Page 48 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“It’s too dangerous,” he says for the millionth time over dinner, cutting his steak with surgical precision. “The Bratva?—”
“The Bratva can kiss my ass,” I interrupt, setting my fork down with more force than necessary. “I can’t live locked up forever, Lorenzo. I’m not built for captivity.”
He looks up from his plate, those dark eyes studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Am I? Or am I being human?”
That’s when I deploy my secret weapon; complete and utter silence.
I finish my dinner without saying another word, then excuse myself with a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. Lorenzo watches me go with a frown.
He underestimates how determined I can be when I want something. I’m not one of his mafia soldiers who jumps when he barks orders. I’m his wife, drunk mistake or not, and I refuse to let him call all the shots.
By bedtime, my silent treatment is clearly getting to him. He stomps around our bedroom like a grumpy bear, slamming doors and muttering under his breath about “unreasonable women.”
It’s actually kind of adorable.
This isn’t the cold, terrifying anger I saw when that severed hand showed up. This is more like...a tantrum. The big, bad mafia don is having a legitimate tantrum because his wife won’t talk to him.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I slip into my fleece pajama pants and a tank top covered in little stars. It’s the most unsexy sleepwear I own, and I wear it on purpose.
Lorenzo notices immediately. Of course he does.
“What the hell is that?” He gestures at my outfit like it personally offended him.
I blink at him innocently. “Pajamas?”
“You’ve been sleeping in my shirts.”
I shrug, settling onto my side of the bed. “Maybe I’m not in the mood for that tonight.”
His jaw ticks. “Are you punishing me?”
“Do you consider this a punishment?”
We stare at each other across the expanse of his ridiculously large bed. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
This is our first real standoff since the spanking incident. But there’s more to it than just getting my way about a night out.
I’m establishing boundaries. Testing limits. If I’m going to give this insane marriage a real shot, I need to know I still have some power over my own life.
Lorenzo lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a growl and a sigh, and the low rumble of it sends heat pooling between my thighs. My resolve wavers for exactly two seconds before I steel myself.
“Are you always going to be this stubborn?” he asks, starting to strip off his clothes. He sleeps naked most nights. Well, he usually ends up that way after we inevitably have sex.
“Yes,” I say, trying not to let my eyes wander as he reveals that criminally perfect body inch by inch.
But my eyes have a mind of their own, and they absolutely wander. Down his pecs, over those ridiculously defined abs, lower still to where?—
He catches me looking and flashes that cocky smirk that should be classified as a weapon.
That snaps me out of it real quick.
I huff and flip over, giving him my back and yanking the blankets up to my chin. “Goodnight, Lorenzo.”
I hear him chuckle as the lights go out. The mattress dips as he slides in behind me, and then his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back against his warm body. His breath tickles my neck as he nuzzles into my hair.
Every instinct I have screams at me to melt into him. To let him coax me out of my stubborn mood with those clever hands and that sinful mouth. But I force myself to stay rigid in his arms.
