Page 39 of Dark Mafia Heir

I narrow my eyes on her, confused. “So? Get them.”

“They cost three thousand dollars,” she says, watching me for a reaction. “Are you sure you can afford to get them for me? I mean, I’ve wanted them for a while, but I can?—”

“I said, get them,” I repeat. “Get whatever you want.”

“I’ll max out your credit card.”

A chuckle rips from my throat. She has no freaking idea how much I spend in bars some nights. Fifty of those shoes won’t even come close to maxing out my card. “That’s a challenge I welcome,gattina. I’ll hold you to your words.”

She squints and basically starts to feast on her lower lips. She looks even more confused than I was seconds ago. “You sure you’re not gonna regret saying that?”

Striding over to her, I gently push her down on the sofa and take the shoes from her.

She tries to stand, but I don’t allow her as I take one of her feet and slide off the slippers she’s wearing. God, even her foot is pretty and soft. Is there a part of this woman that is not perfect?

I take out one of the shoes she brought in and help her put it on, and then I do the same with the second pair.

She tenses to my touch, her eyes wide and searching mine.

When I’m done with the shoes, I stand up and hold a hand out to her.

A moment passes before she finally takes my hands and stands up. She’s only tall enough to reach my shoulders, even in those heels.

“Those shoes were made for you, baby,” I whisper as I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer. “And I never regret anything I say.”

We’re doneshopping and driving back home an hour later. Vivienne is ecstatic to show Agatha the dress she got for her. We also stopped by a jewelry store to get a bracelet for Ginny.

I like how she cares for everyone—how she wants to share whatever she got with the people around her.

We’re driving through the highway when the driver suddenly starts over-speeding and glancing at the rearview mirror.

“There’s a problem, boss,” he says calmly. It’s a common rule in the Mafia. Panic is the enemy of logic. It does more harm than good when a person is in a dangerous situation. “I think we’re being followed.”

I whip my head around to stare at the cars behind up. They’re all the same black Mercedes with tinted windows, and they’re driving at a high speed.

He’s right, we’re being followed.

I take out a gun from a spot under the car seat where I store them for emergencies.

“What is happening?” Vivienne asks with a panicked voice.

I cork my gun. “We’re being followed. Get down, and don’t raise your head until it’s over.”

She nods and does as I say.

The bodyguard on the passenger seat calls the others to alert them of the situation so they’re on guard if anything happens.

The tires screech as the impact from behind jolts us forward. I grit my teeth, keeping my grip on the gun firm. The car swerves slightly, but our driver maintains control, steering us back into the center of the lane.

“Hold on!” the driver barks, his voice steady despite the chaos.

Another crash. This time, they ram us from the side, trying to force us off the road. My jaw tightens, adrenaline spiking as I glance at Vivienne crouched low in the seat, clutching the dress bag like it’s a lifeline. Her trust in me to protect her fuels the fire roaring in my chest.

“Step on it,” I command, my tone sharp.

The driver nods and accelerates, weaving through the traffic on the highway. The engine roars, and the speedometer needle climbs. My men in the other cars will catch up soon, but we’re on our own for now.

“Boss, they’re trying to box us in!” the bodyguard in the passenger seat shouts, pointing to the black Mercedes closing in from either side.

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