Page 65 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
Maybe I’m just as twisted as Lorenzo.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, spinning toward the stairs.
I can’t stay here drowning in this suffocating quiet while every inch of this place reminds me of him. I need air. I need space. Ineed to do something that will piss him off just enough to give me back some semblance of control.
In our bedroom—god, when did I start thinking of it asours?—I head to the closet for shoes. My eyes drift to the back wall where I replaced that hidden panel. With it properly in place, you’d never know it existed. The perfect hiding spot for a perfect stalker.
For a split second, I’m tempted to open it again, to look at those pictures and try to understand what they mean. But I resist. I’ve seen enough for one day.
I slip on strappy sandals and head downstairs. The moment I step onto the porch, a man in black appears from nowhere like a mafia jack-in-the-box. He positions himself at the bottom of the steps, not quite blocking my path but close enough to make his point.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Andretti?”
I don’t bother correcting him about the name. “I want to go shopping.”
Lorenzo gave me a credit card last week with “no limit”, which seems like a dangerous thing to tell a woman who’s currently pissed at you for being a creepy stalker. There’s definitely some temptation to show him just how big a mistake that was.
My bodyguard pulls out his phone, keeping his eyes on me as he makes the obvious call.
“Hey, boss. She wants to leave.” A pause while Lorenzo responds, and I cross my arms, pop my hip, and tap my foot, the very picture of a woman with zero patience for this bullshit. “She says she wants to go shopping.”
“Iamgoing shopping!” I call loudly enough for Lorenzo to hear.
The bodyguard’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, and I glare at him.Try me, asshole.
“Yeah, boss. I got her.” He ends the call and jerks his head toward a massive black SUV. “I’m going with you.”
Of course he is. My own car has been sitting in Lorenzo’s garage collecting dust since he had it shipped here. Every time I leave this house, it’s with him or one of his men behind the wheel, like I’m some kind of precious cargo that might explode if left unsupervised.
“Lead the way, Mafia Man.”
He grimaces. “Probably best if you don’t call me that in public. Name’s Aldo.”
“Nice to meet you.” I yank open the passenger door before he can do it for me. “We probably met at the party, didn’t we?”
“We did, but you met about fifty people that night.”
“More like a hundred. You all start to blur together after a while.” I buckle my seatbelt and start typing into the SUV’s GPS. “Are you family?”
“Nah, just a soldier. My old man was a capo under the previous don.”
“Lorenzo’s father?” The GPS directs us toward the Wynn, where I spotted a boutique earlier that looked the right amount of fancy to do some damage to Lorenzo’s credit limit.
Any time I try to ask about his childhood, Lorenzo clams up tighter than a bear trap. I’ve always wondered why.
“Yep. Tough bastard. Been dead a long time, but people still shake when they hear his name.”
Something cold slithers down my spine. “You sound like you admire that.”
Aldo shrugs. “We’re not in the business of making friends. When Lorenzo’s father ran things, everyone feared the Andrettis. He would’ve crushed the Bratva because he didn’t give a shit about rules or etiquette.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, really. Just that my dad used to tell stories about the old days, when men weren’t afraid to do what was necessary.”
I think about that severed hand in a box and shudder. “It was worse than now?”
“Let’s just say the old don wasn’t afraid to cross lines. Rival’s kids weren’t off limits. Civilians didn’t matter. Women knew their place, and loyalty was everything.”
