Page 7 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“He’s my best option.”
That fucking right? “But he already turned you down?”
“No. He offered me a better alternative. His words, not mine.”
I laugh. “Me?”
“Sad, but true.”
“You were pursuing me.”
“Pursuing? Yes. Offering you my tender heart?” Her face contorts. “Absolutely not.”
I’m hurt. “Why not?” I demand.
“As entertaining and deliciously wicked as you are”—she tosses her long black hair over her shoulder—“I’m out of your league, Hot Pants.”
I think I’m in love.
She gives me this look, her emerald eyes slicing through my defenses, her body a weapon she doesn’t even know how to use. “We’ll marry, then divorce when I turn twenty-two.”
I choke on my own breath. I’ve just been outplayed. Instinct takes over, and I quickly untie her and push off the mattress like it’s ablaze. “You said you were out of my league.”
“Well, I’ll take you over Accardo.”
Bitch-slapped. That’s what this feels like, with me her bitch.
She slides off the bed, smooths her dress, then runs her fingers through her long black hair, erasing every trace of struggle. Like our wedding’s already a go.
“In case you missed it, I’m uninterested in the Life.”
She fiddles with the gaudy pink feathers on her dress, trying to arrange the collar so they don’t fall over like wilted weeds. The more she smooths them upward, the more they spring into different directions, every which way but up.
“You’re a capo’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. And now, suddenly, I want in?” Like I’ll give up my freedom before I’m forced into doing so.
“You can continue with your lifestyle.” She sighs with exaggeration. “I’m fine if we don’t marry until I’m twenty-one.”
“My lifestyle?” I demand.
“Come on, Lorenzo?—”
“Renzo.”
“Fine, Renzo. I’ll spell it out for you. You spend Friday nights at Providence’s Sin City and every Saturday getting high and laid at one of several nightclubs.”
Jesus.
“That lifestyle.”
I trace my fingers across my chin. My marrying anyone is fucking ridiculous. Being shackled to one woman? Giving up all the filthy pleasures the world has to offer? Having to answer for my habits, my kinks?
Not happening.
“My father won’t agree. Not even if it’s Sandro.”
Her eyes flash with disgust. “Sandro?”
“It won’t be me,” I say in a firm tone, hoping she’ll drop the idea.
