Page 8 of Mafia Men Need Love Too
Reaching out and tucking a curl behind her ear was an impulse. Letting his fingertips linger on her delicate cheekbone was a choice—one he didn’t regret for a single fucking second.
River had the softest skin he’d ever felt. Her sharp intake of breath was good for his ego, too. So was the convulsive swallow that rippled its way down the slender column of her throat.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He wanted to kiss her again. More than he wanted his next breath. But doing so would’ve felt…wrong. Predatory, somehow. He didn’t want her feeling obligated to accept his kiss. Or to kiss him back because she was grateful he wasn’t going to kill her.
He wanted her to beg for his kiss for no other reason than she wanted him even half as much as he wanted her.
So, he abruptly (but with much regret) pulled his hand away and motioned for her to exit the car. “I’m driving.”
She blinked at him in confusion for a second, but eventually did as she was told. Once they’d switched places (which took some maneuvering, because he’d practically had to fold himself in half to squeeze into the driver’s seat of her completely substandard car, even after he’d moved it back as far as it would go), she asked, “Where are we going?”
“Home, fiorellino. You’re coming home with me.”
Chapter 6
There were a lot of ways River’s day could’ve ended.
She’d considered all of them since she’d found that giant Russian in her kitchen. Most of the variants ended in her death, much like the Avengers fighting Thanos. Still, a small number ended with her walking away from the kidnapping relatively unscathed. Or at least, only minorly scathed.
But not once in all her imaginings did she end up at a mob boss’s home as his guest. Or was she his prisoner? She wasn’t exactly sure anymore.
What she did know was that while she might be held against her will, she would not be doing so in squalor.
“Come,” Nico said, taking her elbow as she exited the car, guiding her to the front door of the biggest house River had ever seen. “We need to get inside.”
If there were such a thing as a mid-century modern fortress, a picture of Nico’s mansion would accompany it in the dictionary. The elongated, two-story architectural masterpiece was situated comfortably in a copse of mature pine, cottonwood, and birch trees. Warm horizontal cedar paneling intersected with cool swaths of pale stone, creating a striking contrast of textures that somehow managed to be both inviting and intimidating...much like the man who called it home.
She could imagine curling up with a book in front of one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows. But as she stepped through the oversized front door, she figured she shouldn’t be worried about finding a reading spot. Not when she was lucky to even be alive at this point.
The living room was as impressive as the outside, she quickly realized. It even smelled expensive. Like cedar, lemon floor polish, and something River couldn’t identify. Thousand-dollar bills, maybe?
Regardless, the space radiated the kind of effortless elegance River had only ever seen in glossy design magazines. Natural light spilled across sleek, low-slung furniture with clean lines and subtle curves, while the walnut-toned ceiling slats created playful shadows that danced along the neutral walls and soft upholstery.
River was a little afraid to touch anything. Everything here probably cost more than she made in a year. She didn’t want to mess any of it up with her grubby, poor-people paw prints. “Um…how long do you expect me to stay here?”
He raised a brow at her. “Why? Are the accommodations not to your liking?”
She side-eyed him. “The accommodations are better than royalty is used to. I just have things I have to take care of at home.”
A frown line creased his brow and his eyes hardened in a way that dropped the temperature in the room twenty degrees. “Boyfriend?”
If he didn’t have that scary look on his face, she’d laugh at the question. A boyfriend. Pfffttt. She hadn’t even had a date since the divorce.
And the last time they’d had lunch, her mother suggested she freeze her eggs since she “wasn’t getting any younger and didn’t have any prospects in sight.” Which was why she only got together with her mom once a month. Anything more than that was bad for her self-esteem.
“No,” she managed to admit without laughing. “No boyfriend.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d say the look on his face was relief. But that couldn’t be right…could it?
“In that case, I’ll send someone to your house to pick up whatever you’ll need for, oh, I don’t know, maybe a few days,” Nico said. “Or however long it takes to figure out what’s going on with Ricky.”
She flinched when he barked out what sounded like a stern order in Italian, then flinched again when another giant man seemed to materialize out of the damn ether.
Seriously, what did these guys eat? How was the mafia growing such huge dudes?
This one had features similar to Van’s, but he was much leaner. Still tall and muscle-y, but more like an Olympic swimmer than a bodybuilder. And he was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans instead of a suit. Whether that meant he was lower on the mafia food chain or just a man who preferred comfort, she had no idea. If he was the latter, she could relate. After all, she practically lived in yoga pants. The stupid black dress she was wearing was her only dress—and she’d only bought it because her mother would’ve made her life miserable if she’d shown up to her great aunt Matilda’s funeral in her yoga pants.
