Page 115 of Dirty Mafia Torment
He grunts.
“What?”
“She’s taken good care of you during your recovery. So much so, you almost sound eager to return.”
Typical Dante. Lover to many. Loyal to none.
But my answer surprises him as much as it alarms him.
“She didn’t just sober me up, she saved me.”
FINA
Out of breath,I slam the barn door shut before the rooster can assault me again. Blood trickles down my calf where he struck. He’s definitely left his mark.
The cocky feather-devil.
“What the fuck happened?” Renzo bursts out.
I didn’t come racing back to the farm to be attacked by poultry. No. I came for sex, orgasms, and the thrill he always stirs up in me.
Talk about a buzz kill.
“Just another male trying to knock me down a peg.” I remove a sanitizing wipe and Band-Aid from my purse, then dab at the wound like I’m not furious.
Chains rattle as Renzo tugs at them. “He’s outside?” Concern echoes within his tone, but there’s nothing he can do, not with those iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles.
“I left a hay bale in the drive this morning. When I came back, it was gone. He’s scared shitless of them.”
“An animal hurt you?”
I don’t answer. He gets a star for answering correctly.
Silence stretches. I finish sanitizing my hands when he finally speaks, voice low and rough, causing my stomach to tangle in knots.
“Maybe the wind took it.”
“Wind?” I laugh. Italy’s in a heat wave. There’s barely a breeze. “You hungry?” I ask, grabbing the tote and stepping closer, so done with this discussion and the feathered nuisance.
“Fucking starving.”
Guilt tugs at me. If I open that cooler, I know it’ll be empty. Not much to do all day but eat and sober up. But Dante gave strict orders. One month. I won’t break my word. I get busy laying out tonight’sfeast. An antipasto starter, grilled salmon with capers, fresh roasted vegetables, and cannolis Aunt Teresa made earlier this morning.
She questioned me sneaking double-portion meals into the bag.
I told her it was just an old LA habit, grab-and-go convenience. Nothing more.
“Fina.”
The way he says my name, low and rough and ripe with hunger, sends a jolt straight to my core. I freeze midreach, the cannolis trembling in my hand as I meet his eyes.
“Dinner can wait.”
My breath catches, and heat flares low in my belly.
I nearly drop the cannolis.
“I’m starving for you.”
