Page 72 of Broken Mafia Prince
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Hmm. This from the same man who wanted to send me to the ICU because of a bullet graze? Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” he grits out.
I grab his arm before he can start driving and shoot him a stern glare. “Just in case it’s not clear to you, I don’t plan on dying today. Either from the Syndicate’s attacks or by my driver dying at the steering wheel.”
Electricity charges between us as our eyes meet, and the interior of the car suddenly feels too small and cramped, like there’s not enough air in it.
After what feels like an eternity, he yanks his hand away. “The bullet didn’t get deep. Digging it out will be easy. I’ll even let you have a go at it when we are in the safehouse, but we’re not safe here, and my priority is getting us the fuck out of here.”
“Fine.”
The car comes alive with a smooth rumble, Raffaele navigating us away from the warehouse. The car flies down the lit streets, and I find myself watching the way his large hands expertly handle the steering, weaving us through traffic and corners. I peek at his veiny forearms revealed from his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and my mouth waters.
I clench my thighs together when I feel a pulse between my legs. I’m not attracted to Raffaele Gagliardi; this is just a fluke. It has to be because of the adrenaline from the fight, nothing else. I chant the words over and over in my head.
The tarred streets eventually give way to a dirt road, the car rumbling through the uneven part until we finally pull over at a decrepit little wooden structure. I stare at the building in surprise.
“If you wanted to kill me, you didn’t have to bring me all the way out here to do it,” I tell him.
“I know.” He steps out of the car.
I hesitate to join him outside the safety of the car, wondering what stupid part of me let a man I barely know drive me to a strange location. He could be in league with his father, and this may have just been a master plan to lure me here.
My door is pulled open, and the moonlight overhead allows me to see the tall man clearly. “Are you coming, or would you rather sleep in the car?”
“The car.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Try not to drool all over my seats. They’re custom leather.”
“You’re a dick,” I say, stepping out of the car angrily.
Together, we make our way to the front door. There’s a keypad on the door, and he types in some numbers, too fast for me to take a note of them. The light on the sensor turns green, and there’s a clicking sound. He turns the door handle and pushes it open, motioning me inside.
As soon as I step inside the house, there is a whirring sound, and all the lights come on, almost blinding me. The inside of the house is clean and rustic, with a stripped double bed in one corner, a kitchenette in another, a small TV, and a door that I assume leads to the bathroom.
I stare at the bed in horror. There’s no way that a man of Raffaele’s size and I would fit on that bed without being pressed intimately together. A whole night spent that close to him sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.
I clear my throat and tear my eyes away from the bed, searching for a distraction. “Let’s get your wound looked at.”
“I have a kit in the cabinet.” He motions in the direction of the cupboard under the kitchen sink, and I go to retrieve it.
Raffaele joins me at the sink, and before he can reach for the button on his shirt, I slap his hand away and undo it. Everything around us seems to slow as that first button pops open, mymouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara. I keep my gaze fixed on what I’m doing as I slowly undo the other buttons.
Finally, the two sides of his shirt gape open, revealing a tanned expanse of skin that makes blood rush to my head. I lock my knees together as I pull the shirt off, feeling unbalanced at the sight of the row of abs and the V line disappearing into his pants. For the first time in my life, I understand why a woman would want to trail her mouth down a guy’s stomach and drop to her knees for him.
My tongue drags over my lip, and I grab the box, flinging it open with too much force.
“There’s clean towels in the rack above.” Raffaele’s voice is deep, husky, and I feel it all the way to the junction of my legs.
I rise on the tip of my toes, unaware of what I’m doing until I feel my body sliding over his. My breath catches in my throat, and he lets out a hiss.
“Giulia.”
“I need to clean the area after I dig out the bullet. I know what I’m doing, okay?”
“I never said you didn’t.”
