Page 38 of Dark Mafia Heir

My relationship with women has always been fairly the same. Meet at the club, suck my cock in my office, and be on your way. Vivienne is the only woman who’s been successful at making me shop with her, even though I can sense she hates every bit of my presence around her.

It’s fine, though. I love her presence, and that is all that matters.

I catch two men in a corner ogling her from where they’re standing. One of them has his eyes on her ass as we walk by.

Rage filters through my system, and I’m suddenly possessed by jealousy and the need to protect what it is. I wrap my arm around Vivienne, marking my territory.

We’re out in public, so that is all I can do. On a good day, thosebastardiwould have lost their fucking lives by now. She’s my wife, and I would rather they keep their disgusting gazes to themselves.

Vivienne’s gaze flits to my hand on her shoulder, then she glances up at me, her eyes filled with curiosity. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Don’t ask questions and keep moving,gattina. I don’t have all day to hang around with you,” I say, struggling to sound as if I’m not thinking of a million ways I could torture those bastards behind before I kill them.

Aiutami, Cristo!Help me, Christ.

We arrive at the store she’ll be shopping from moments later and Vivienne takes in the place in awe. She’s Peter Cole’s daughter, which means she usually shop in places like this, so I doubt her expression is shock at how expensive the place is.

“Why are we the only ones here?” she notices.

I spot the store manager and two other women as they approach us with wide smiles. “I reserved the entire store for you. I need you to be comfortable while you shop.”

Her laughter hangs heavy in the air, as if she’s calling my bullshit. “Really? I think you reserved this entire place, so people won’t find out you’re nothing but a criminal.”

The store manager reaches us before I can think of a comeback for her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mancini,” the manager, Grace, greets with a smile. She turns to Vivienne. “Mrs.—” she trails off as if she isn’t sure if to refer to Vivienne as my wife or not.

“My wife, Vivienne,” I introduce.

“Ah.” Grace’s smile widens. “Welcome to our store, Mrs. Mancini. We have a lot of new arrivals. What would you like us to show you first?”

“I’m a sucker for red heels and black dresses,” Vivienne answers, smiling back. “You can show me either of those first.”

I don’t realize I’m no longer breathing as I stare at Vivienne. I hate how I’m a total idiot around this woman.

Dante’s rotting in his grave six feet under. Peter Cole is running around, hale and hearty. I should be torturing his daughter, breaking her until he has no other option than to tell me what I am, but here I am, losing myself every time she smiles.

It’s hard to resist this feeling, not with the way her eyes crinkle and her cheeks double in size when she smiles. Not with the way her skin glows under the overhead light. No woman I’ve ever met holds a candle to her.

I sit in the waiting room while she picks out several bags, shoes, and dresses to match her taste. An hour passes, and then another thirty minutes before she finally steps into the waiting room wearing a long, black dress with a deep v-cut in front and a slit to the right that runs down the entire leg.

My mouth drops, and my eyes devour her ravenously. She looks ravishing in that dress, and the way it highlights her curves and everything…Mio Dio,I can’t take my eyes off her.

She notices because scarlet red burns her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks in a voice that is barely above a whisper.

“You look breathtaking in that dress.” The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them. Dammit, I don’t even think I want to stop them.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice shaky with nerves.

I wonder if she’s feeling the same way I do. If her insides are burning with a ravenous need for me. If every hair on the back of her neck is rising and her core is throbbing, aching, and dying for a feel of me.

Because mine is.

Every cell in my money is on fire. My cock keeps twitching, and my pulse is beating at a rate that could send me straight to hell. My thoughts are unholy, and only she—Vivienne—can make me well again.

My gaze drops to the pair of red shoes she’s holding.

She holds the shoes forward. “I want these.”

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