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“You’ll figure it out. You’re Christian D’Angelo. Don of the D’Angelos. You haven’t met a problem you couldn’t solve. A woman isn’t going to be the first one.”
My neck snaps to the side, once, twice, as I let his words settle over me. My brother’s right. I thought letting her get some of her things would appease her, but it seems the woman’s harder to please than I thought. Still, there are several reasons I’m the head of one of the biggest mafia organizations in New York. And one of those is my fucking resilience.
I’ll break Daniella Evans eventually.
* * *
When I openthe door to Daniella’s room later that evening, she’s in the middle of her bed, eyes closed and body so still I’m sure she’s sleeping. Then she cracks one eyelid open, takes one look at me, sighs before closing it again.
“Go away,” she mutters.
“That’s not very nice,” I tell her. “Aren’t you curious about what I’ve got to say?”
“Not really. Now leave, I’m trying to conserve what energy I’ve got left in my body and I’d rather not deplete it talking to you.”
I don’t go anywhere, and after several seconds, she opens her eyes and sits up with a resigned expression.
“What the hell do you want?” she questions. “And why do you keep coming into my room without an invitation?”
I raise an eyebrow. “We’re going to be married.”
“Doesn’t mean you can just barge in here. What if I had been naked? Playing with a sex toy?”
Sometimes I have to pause, stare, and make sense of the words that come out of her mouth. The woman is a fucking enigma. And yet, heat sings in my blood as my mind tries to paint the picture of what she just mentioned. I dispel those thoughts, choosing to focus on the situation at hand.
“I’ll knock next time,” I tell her.
“Much appreciated,” she says dryly. “Now, if you could just leave..”
“I’m not walking out of this room until you explain to me why you’ve decided to act like a two-year-old. A hunger strike? Really, Daniella, you’re twenty-two years old. Tactics like this are beneath you.”
Her eyes darken, blue depths iced over by rage.
“What? You’re trying to control what I can and can’t eat now? When I should and shouldn’t eat?”
“I’m trying to make sure you don’t die under my fucking roof.”
Whenever I’m with her, I can feel my control start to slip away, and I hate it. So damn much.
“Careful, Christian. You almost sound like you care.”
My eyes narrow. “What do I have to do to make you stop with your childish antics?”
“Consider the contract null and void and let me go free?” she suggests, a hopeful lilt to her voice.
I quash it immediately. “Never going to happen, Ms. Evans.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, then at least let me go out. Not permanently, but just to see my friends. Maybe grab a cup of coffee or some lunch. And if you’d let me attend a party or two, that’d be nice.”
“It’s cute you think I’m letting you go to any parties. Ever,” I state. “But yes to the first request. You can leave the house, as long as you do so with your bodyguards. I’ll introduce them to you tomorrow. From now on, they’ll shadow you. Everywhere you go, they go.”
Her fists tighten around the comforter in her hands. She wants to fight it, I can see it in her tense shoulders and the look of defiance in her eyes. But in the end, she must see that this is the best she’s going to get from me.
“Fine,” she says. “Make sure the bodyguards are at least pretty to look at.”
With those words, she gets to her feet and presses down on the button to call the help. I’m completely silent as a maid arrives and Daniella asks her to get some food. I wait until she has scarfed down a sizable amount before letting myself out of the room.
That night, when I assign her bodyguards, I make sure they’re the least attractive men I’ve got.
