Page 77 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?”
No.
The answer comes immediately, instinctively. But maybe that’s the problem. I’ve been trusting my instincts with this man from day one, and look where it’s gotten me.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I say instead. “I probably should have asked more questions from the beginning. Should have demanded answers. But I went with the flow because you intrigued me, and by the time I started to care...” I shrug. “Maybe I was afraid to push because I suspected this marriage was based on something I wouldn’t like.”
“You think I don’t really care about you?”
“How can I trust that you’re truly into me when everything between us was built on a foundation of lies?” My voice cracks slightly. “What future could we possibly have?”
Lorenzo’s jaw ticks, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
Darla returns with our food, and the smell of my fried chicken sandwich makes my stomach practically growl with need. I take a massive bite, and the spicy sauce hits my tongue in the best possible way. A moan escapes before I can stop it.
“Jesus, that’s good.”
Lorenzo’s eyes go dark. “You’re killing me, baby.”
I roll my eyes, but heat pools low in my belly. Despite everything—the lies, the manipulation, the complete clusterfuck that is my life—I can’t deny that he still wants me. One moan and he’s ready to throw the table across the room. Figures.
We eat in relative silence, and I hate how pathetic I feel. Part of me wishes I could go back to two days ago when I was blissfully ignorant and stupidly happy in my unconventional marriage. Before I knew about the stalking. Before I learned I was just a chess piece in his war.
I shouldn’t want my ignorance back. But this ache in my chest is new, and I’d give anything to make it stop.
“You know those expectations I was talking about?” Lorenzo finally breaks the silence, as he finishes his food. “It wasn’t just about becoming Don. Taking over the position wasn’t enough. I had to learn to deal with the pressure of running an organization this size, living up to the family legacy. Every decision I make affects dozens of people who depend on me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what else to say. I need you to understand why I made the choices I did.”
I push my half-eaten sandwich away, my appetite officially gone. “I do understand. You’ve made it clear how much your people mean to you. I’ve seen how worried you get about the Bratva. So yeah, I get it. You came up with a plan to guarantee victory—alliance by marriage. It’s traditional in your world, right?”
My voice comes out flat and emotionless, which is perfect. No need to let him hear how much this is tearing me apart.
“None of that changes the fact that you used me,” I continue. “Even if youdiddevelop feelings later, the trust between us is shattered. And sometimes broken things can’t be fixed.”
Lorenzo looks like I’ve physically struck him. He leans back, blinking rapidly, then his expression hardens into something sharp and determined.
“I think you’re underestimating my determination, Mia. I’ll prove to you that I care about you, no matter how this started.”
God, I want to believe him. If it’s true that he fell for me despite his original intentions, could that be enough? Can people build something real on a foundation of lies?
But then there’s the stalking to consider. He’s shown some remorse about using me for the alliance, but zero guilt about watching me. In fact, he’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t plan to stop.
The really fucked up part? Thinking about him stalking me doesn’t kill my feelings. When I imagine him lurking in shadows, watching me live my life, heat shoots through my veins.
It’s the same rush I get from risky behavior. That stomach-dropping thrill right before I jump out of a plane or the adrenaline high from flying over sand dunes. The difference isthose feelings are fleeting. What I have with Lorenzo feels like it could consume me completely.
If I let it.
Maybe that makes me weak. Maybe I’m just as twisted as he is.
I need space to figure out how I really feel. Looking at Lorenzo across this table, with those intense dark eyes and that mouth that knows how to make me forget my own name, I know I’ll never think clearly if he’s constantly around.
“When are you taking me to see my family?”
His gaze shifts away from mine. Classic tell.
