his hands through his hair. What will he try next? Will he hurt me? Then, he comes to a halt and looks me in the eye. “Listen, my mission is to take you to your wedding. I’ll make it happen with or without your cooperation.”

“How do you plan on achieving this ambitious goal?”

He pushes me against the wall, and the bear falls from my hands. I gasp.

I motion to move and kick my treasured toy away, but Matteo bends down and picks up my bear, then carefully places it on the bed again. Then he lifts both hands in mock surrender, and his gaze holds me hostage. What the hell is he doing?

Before I blink, he surges forward and towers over me, invading my personal space as if I owe him lots of money. I take a deep breath and accidentally draw in his scent—an intoxicating blend of mandarin, sandalwood, and another note I can’t distinguish. The result is a powerful, manly scent that fits him like a surgical glove.

I open my mouth, a bit disoriented, taken aback by this pleasant fragrance.

He runs a finger down my cheek, and my flesh shivers in response. Am I scared? Or… something else?

His eyes are focused on mine. I swallow, confused. A jolt of awareness surges through me. He doesn’t expect me to kiss him or anything, right? That would be ridiculous.

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