Page 89 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
“Well–what else would it be?” I demand. “A life?”
“That depends on if you could stomach being withMr. Mafia.”
“You don’t like that nickname, do you?”
“That’s not what I am. I play that role because I have to, because if I didn’t, someone else might come along, someone worse, and use it to do sick things. But it’s not whoIam.”
“What do you want from life? Do you think about the future?”
“I’m a little older than you. I should think about it.”
I nudge him playfully again. “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically. “I’m thirty-seven, angel.”
“And I’m twenty-three. Now, are we done stating pointless facts?”
“It wouldn’t be pointless to some.”
“It is to me,” I tell him. “But fine, let’s say it’s an age thing or just a you thing, but do you ever think about life? Your future. Stuff like that.”
“Honestly? Before you, no.” His voice grows gruffer, as if he’s putting up a defensive shield. “If a future, a life, was ever going to be a thing for me, it’d be through some arranged mafia alliance. Some political connection. I’ve always hated that idea.”
“Someone else choosing for you would be weird,” I agree.
“So I just blocked it out. But when I climbed into your boat, I wasn’t the mafia prince anymore. There wasn’t all this bullshit weighing me down. I was just a man making you laugh.”
“And then… you thought about it? The future?”
“I’m not some old-school mafioso who’s going to claim you after a few days, Siena. I will not chart our course here and now. But yeah, I’ve thought about it. A house. Kids. A future. I can see that one day.”
I kiss his chest.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“For being honest,” I murmur.
“Do you ever want kids?”
“Yes,” I answer, maybe too eagerly. “I’ve never had any doubt there. As for when and who with… I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Think about it now,” he says with passion.
I close my eyes, sink into a dream of the future, a barbecue or a party or a fireside scene, me and this almost stranger, and a house full of love and laughter. The fantasy is comforting, but it’s also dangerous. There’s so much between us and that, and I don’t want to make any firm commitments.
“I can see it,” I whisper. “In the future.”
“Inthefuture,” he mutters.
“I’m not going to sayourfuture, Mr. Mafia. Here and now, remember? That feels like it’s a million years away.”
He rubs my shoulder and kisses the top of my head, then inhales like he wants to draw my scent into him. “This is enough,” he says huskily. “For now.”
As sleep finally takes me, that phrase bounces around my head.
For now.
He’s planted the seed. It’s growing. But after this trip is over, if it somehow has a happy ending, I have a life of my own to return to. Work. Mom’s business. Dreams and aspirations.
