Page 36 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“We need calm and quiet, Don Buscetta. This is no place for young girls.”

I hadn’t even raised my voice. This was ridiculous.

“Now, Emma,” Giacomo snapped as I opened my mouth to argue once more. “Leave the doctor to his work.”

Rarely did I get angry. But I could feel the fury, the frustration rising in my chest, strangling me. I didn’t like being dismissed or belittled. Right now my husband and this doctor were doing both.

And I did not want to give in.

I put my hands on my hips. “I can help. I know what I’m doing.”

The words had barely left my mouth when Giacomo darted toward me. There was no time to prepare myself before I was lifted off the ground like a sack of potatoes, then thrown over my husband’s shoulder. I hung, limp, as he carried me out of the room.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Giacomo

Madre di dio, this girl. She was raised in this life, so she should know better. Women have their place in our world—and it isn’t playing doctor to injured soldati.

Clearly, her father hadn’t prepared Emma for her role as the wife of a mafioso. Mancini coddled her, indulging her fantasy of becoming a doctor and living outside the mafia.

It was ridiculous, considering her last name. No one left this world alive.

And now she was my problem.

Everything about her pissed me off at the moment—her immaturity, the disrespect. The fact that we’d been forced to marry in the first place.

Her ass in these skin-tight workout pants.

Every single one of my men had been staring at her barely covered, taut body in that room.

Who knew she’d been hiding such luscious curves under her clothes?

Once upstairs, I kicked open my father’s old bedroom door, strode to the bed, and tossed her on top of it.

I put my hands on my hips and stared down at her. I tried to convince myself she was completely unimpressive as a woman. No polish on her fingernails, no makeup or jewelry. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, causing her to look even younger.

Yet I couldn’t make myself believe it. Emma was pretty without even trying, sexy in an unassuming way. Her tits were pushed high and together in a sports tank, her legs long and lean. The sight of her running, sweaty and breathing hard on the treadmill? Mamma mia.

Her sports tank had ridden up, revealing a flat belly . . . . And I was suddenly reminded of what I’d been ordered to do.

Three months.

I dragged my eyes away as she tugged down her shirt and sat up. “Was it really necessary to carry me out of there?”

“You have no business helping treat one of my soldiers who was stupid enough to get stabbed.”

“You knew that I could help. You let that doctor treat me like a child.”

“Youarea child.”

“Hardly,” she returned calmly. “I’m twenty years old, twenty-one next month. A fact you’re aware of, because I told you a few days ago.”

This meant nothing to me. What had she done in that time, taken a few exams? I felt ancient just staring at her. “A sheltered mafia princess. Hardly someone with any life experience.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “I’ve seen blood and injuries before. I may not be a doctor yet, but I’m not ignorant of what’s involved.”

“It’s not appropriate for you to be in there, Emma. Do you think your sister is in Ravazzani’s face every time one of his men is injured?”

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