Page 13 of Married to the Mafia Monster

I slip into a corner, trying to keep to myself as I change out of my sweaty gym clothes. My mind keeps wandering back to Alex, the way his hands felt on my body, the intensity in his eyes.

As I pull my shirt over my head, I can’t help but imagine him in the men’s changing room, his muscles flexing as he undresses. The thought sends a shiver of excitement through me, my skin tingling at the thought.

I picture him standing there, a few feet away, shirtless, his body a perfect combination of strength and grace.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the image persists. What would it be like to be with him in bed, to feel his skin against mine?

My heart races at the thought, a flush creeping up my neck. I can’t believe the effect he has on me, this dangerous stranger who’s somehow managed to captivate me completely.

I finish changing and take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. As I step out of the changing room, I spot him leaning casually against the wall, clearly waiting for me. His eyes light up when he sees me, and my pulse quickens in response.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask as I approach him, my voice more steady than I feel. “Serial killer? Bodyguard? Ninja?”

He smirks, a shadow of darkness flickering in his eyes. “I find things that have gone missing.”

I raise an eyebrow, thinking of my father. “What kind of things?”

I hesitate, then take a deep breath. “Let me buy you a drink. Lot of ears out here on the street.”

For a moment, I think about refusing. But then I nod and smile. “Sure.”

SIX

Bella

He sits across from me, his presence commanding, even in the midst of the soft jazz and murmured conversations.

“You been here before?” he asks.

“Do I look like the kind of woman who comes to a place like this?”

“You fit right in.”

“The only reason they haven’t thrown me out is because you spent five hundred bucks on champagne.”

“You wanted a drink.”

“I was thinking a glass, not a barrel.”

“You going to talk about booze all night or are you going to ask me the question you’re dying to ask?”

I take a sip from my glass. “All right. What is this thing you’re trying to find?”

His eyes darken a fraction, and he takes a sip of his drink before answering. “I could only share that with you if we were married.”

I feel a pang of disappointment mixed with curiosity. “Are you married?”

“No.” The answer is blunt, final.

“But you’d tell me if I was your wife?”

“Correct.” He stares at me, like he’s daring me to continue.

“Why?”

“A wife can’t be called upon to testify against her husband in court. You couldn’t use the information to get me put away.”

“So it’s something illegal? Is it drugs?”

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