Page 57 of The Mafia’s Girlfriend

“Right. He isn’t.”

“Then, why,” I repeated, feeling like a broken record, “do you know him?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

I grunted, shaking my head. “Oh, so when the going gets tough, you’re suddenly a coward?” I parked, shoving the gear stick roughly before I wrenched the keys out of the ignition. I tossed them to her as I got out.

She hurried to exit as I opened the back door to get Krista out. She remained unconscious, but sleeping peacefully. This could’ve been Emma. How could she be so collected with this danger?

“You persist and stay in my face, tempting me,” I groused as I lifted Krista into my arms. “You tag after me and make me start to feel like we—” I bit back the rest of my words as she tailed me to Krista’s condo.

I wasn’t going to spill my heart now. The threat of the Marcheses and the disappointment that Emma would keep secrets battered at the thing that beat in my chest.

She seemed to understand that now wasn’t the moment. We couldn’t have a shouting match out here this late. Other condos remained nearby, and I had to be careful with bothering others. We sure didn’t need any witnesses to this anyway.

Instead, she hurried ahead of me to open Krista’s door. She held it open for me as I carried the sleeping woman in.

“I think she was roofied.”

She nodded. “I agree.”

“She should sleep it off, but maybe stick close if she doesn’t.”

She nodded again, not making eye contact as I set Krista on the bed. “This... this isn’t my first experience with a woman being drugged.”

I rolled my eyes. So much for thinking I knew her. “You? You’ve been roofied?”

She pointed at her friend. “Krista likes to party. Sometimes hard.”

I shook my head, backing out of there.

“Luke, wait.”

“I’ll see you to your condo.” It seemed pointless now. She wasn’t mine to protect if she had friends—or enemies—like Antonio Marchese. Everyone had skeletons in their closets. I did, too. But hers seemed like the sort of deal breaker that I couldn’t handle.

If she’d just come clean and explain why she associated with the Marcheses, I could plan and think it all through. But I was in the dark. She kept hedging and evading, and I was sick of it.

If she cared half as much as I did for her, then she’d come clean.

It was as simple as that.

The longer she tried to stay quiet and string me along, the faster my patience died out. The quicker my disappointment grew, too.

Emma was the kind of woman I could bring home and love. The “nice, decent good girl” my mother wanted me to settle down with. I just knew it. Soul to soul, we made sense.

As I walked her to her condo, I hated that I’d severely misjudged her.

Emma wasn’t nice. She could be mean and give as good as she got, defensive and bold.

She wasn’t decent. No one could associate with the mafia and claim to be on the right side of any moral compass.

And she sure as fuck wasn’t a good girl, looking at me with such desire and forbidden yearning burning in her bright, blue-green eyes that captivated me still.

She was wrong for me, so damn wrong, but I wasn’t strong enough to flinch when she took my hand at her door. I was weak, addicted to wanting to be near her when she tugged on my fingers to urge me to come in with her.

Just over a month ago, I crossed this threshold and entered this very condo. I got my first glimpse of her here, and since then, I’d come to lust for her in a way I doubted I ever would for anyone else again.

“No, Emma.” I shook my head as she closed the door. I’d stay here to hear her out of she was ready to give me some damn answers. But I had to shut the other door, the one on anything wicked and sensual happening between us.