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“Get up.”
I keep my eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep.
“I know you’re awake.”
Crap. Does he know I was gaping at his cock? I crack my lids open and find Drago standing at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a red hoodie.
“What time is it?” I ask. I missed breakfast yesterday and had to go to the kitchen to ask Keva for some leftovers. The meal schedule they have here doesn’t work that well with my biorhythm. Breakfast at eight? That’s tyranny.
“Six thirty. You’re going for a run with me.”
“I don’t think so.” I snort and bury my face into the pillow.
A hand wraps around my ankle, pulling me toward the edge. I yelp and try to push him off with my free leg. Drago bends, picks me up, and carries me to the en suite. I’m kicking my feet in front of me while squeezing his forearms, trying in vain to free myself. The moment he sets me down inside the bathroom, I shove at his chest.
“I’m not one of your subordinates, Drago!” I jab him again. “You can’t order me around.”
“You’re not my subordinate.” He takes a step forward, making me take two steps back. “But you belong to me. And I won’t let you go around as pale as a sheet of paper. We’re going for a run, and we’re not coming back until you get some color in your face.”
“I’m not your property,” I meant to say it with a grin, but it ends up being a semi-sneer through my teeth. For some reason, my “nice persona” filter doesn’t seem to work that well when he’s around.
Drago looks down at my hand, which is still pressed against his chest. “That says you are.”
I follow his gaze and see it focused on my wedding ring.
“Oh, really? I thought it meant we signed a marriage certificate, not a bill of sale. But I guess that misunderstanding is easy to correct.” I lift my hand in front of his face, planning to take off the wedding band. The moment he registers my intention, he grabs my chin and tilts my head up.
“Feel free to take it off if you want,” he says casually, then leans until our faces are at the same level. “But know one thing,mila moya. Any man who sets his eyes on you while you’re not wearing the wedding ring is going to die.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah, sure. He probably forgot that I was present when he got yelled at by Keva and did nothing about it. He’s not going to kill anyone, especially for just looking at me. I guess I was lucky to have ended up with Drago rather than someone who does go around killing people. It’s a risk with arranged marriages. I could have wedded someone like the priest guy. It’s obvious that man handles the offing of the people for Drago, or Adam wouldn’t have made that comment in the kitchen when we saw the news report.
“I’ll be waiting for you outside.” He releases my chin and leaves.
I shake my head and grab a toothbrush. There’s no way I’m going for a run with him. Even if I didn’t hate running—which I do—I don’t have anything suitable to wear. But maybe I could take a stroll around the property and check the number of guards. Ajello has called me twice since I got here, but I couldn’t answer either time because there were people around. I did send him a text saying I haven’t learned anything important as of yet, but I will have to call him soon to tell himsomething.
The mirror above the sink is still foggy from Drago’s shower. I swipe my palm over it and stare at my reflection. It doesn’t feel right to gather info about my husband and pass it to the don, but I don’t have a choice. Family always comes first, that’s the Cosa Nostra motto.
* * *
I’m descending the stairs when an idea pops into my mind. Smirking, I take off the wedding ring and stuff it into the pocket of my pink jeans. The front door is open, and Keva is at the threshold, signing some paperwork for a man in overalls with the name of the local plumbing company above his left breast pocket. I pass by them and head toward Drago, who’s waiting in the middle of the driveway, fiddling with his phone. His thumbs move rapidly as he types. That’s got to be a lengthy text or an email. Wouldn’t it be easier to just call the person?
When I come to a stop in front of him, he puts the phone away and scans me from head to toe. “Are you serious?”
“Why?” I raise an eyebrow.
“High-heeled boots. And . . . what is that?” He gestures at my chest.
“An oversized sweater dress,” I say. It’s one of my favorites, yellow with a pattern of big hearts in the same pink shade as my jeans.
I usually pick my outfits based on how I feel. When my mood is low, I tend to go for colorful, silly combinations. Recently, however, I’ve been choosing my clothes solely because I enjoy Drago’s reactions. There’s something utterly cute about his grumbling every time he sees my attire for the day. One thing that I’ve found really surprising, not once has he said “You can’t go in public wearing that.” Like some of my friends and ex-boyfriends often have. He typically gripes a little or just looks at the heavens and shakes his head, but that’s all. He seems to be perfectly fine with me going around in what he calls “chicken jacket” or “yellow eyesore.” Some of my outfits are ridiculous, but Drago has never said that I look ridiculous in them.
“Three of you can fit in that thing, Sienna. Go change into something comfy. And put on your sneakers.”
“Thisiscomfy. And I don’t own sneakers.”
“You don’t own sneakers.”
“Nope. Only heels. Sorry.” I grin.
