Page 35 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“How did you know I love Fleetwood Mac?” I turn to find him much closer, his gaze fixed on my ass in its white lace glory.
“Lucky guess.”
Lie.
My skin prickles with unease, but I shove the feeling down. So what if he did some research? Rich guys probably have people who handle that kind of thing, right? Like personal shoppers, but for stalking.
I check the tag. My exact size, naturally. Anotherlucky guess, I’m sure.
“Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Hungry?”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl like a feral animal. I press a hand to my abdomen and laugh. “Starving. I didn’t exactly get to finish lunch before I was kidnapped.”
I shoot him a pointed look, but honestly? I’m not that mad anymore. Hard to stay pissed at someone who just gave you the best orgasms of your life.
“I wonder what my bosses think,” I muse, pulling the T-shirt over my head. “I mean, I was literally dragged out of the office screaming. Ron probably called the cops. There could be a manhunt happening right now.”
“They’re not looking for you.”
The absolute certainty in his voice makes me pause with one leg in a pair of shorts. “How do you know?”
“I took care of it. Most men have a price. That includes Ron.”
Ouch. That stings more than it should. I always thought Ron had more integrity than that, but apparently everyone’s got their number.
Lorenzo must catch my expression because he closes the distance between us, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. His thumb traces my collarbone in a way that makes my brain go fuzzy.
“Don’t be upset,” he says softly. “He was told it was just a lovers’ quarrel. That you’re safe.”
Great. So now my boss thinks I’m the kind of woman who gets into screaming matches with men who drag me away from work. My professional reputation is probably shot to hell.
But hey, at least I’m not on a milk carton.
Once I’m dressed, I follow Lorenzo downstairs. The smell of garlic hits me like a warm hug, and my stomach practically sings with joy.
“Maybe I should have a word with Declan,” Lorenzo says, glancing back at me with a frown. “He should have fed you.”
As tempting as it is to throw the guy under the bus, I decide to be honest. “He tried. Went to a drive-thru, but I started screaming for help the second we pulled up to the speaker. He peeled out of there like his ass was on fire.”
Lorenzo actually laughs—this rich, genuine sound that does horrible things to my insides. “You really are a handful, aren’t you?”
He says it like it’s a compliment, and my heart practically purrs. It’s crazy how this man can be so intimidating when he’s being the big bad mafia don, but nothing I do seems to actually piss him off. Even my “punishment” felt more like pleasure with a side of dominance.
Setting the table feels surprisingly natural. Like we’ve done this a thousand times instead of being virtual strangers who happened to get drunk-married in Vegas. Lorenzo pulls a baked pasta dish from the oven along with garlic bread, and just the smell of it makes my mouth water.
We settle in to eat, and I notice he’s poured red wine for both of us. I take careful, measured sips. After getting blackout drunk on our wedding night, I’m a little gun shy about alcohol around Lorenzo.
We’ve barely started eating when his phone rings. He checks the screen, then glances at me with this momentary indecision that’s almost endearing.
“Sorry,dolcezza. I need to take this. Business.”
I nod and wave him off. The fact that he bothered to explain instead of just answering makes me stupidly happy.
He steps into the living room, but I can still hear every word.
“Send me the footage of the abduction,” he says, his voice gone cold and sharp. “We know it was Will’s hand, but maybe we can learn something from the video.”
My appetite vanishes like someone flipped a switch. Right. The severed hand. The reality of what Lorenzo does for a living crashes over me like ice water.
