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It’s a ballsy statement. Deep in my gut, I feel safe with him. Maybe my desire for him cancels out the insanity, but if I had the privilege of choosing a husband from a lineup of men, Antonio would be my first choice.
I don’t flinch when he raises his hand to roughly trace his callous thumb along my lower lip.
Dark thoughts …erotic ones… about him overwhelm me.
“You’re right.” He slightly nudges the tip of his thumb between my lips. “Which is why I killed a man for you last week.”
“What?” I gulp down the aftertaste of cranberry.
He lowers his voice and dips his head forward, making it easier to hear him. “A man wanted to hurt you, so I killed him before he could.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper, failing to hide the tremble in my voice.
“I don’t lie.”
“Why didn’t you tell my father?”
“Princess, your father knew.” He glides his thumb across the surface of my front teeth. “But I found the man first.”
I brush my tongue along his thumb. “Why?” My question is partially muffled behind his finger.
He drops his mouth to my ear. “I wanted to gift him to your father in exchange for you.”
Ex-fucking-cuse me?
The man thinks he can just … buy me?
Like I’m a carton of eggs, just chilling in the grocery aisle?
I wrap my hand around his wrist and yank his thumb from my mouth. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I killed a man because I want you as my wife. Your father declined my request.” He licks his lips and then smirks. It’s too confident, too cunning, and it pisses me off. “And I’ll keep killing men until you’re mine.”
I blow out a long breath, processing his words.
He frees his wrist from my hold to trail his hand along my cheek. “Unless you’ll let me own you without that permission?”
Antonio has been on my mind nonstop since the funeral. He’s so different from other men around me. He doesn’t handle me with care, isn’t afraid to rile me up or cross lines, and doesn’t view me as the untouchable Mafia princess. And apparently, we need to add that he isn’t scared to kill someone as a proposal gift.
His eyes sear into mine like an inferno that’ll never burn out while he waits for me to reply.
“Gigi Marchetti!”
I jump, losing our eye contact when Aunt Helena calls my name.
Antonio withdraws a step, and I already miss the heat of his body so close to mine. I look around him to find Aunt Helena suspiciously eyeing us. This reminds me of what happened with Benny in the warehouse. My family always interrupts, like they intuit I’m in the presence of evil.
“Time to leave,” she demands.
Antonio fixes his intense stare on me, not bothering to look back at her.
“I need to go,” I whisper.
“Shame.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’ll give you a warning before you do. Don’t pretend to bumpinto me again unless you want me to do something about it. I won’t be so gentle next time.”
He steps back and clears a path for me to walk past him.
My father seldom calls me into his office.
