Page 24 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
I’m addicted to the edge of danger. Always have been.
My daydream shifts without permission, and suddenly I’m imagining Lorenzo beside me on the volcanic trail. His hand in mine, indulging my need to take a million photos. Finding a secluded spot where he could pin me against the rocks and?—
Nope. Absolutely not.
I shake my head hard enough to give myself whiplash. I don’t need anyone to make my adventures complete. Loneliness never killed anybody. Probably.
The office door opens, and I look up to see a man who makes every alarm bell in my head start screaming at once.
He’s tall and pale with dark red hair buzzed short, dressed in black jeans and a charcoal t-shirt under a leather jacket. Nothing obviously threatening about him, but there’s something in the way he moves, like he’s cataloging exits and calculating the effort it would take to break everyone in the room.
He reminds me of Lorenzo when he was angry about the severed hand. That same controlled violence barely held in check.
My gut clenches. This isn’t a client.
“Can I help you?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“I’m Declan.” His voice is deep enough to rattle windows. He pulls out his phone, glancing between the screen and my face like he’s confirming something. “And you’re Mia Andretti.”
I shoot to my feet so fast my chair crashes into the wall behind me. “What? No. I’m Mia Becerra.”
He shrugs like my name is irrelevant. “The picture matches. That’s what matters.”
“Picture?”
He flips the phone around, and my blood turns to ice water. It’s a candid shot of me and Olivia leaving a shoe store in Vegas, laughing at something she said. I remember that moment, we were running last-minute errands for Jill’s wedding.
But I don’t remember anyone taking my picture.
“What do you want?”
His mouth twitches in what might charitably be called a smile but looks more like a threat. “I’m here to collect you for a friend.”
Collect me.Like I’m a fucking package.
“Who?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Your husband wants you to come home, Mia. As soon as possible.”
The audacity of that man could power the Las Vegas Strip for a year.
“That’s not going to happen.” Fury burns through my fear like gasoline on a fire. “Get out before I call the police.”
I reach for the phone, but Declan moves faster than should be legal. He’s around my desk and yanking the phone away before I can blink, ripping the cord clean out of the wall.
Then I’m airborne.
He tosses me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, and I immediately start fighting like a feral cat. “What the fuck are you doing? Put me down!”
He doesn’t even grunt as I punch his back and try to kick him. His arms lock around my legs like steel bands, and he heads for the exit with the casual confidence of a man who’s done this before.
“Let me go!” I scream, hoping someone—anyone—will intervene.
Where the fuck is Ron?
Probably listening to his true-crime podcasts with those noise-canceling headphones, completely oblivious to the actual crimehappening ten feet away. The irony would be funny if I wasn’t being kidnapped.
Declan dumps me into the backseat of a black sedan with all the ceremony of tossing a bag of groceries. I hit the seat hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
