Page 79 of Seduced By the Mafia Don

“You already helped me,” Anya replies. “That day at the Vine, what you said to me – it was like you looked into my soul. Like you saw my entire history in a single moment. It mattered.”

“She has that ability,” Mother says with a clear note of pride in her voice. “It’s the artist in her.”

“Guilty as charged,” Sienna says, with a big smile that lights up my heart, a sentiment that would’ve seemed impossible before my piccola pittrice came along.

“How long until the grand opening?” Anya asks. “Gianna has told me all about your work. I hear you’re almost at the end.”

“Soon,” Gianna says. “I’ve never met anyone who could work so fast while maintaining such a high quality of work. Yes, soon, the dream that started this entire adventure will come true. In the meantime, Anya, we should take the hint and make ourselves scarce.”

I chuckle. “What hint?”

Mother waves a hand. “You’ve been glaring at me ever since we sat down. It’s clear you want nothing more than to spend time with your lady.”

I roll my eyes, but then I notice that Sienna is smirking at me. “You too, huh, Vignette?”

“You have had a certain… smolder going on ever since Anya and Gianna arrived.”

“Okay, ladies, perhaps there is a savage part of me that wants to spend every second of every day with my woman. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Come on, Anya.” Mother touches her arm. “Let’s leave the lovebirds to do… whatever it is lovebirds do.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

I lead Anya and my mother through my apartment, hugging my mother and then offering Anya my hand. She takes it firmly. These past three weeks of meetings to discuss city logistics and outlawing the darkness have consistently proven my assessment of Anya wrong.

Once they’ve gone, I walk through my apartment, musing over the past month. Adrian is going to be in federal prison for the rest of his life. Viktor and his men lie in an unmarked grave. The Bratva have been forced to accept Anya’s rule… or face the full fury of the mob.

I stop in the living room, watching as my woman leans against the balcony railing and looks down at Dallas. She’s wearing a dress that outlines her curvy shape as it rests against her perfection.

The best part about the past three weeks has been spending time with her. We’ve gone on dates – mini golf, dinners, theater trips – and I’ve painted the canvas of her body countless times with my lust.

I haven’t wanted to push her too fast, but as I watch her, I almost roar, “I love you.” It’s been over a month since we met. I don’t care if some might think that’s too short a time. It’s the truth, and I’m done tiptoeing.

I walk onto the balcony. “Getting inspiration?”

“The city looks so small from up here, like a series of tiny portraits all stitched together. It looks more like canvas than reality.” She laughs gently. “I’m not even sure what I mean by that, but you can’t blame a girl for feeling artistic in these circumstances.”

“If you didn’t feel artistic, I’d be worried.” I wrap my arms around her from behind. She moans gently and shifts her body against mine. Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “I love you, Sienna.”

She gasps, turns to me, her eyes glittering. “I love you, too,” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“I’ve loved you for weeks.”

She playfully slaps my chest. “Then why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“We’ve got the rest of our lives. What’s the rush? And I didn’t want to push you. I wanted to know you truly felt how you seemed, to me, to feel.”

“Newsflash. I’ve loved you for weeks, too.”

“Are you sure you don’t just love to paint me?” I tease.

Three times, once per week, she has painted or sketched me. Not for Mother’s project, either. “This is just for me,” is all she says.

“Can’t I love both?” she counters.

I kiss her with passion, gripping her hips. I’ll never get tired of sinking my touch into her curvy, perfect body. She moans when I push my throbbing erection against her.

“We’re trying something new.” She gasps. “Follow me.”

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