It’s clear that Armani, and probably his brothers too, have no qualms about hurting people. What will they do to me if they find out why I’m here? Of course there were always rumors, whispers, gossip tied to what this family is capable of. And I know people in the mafia go “missing” all the time. But I hadn’t fully realized how dangerous this mission was up until now. Before, it was more of a thrilling what-if. Now, it’s real.
By the time I reach the top level, I know what I have to do. I can’t stay here.
Sweating and dirty from my stumbling run across the property and back to the Bellanti estate, I make my way up to Armani’s bedroom, blinking back tears. Into the walk-in closet I go, dragging out my suitcases and tossing clothes into them as fast as I can, Mr. Sprinkles watching me impassively as I frantically pack. The back of my neck tingles the entire time, as if I’m going to be found out any second. Caught. Put in a chair in the catacombs. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I’m not sure what my plan is now. I can’t just tell Armani, thanks so much for the opportunity, and the sex was great, but I’m opting out because I saw a little blood in the basement.
The forbidden basement.
God, what if he actually tries to drag me down there? I’m out.
Moving to the bathroom, I gather up an armful of makeup and toiletries and nearly drop them in the middle of the bedroom floor when I realize Armani is standing there in front of me. He’s watching with interest and catches my eye with a questioning look.
“What are you doing?”
Dropping my gaze, I beeline into the closet and drop my things into one of the open suitcases. “I’m sorry,” I call over my shoulder, “but I can’t do this. I’m leaving.”
“Why?” he asks, now blocking the doorway of the closet. He sounds unconvinced. Maybe a little annoyed. “What happened to bring you to this decision?”
I obviously can’t tell him I just realized I’m not really mob mistress material, or that the bloodstains in his little torture chamber will haunt me for the rest of my life. Scrambling to think of something believable, I hastily zip up the suitcase and pull it to a standing position.
“I guess it’s just…after everything that’s happened to your family lately, the kidnappings, Marco’s car crash, seeing how huge your security detail is…I guess I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering. What if I’m next? What if something happens to me?” I say, leaning hard into the truth so that I don’t have to worry about sounding insincere.
“It won’t,” he says.
“How do you know?” I say, letting the tears that I’ve been fighting back well up.
He takes my elbow and moves close enough that I get a full breath of his cologne. It instantly warms my blood and revs my libido. My nipples peak, aching against my blouse.
“Hey,” he says soothingly. “Candi, look at me. Please.”
He takes my chin, and I lift my eyes to his, knowing the fear in mine is real.
“I will keep you safe, always,” he promises. “You have my word. Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as you’re with me.”
But how much is his word worth? What value does it actually hold? My brain focuses on his hand on my chin—that strong, rough hand. What are his hands capable of?
“You can’t promise me that. No one can.”
His eyes darken. “I can. I protect what’s mine, aggressively and completely. There is no safer place for you in the world than right at my side. Right where I want you to be.”
I search his gaze, falling into the dark pools there. I almost believe him.
Armani draws me against him. My body responds instantly as his breath warms my lips.
“Make no mistake, Candi. You’remine. I think you just need another reminder of that.”
12
CANDI
If he touchesme right now, all my reservations are going to fly out the window. That’s a fact.
He can completely manipulate my emotions with his hands, his powerful, skillful, cruel hands that are responsible for God knows what, that might do any amount of harm in the future. I cycle through all the reasons not to let him touch me, but every one of them fizzles and dies.
I want those gorgeous hands all over me. I want him inside me, claiming me with his cock. I crave his touch like a drug, like nothing else on this Earth. And he knows it.
He steps back into the bedroom and loosens his tie, pulls it off, and throws it on the floor. I get an image of the chair in the center of the cellar, of me being strapped to it while Armani looks at me with an evil smile. A thrill of desire follows the image, flooring me, unsettling me. What the hell is wrong with me?
