Page 13 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
He doesn’t stop me as I dart past him and lock the door. But instead of feeling safer, I feel cornered. The small space suddenly feels like a cage.
God, I really am trapped, aren’t I?
I pace the tiny bathroom, splash cold water on my face, pace some more. Can I even escape this man? Will he actually force me to go with him?
I don’t want to think so, but I don’t know him at all. Don’t know what he’s capable of.
I shouldn’t have slept with him. I got caught up in the heat, the thrill of being wanted so desperately. But if he thinks that makes me his obedient little wife, he’s got another thing coming.
His voice carries through the door, deep and authoritative. Curiosity wins over caution, and I crack the door to listen.
He’s standing at the window, phone pressed to his ear. There’s tension in every line of his body, muscles bunched around his shoulders. The tattoo on his back catches my eye—a snarling wolf framed in dark scrollwork, a dagger slicing through the letterAbeneath it. Elegant. Violent.
“If you can’t get his cooperation, find a way to persuade him.”
Silence.
“Then put a bullet in his head. Call me when it’s handled.”
My stomach drops to the floor. I close the door as quietly as possible and press my back against it, eyes squeezed shut.
Put a bullet in his head.
Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into?
I force myself to breathe. To think. Lorenzo is dangerous, that much is crystal clear. And the only thing I know about him is that he’s incredible in bed and apparently comfortable ordering executions over breakfast.
I can’t predict what he’ll do if I try to run. If he’s as powerful as he claims, no one’s going to help me escape him.
I’ll have to be smart about this. Bide my time. Wait for the right moment.
Decision made, I emerge from the bathroom to find him dressed again.
“Time to go.” No room for argument in his tone. “You packed?”
“Yeah, for my return to LA.” I can’t help the sarcasm that creeps into my voice, even though I’ve already decided compliance is my best strategy for now.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” His voice turns arctic. “You should never take it off.”
“They’re two rings.”
“That’s what the jeweler said most women prefer. Don’t you like them?”
“Jeweler?” My brain stumbles over the timeline. “When did you buy these? You already had them last night?”
His eyes dart to the nightstand where I left the rings. He stalks over and grabs them, then takes my hand and slides them on, wedding band first, then the massive diamond.
“If you don’t like them, I’ll get you something else. But wear these until then.”
“It’s not that I don’t like them.” The flutter in my stomach pisses me off. “It’s that I never agreed to get married in the first place.”
He keeps hold of my hand and pulls me toward the door, grabbing my suitcase with his free hand. Smart man, removing my escape route. I tug against his grip just before we hit the hallway.
“Why, Lorenzo?” The question tears out of me. “You say you were sober, you already had rings, and you’re refusing to take no for an answer. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
Instead of answering, he kisses me. And damn it, part of me wonders if this is his standard response to inconvenient questions. Another part of me doesn’t entirely mind.
