Page 1 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
1
PAIGE
Oh no.No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
I’m such an idiot.
I stare at the man sprawled next to me in bed, and my stomach twists into origami.
Every decision I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours deserves its own personal exhibit in the Museum of Terrible Life Choices.
What the actual hell was I thinking? There’s a reason they call this place Sin City, and I—naïve, idiotic me—walked right into its jaws like a lamb to slaughter.
You need to step outside your comfort zone. Be a little reckless and have fun for once in your life.
That was Rosa’s brilliant idea when she suggested this trip. My best friend doesn’t know I’m originally from Vegas because I don’t talk to anyone about my childhood here. It was a different life—one I’ve sealed away in a vault labeled “Do Not Open Under Any Circumstances.”
But now I’m lying in bed next to a six-foot-two, muscle-bound, scary-as-hell reminder of my past.
Of all the men I could have run into last night, why did this one have to turn out to be an Andretti?
I had no clue until this morning. He’s got tattoos scattered across his chest and arms—which, not gonna lie, I found ridiculously sexy last night. But it’s the one on his back that makes my blood freeze: a snarling wolf framed in dark, ornate scrollwork, with a dagger cutting through a bold letter A.
I’ve seen that mark before, back when my dad worked for the head of the Andretti family.
My fault. My stupid, tequila-soaked fault.
When the tall, dark, and obscenely handsome man introduced himself as Dario at the club last night, I didn’t bother to ask his last name. Didn’t think it mattered, even when he invited me back to his hotel room with those molten chocolate eyes and that half-smile that made my knees weak.
Talk about learning a lesson the hard way.
Why the hell is he even staying in a hotel? If he’s an Andretti—and that tattoo confirms it beyond any doubt—then he must live in Vegas with the rest of the violent criminals he calls family.
That thought jolts me into action. My shock has kept me frozen beside him for too long. He could wake up any moment.
Slowly slipping out of the bed, I keep my eyes locked on Dario, hyperaware of any change in his breathing pattern.
The last thing I need is a conversation. I’ve never had a poker face worth a damn, and if he realizes I know who he is, I’ll be in serious danger. These mafia men guard their secrets with blood.
Lying on his stomach, facing away from me, Dario’s breathing is deep and steady. The blanket covers him from the waist down, but he’s just as naked as I am.
Desire blasts through me, hot and electric, and a shiver races down my spine as memories of last night flash through my mind like a highlight reel from the kind of movie you don’t watch with your parents.
After leaving the club, his hands were all over me the second we were alone in the elevator. I barely remember making it to the room. Somehow, he got us inside without his lips leaving mine.
Looking around the suite, I see our clothes scattered about. He’d taken charge so easily, and I was more than happy to let him. I was on this trip to get over my ex-boyfriend cheating on me, and wild sex with a gorgeous stranger seemed like a damn good way to do it.
His hands are so big, and sweet Jesus, he knew how to use them, manhandling my breasts and teasing my clit until I was a panting, begging mess. We hadn’t even made it to the bed at that point, which explains why I find my panties on the floor next to the couch.
This suite is huge, with a sitting area, a full kitchen, and a bedroom. The view through the windows is something out of a travel magazine, and I remember looking out at the city lights last night while I was bent over the back of the couch, being pounded into from behind by Dario. I can still feel his hands onmy hips, fingers digging in, as his cock brought me right to the edge of sanity.
That was just the first time he took me. The man has stamina that would make a marathon runner jealous. Combined with his strength and single-minded focus, he threw me around like a rag doll, dominating me in ways I’d only fantasized about.
My pulse races and my nipples tighten traitorously as the memories replay in vivid technicolor. But there’s a frown on my face as I pull on my panties and search for my bra. I can’t stop my skin from tingling when I think about his lips tracing fire down the side of my neck.
This whole thing was a catastrophic mistake. Gritting my teeth, I give up finding my bra and pull my slinky black dress on. The longer I’m in this hotel suite with him, the more hatred and regret crystallize in my veins.
My head is already pounding from the hangover, and it’s getting worse with each passing second. My mouth is desert-dry, and my stomach is queasy—though that might just be guilt.
