Page 53 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
He moves to the sofa, stretching out his long legs after kicking off his shoes and he pushes one hand through his hair as he stares at the amber liquid in his glass. “You’d just better know that in twelve months, all bets are off between you and me, because I don’t take kindly to someone trying to kill me.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?” I ask, snapping the sarcastic words at him.
There’s a fresh bolt of energy that hits me. And I’m not sure I want to unpack why I like that he threatened to kill me in twelve months, threatened to start a real war once our pact was over.
I glance around.
I don’t have any other clothes, I realize. I put my things in the cab, and his brother, the hard mafia man—hard like Seamus—told his driver to put them in the limo. But as I look around, I don’t see any of my things.
I almost ask. The words are there, on my lips, but I take a deep swallow of the booze instead, stopping them. I won’t ask this man for anything. He will get nothing from me.
For a moment he doesn’t answer, but then he glances at me. “No. I don’t particularly like you, either. You’re a liar; you’re up to something. You’re cold and calculating. But you’re smart and clever and hot as fuck, so we can make this work.”
“For the twelve months.”
“And then we’ll see. I will come for you if you fuck with me. Just so we’re clear.”
“Good—”
“By making it work, Ava, I mean being on the fucking same page because if I find out you tried to hurt my family or got tangled up with someone and helped them try and hurt my family, I’ll make you wish you were dead. Got that?”
“You don’t scare me, Seamus.” I stare him down.
“I should.”
“You don’t.”
He lets out a sigh and takes a sip of his drink. I get up but he shakes his head. Then he rises, crosses the room, and opens a door to reveal a walk-in dressing room that’s also a closet. He tosses something to me, and I catch the soft, clean-smelling material.
It’s a t-shirt with some faded logo on it in a language I don’t recognize. But I shudder. It’s his. I drop it.
“Put the fucking thing on, Ava. I’ll let you know when I want you naked, and right now, I don’t want the distraction of your body.”
I put the glass down on the bedside table and pull it on. I’m not short, but I’m no supermodel, and he’s a tall man. All the brothers are. So it comes down to the top of my thighs.
I sit and drink the rest of my whiskey.
“Happy?” I say with a snarl.
He takes another swallow, sitting once more. “Here’s the thing I don’t understand. You hate me?—”
“I dislike you,” I say, trying to get things on track. Soften it a little. But he just shakes his head.
“You hate me. Fucking fine by me, Ava. Hate away. But what I don’t get is why me? We’ve got the chemistry that comes from acute dislike, and the sex is good, but you’re a gorgeous woman. You could rope any idiot into marriage. Why me?”
Fuck. “Because someone broke in and wrecked my place, stole, slashed my things, and?—”
“Any idea who?”
I swallow. “I thought it might be Iosif, but he said no.”
“Because he always tells the fucking truth, right?” Seamus holds up his free hand. “No, don’t answer that. I asked why me. Anyone out there in our world will protect you for a price, and you’re worth a lot—especially now.”
A frisson of shock hits. He means me. How I look. The sex.
“I was in a hurry.”
“Bullshit. You’ll fucking tell me because I have power, I can protect you, I can step in and help you with the bratva, or I can fucking destroy you. Why me?”
