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“I don’t understand why you’re being so mean, Dante.” Her voice has changed, gone from bitchy whining to sad little girl, something I’m sure works on other men.
But I’m sitting on Dante’s desk, between his legs, my eyebrow cut because she called me a mean name and it made me mad.
She’s never going to win here.
“You hit a made woman,” he says, and fuck if that doesn’t send a thrill down my spine. A made woman. He looks at me with a soft, heated look, like he likes how those words affect me. The mix of his look and his words have me biting my lip, and he see it.
His hand moves, sliding up my thigh, thumb caressing right where my dress that’s hiked up ends.
“She’s not a fuckin’ made woman; she a glorified goumad.”
I cringe.
I cringe on her behalf because the look in Dante’s eyes?
Pure fire.
Pure anger.
Hatred.
“You hit the fucking Russo heir, Angela.”
“She’s a fuckin’ whore, just like her whore of a mother—"
And ding ding ding, Dante’s anger peaks.
I smile.
I also get kind of hot, but that’s a whole other issue.
“That’s it, Angela. You’re done.” Silence for long moments, but Dante is patient through them, waiting for her to speak.
“I’m done?” Silence. “What do you mean I’m done, Dante?”
“I mean you’re done. This arrangement was convenient and now it’s not. You’re fighting with the family, causing issues, causing bodily harm to a future boss—"
“That bitch is never going—"
“Argue all you want, Angela. It’s over.”
“I’m going to tell everyone about this. I’m going to tell everyone how fucking interested you are in your nephew’s fiancée.” Dante’s face goes dark, and I can hear the smile in Angela’s voice, like she thinks she won some battle. “Won’t that just cause a nice little stir?”
For a moment, my gut drops.
For a moment, I worry that my quick moment of irrational anger won and I fucked up big time.
But then Dante smiles.
He smiles like he was waiting for this.
“Will you?” he asks. “Because I’ve got some pretty pictures you’ve been sending my men.” My eyes go wide.
“I-I—"
“And I’ve still got some unpaid debts with your father.”
“I don’t—"
