Page 71 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“You used me.” The words come out rough and raw. “This whole thing was just...what? Some elaborate con job?”
Lorenzo’s knuckles go white where he grips the edge of his desk. His shoulders bunch like he’s bracing for impact. “I planned our meeting, yes. When I learned you’d be in Vegas for the wedding, I made sure I got an invitation. I needed to marry you as quickly as possible.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Well, that worked out well for you.”
I press my fingertips against my temples, trying to squeeze out the headache building behind my eyes. Or maybe trying to squeeze out the memories of that night that still refuse to surface. “Did you drug me? Is that how you got me to say yes to marrying a complete stranger?”
His face twists with something that looks like genuine horror. “Christ, no. You were drinking like a fish at the reception. I just...took advantage of the situation.”
“Took advantage.” I repeated with a dark chuckle at the dark situation. “That’s one way to put it. What was Plan B if I hadn’t been conveniently wasted? Gun to my head until I said ‘I do’?”
He looks down at the desk, and my stomach drops. There was a Plan B.
“I was going to blackmail you.” His voice is quiet, almost ashamed. “Your brother-in-law’s company is failing. With your sister pregnant, it’s bad timing for him to lose everything. I was going to offer to save it...for a price.”
The room spins a little. “What price?”
“You marry me, I bail him out.”
I stare at him. Actually stare, because I’m not sure my brain is processing this correctly. “You were going to play hero while holding my family hostage. That’s...” I shake my head. “That’s actually kind of brilliant, in a completelyfuckedway.”
He winces. “It wasn’t my best plan.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It probably would have worked.” The admission hurts to say, but it’s true. I love my family, even if I’ve never quite fit in with them.
I would have done anything to keep my sister from stress during her pregnancy. “But why do you need me to actually like you? If you’ve got me locked down with a marriage certificate, what’s the difference?”
Lorenzo moves around the desk, closing the distance between us. My body responds before my brain can stop it. Pulse quickening, skin heating, that familiar flutter low in my belly.
I hate that I still want him.
“Your father won’t ally with me just because you’re wearing my ring,” he says. “Marriage gets me in the door, but I need you to convince him. I need you on my side when I make my pitch.”
The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. “So you had to make me fall for you. Make me believe this was real.”
“It is real.” His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones. “Mia, listen to me?—”
“Don’t.” I try to step back, but he follows, crowding me against the wall. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s real when you just admitted to orchestrating the whole thing.”
“That’s not—” He stops, jaw working. “Yes, I planned it. But things changed. From the moment I saw your picture, something shifted inside me.”
I want to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe both. “My picture? How long have you been watching me, Lorenzo?”
“A few weeks before you came to Vegas.” His confession is quiet, almost gentle. “I told myself it was research, gathering intelligence. But I think...I think I became obsessed with you before we ever met.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “You’re a stalker.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission shouldn’t make my pulse race, but it does. There’s something thrilling about being wanted that intensely, even if it’s completely fucked up. What does that say about me?
“I followed you while you were here,” he continues, his voice dropping to that rough whisper that makes my knees weak. “Watched you at coffee shops, at the pool, shopping with your friends. I couldn’t stay away. And when I finally got to touch you, to taste you...” His forehead drops to mine. “I knew you were mine. Not because of any alliance. Because you belong to me.”
His breath is warm against my lips. It would be so easy to close the distance, to let him kiss away all the hurt and betrayal. My body is screaming at me to do exactly that.
Instead, I press my palms against his chest and push. “I’m leaving.”
He doesn’t budge. “You can’t. Nothing has changed about the danger you’re in.”
