Page 56 of Seduced By the Mafia Don

"I won't," he says. "I promise."

Am I a fool for believing him? Am I crazy for trusting him? Maybe.

ChapterNineteen

Nico

I could get used to this. Lying beside Sienna feels natural... as natural as our lovemaking. Now that my passion has flared and subsided, I can hold her without succumbing to my primal urges.

"Owning you felt exquisite," I whisper, running my fingers through her hair.

"Being owned by you felt pretty great, too. But, for the record, we're talking figuratively, right?"

I chuckle. "Explain."

"You understand, you don't literally own me. Aware I'm not your property."

"I'm not that insane," I assure her.

"Notthatinsane – so you are a little?"

"Crazy about you..."

"Ugh. Cheesy."

I roll onto my side to meet her gaze. "Ugh? Say that like you mean it."

"You're layered like old paint, Don Moretti. One moment you're savage. The next, you're a... prince. What else will I find out if I continue peeling back those layers, hmm?"

"A prince?" I grin. "That's a new one. I've been called a king before, a mafia king, but never a prince."

She traces her fingertips down my chest, across my stomach. "You're simultaneously romantic and savage. It's a combination I never expected."

"It's a combination I wasn’t aware of until you brought it out in me."

When my cell phone vibrates from my pants pocket on the floor, I sigh deeply.

"Do you have to check that?" she inquires.

"Unfortunately, yes, though I'd prefer not to. Not during..."

"Go on."

"No—"

She presses her hand into my chest. "Go ahead. You don’t need to shield me like some fragile child. I can handle reality."

"I'd rather keep you distanced from mob affairs."

"I'd rather know what you’re doing, so my imagination doesn't conjure up horrific scenarios."

I can’t argue with that logic. I told her I owned her, that I was in charge, because it got us both heated. But when it comes to romance, I refuse to treat her as countless mobsters treat their women. She deserves respect.

Does that make me a hypocrite, multi-layered like she suggested? Or simply human, more nuanced than black and white?

Rising from the bed, I gaze down at her, entangled in the sheets, one breast exposed, her cheeks flushed, her hair disheveled as it fans across the pillows.

"I thought you were checking your phone?" she says breathlessly, still flushed from our intimacy.

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