The other thing I noticed? His complete lack of emotional empathy. His bluntness comes off as harsh. And while I believe he has no intentions on hurting my feelings his factual mindset hurts nonetheless.
And that comment fucking stings. “You don’t have to be fucking insensitive.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, softening his tone. I believe him.
“So,” I say, mentally shaking off the feeling of being unloved by my pa, “I’m allowed out of this penthouse?”
“Under the condition that you don’t try anything.”
I bat my lashes innocently. “Who me? I would never dream of doing something so daring.”
His lip twitches. “Sarcastic remarks or not if you don’t behave I’ll be left to do the only thing necessary to ensure your cooperation.”
“And that is?”
“Bound your hands by rope.”
My mouth gapes open like a fish. “In public? You’re actually kidding me.”
“There’s no joke to be made here, Imogen.” God, he’s fucking serious. “You’re in my city. No one will question why I have you bound.”
“Not even the cops?” I hedge.
“On our payroll.” Again, not a boast, just factual.
“How about bystanders? Don’t you think they’ll want to help me?”
He inches closer on the couch and my heart begins to race. The intensity of his eyes never fails to make me falter. “Everyone knows who we are here, gazzella. Where we aren’t respected we are most certainly feared. There is no one who would dare raise their tongue against us. Let alone intervene in our affairs to help. Not to mention, it’s New York City. They’ve seen far more obscure things than a man bounding his woman.”
His lips are dangerously close to mine. There’s this impulsive nagging thought to know what they taste like. “I’m not your woman.” I end up saying in a husky tone.
There’s that damn ghost of a smile again. It liquifies me. “We’ve gone over this, gazzella. As long as you’re my captive you’re mine.”
I don’t know how to explain it but something magnetizes in the air between us. Particles drawing us closer and closer. A charge neither of us can deny no matter how much we refuse to admit it.
“Well then, I guess I’ll be on my best behavior.”
His eyes flick down to my lips. When they meet my eyes once more they shimmer with amusement. “Why do I doubt that?”
I’ve decided one thing on this little shopping trip; I’m going to spend all of Rico’s Maroni’s money and not give a single damn.
He takes me to Hudson Yards. A beautiful upscale high end shopping mall with the most jaw dropping views of the city. It’s a photographer’s and a shopaholic’s wet dream.
No one dares to bat an eye at us. Specifically me. Rico holds his hand in mine, keeping me tight by his side as we walk through the mall. It’s almost as if he’s itching to have me bound. But even I can’t deny how right his hand feels in mine. It swallows mine whole as he keeps a possessive yet tender hold.
As we enter Dior, where the bustle of people are gone and it’s much quieter I visibly see Rico relax. It’s the finer details. How his shoulders slightly loosen. The muscle in his jaw isn’t locked. And the most important detail, he takes out his earbuds.
A woman who is downright stunning comes to greet us. Her smile is bright and wide but apprehension is clear in her eyes. “Mr. Maroni, how can I assist you today?”
With a gentle little nudge he places me in front of him. The woman finally looks at me. Her gorgeous siren sage eyes appraise me. And I know what she’s wondering. What’s the Made Man doing with this poor soul?
I confidently match her gaze. Even in Rico’s clothes that engulf my frame.
“I would like a wardrobe for Ms. Murphy.”
She flashes a saccharine grin. “Of course. We can start with apparel similar to Carina Donati and?—”
“No,” he interjects briskly. Her mouth snaps shut as she pulls her lips inward. He places his hand on my hip and I feel the burn of it. “Imogen will tell you what she likes. She has her own style.”
