Page 71 of Revenge on the Mafia

“I don’t wear fuchsia,” I muttered.

“You do now.”

A groan of frustration fell from me. I rolled my eyes. “Make me then.”

His eyes flashed. He took a threatening step forward. I almost fell on my ass in my hurry to get away. “No.” I slammed my palm on his chest, keeping him at bay. His heartbeat thundered to the beat of a bass drum. Slowly, I backed away, keeping an eye on his predatory stance. “I’ll do it.”

My back burned with his heated stare. It carried me all the way to the bedroom. When I returned dressed from top to toe in fuchsia, he still stood where I’d left him.

When he caught my movement, his eyes swung my way. For a few seconds, his iron-clad control melted away. Exhaling slowly, he ran his gaze over me. Taking in the dress, the slit, my hair running loose down to my spine. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. Pressed, a muttered curse between them. The sound was rough. Raw. His fingers tapped on the banister, and his half-lidded gaze dropped to the steps. Everything else escaped my hearing. The only thing I heard was the beat of my heart. Thump. Thump. Then he looked up again, and it was as if it were all in my imagination. His face was erased of all emotion.

My nerves vibrated with every step I took closer to him. His gaze was magnetic. A heat that rustled against my skin. When I was three steps away, he stopped me with his words. “I have a condition.”

“What?” I croaked.

His voice was calm. His words detonating. “Wear this to my funeral.”

For three days, he’d kept his distance, but the instant we entered the party, he grabbed my hand so tightly I feared a fracture

His games made my blood run cold. There was more menace in him than certainty. He was reeling me in. Inch by inch, I was being tugged and pulled. The way he held my hand, his words, his touch, Dios mío, the way he’d come in my mouth or made me come in his. Then he crushed it all by asking me to wear a fuchsia dress to his funeral.

Unrest bubbled in my veins. His words still pounded in my chest. I tugged at my hand. His grip tightened. Spite seeped at my edges, and I wanted him defeated at his own games.

I leaned closer to him. He stiffened instantly. “Is my Mafia husband a scaredy cat?” I whispered in his ear.

He turned to look at me.

“Aww…” I taunted. “Are you scared I’ll run off?”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Sono terrorizzato, la mia stella.”

I frowned. “English or Spanish. Don’t go all Italian on me.”

An amused smile curled on his lips. I wanted to slap it off his face. “So terrified you give me nightmares.”

I opened my mouth to spill spiteful words when the sound of a commotion reached us. We both turned to the front door. Stefano passed us.

“What’s going on?” Nico grabbed his shoulder and asked.

“Some idiots, trying to crash the party.”

What idiot would try to get into a Mafia party? Someone who realized their mistake because the moment Stefano arrived at the door, the commotion died down.

Nico turned back to me.

“I have a solution for your nightmares,” I told him.

“Let me guess. It has something to do with my heart stopping.”

“So smart,” I murmured. “Pity it will all go to waste.”

His eyes sparked. “Don’t tell me you want to keep me.”

“Not even if hell freezes over.”

His eyes dimmed. “That’s what I thought.”

He started to move from the hall.