Page 22 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
"No," he murmurs. "This is about finding out what you’re worth, Gianna Rossi."
"I’m worth exactly what I say I am," I reply, voice low and sharp as a blade kept too long in the dark. "And if you think otherwise, feel free to put that in your report. I’m sure Luca would love to see a full cost-benefit analysis of who’s still keeping his southern corridor functional."
That gets a smile from him—faint, crooked, full of things I shouldn’t want.
He pushes back from the table slowly, standing to his full height.
The room shifts with him, not physically, but perceptibly.
The temperature doesn’t change, but my pulse does.
My mouth tastes of blood orange and espresso and something far more dangerous now.
He walks, not around the table, but behind it.
Behind me.
I don’t turn to look.
I hear the quiet tap of leather soles on marble, the faint catch of breath as he stops just at my back, so close I feel the heat of him pulse against my shoulder blades.
Still, I don't look.
"You always sit at the head of the table, don’t you?" he says, his voice pitched lower now. It’s a comment, not a question.
"I’ve earned the chair."
"I believe you. That’s what makes it so interesting."
I don’t answer.
My spine remains straight, posture perfect, even as every nerve in my body goes tight with awareness.
He’s circling me now.
He stops beside my chair and leans down, placing his hand flat beside mine on the table.
His mouth is near my ear again, but this time, he doesn’t speak.
He breathes.
Then, "If you earned the chair, show me how you hold it."
I turn my head slowly.
Our faces are so close now that I can count the gold flecks in his eyes, can see the slight indentation in his lower lip where he must have bitten it earlier out of boredom or pleasure.
His gaze drops again—not to my chest, but to my mouth, as though already plotting what to do with it.
"I’m not some coin to be weighed, Salvatore," I murmur, not moving away.
"No. You’re a weapon," he replies, his tone dark and amused. "And I like weapons that know they’re sharp."
The breath between us hums with heat.
He reaches down and runs two fingers along the length of my wrist, featherlight.
I know what this is.
