His footsteps fade as he walks along the hallway toward the kitchen. My stomach feels like it’s going to devour itself pretty soon if I don’t put something in it. With a defeated sigh, I peel myself out of the fluffy chair where I’ve been reading and crack open the door.
Slipping into the empty hallway, I tiptoe to the open concept kitchen, dining, and living area. A neutral mask settled over my face, I plop down on a stool at the marble island and ignore Maximo by scrolling through social media on my phone.
Maximo glances my way, then releases a pleased rumble that does funny things to my insides. I hate the fact that I like those guttural sounds of pleasure he makes. They’re so primal. Raw. Sexy.
A second later, he sets a plate in front of me, complete with the promised waffle, melting butter, and warm strawberry syrup. Breathing in the sweet aroma, I salivate. My stomach gurgles.
The moment’s ruined when he also plunks down a newspaper opened to the announcements section. Our names stand out in bold in a short article about our engagement.
My stomach sours as I glare up at him. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“What do you mean?” His dark brow furrows as if he’s honestly confused by my anger.
“Why would you make this ridiculous engagement so public?” I stab my waffle and cut off a piece, then shove it in my mouth.
“It’s notridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, frowning. “I want this to be public so everyone knows that you’re mine. Especially Enzo Casella.”
I roll my eyes. Which I’ve never dared do to a man before, though I suppose it’s not as bad as flipping him off. It feels good. I can see why my sister rolls her eyes, even if Papa used to punish her for it.
Instead of being verbally reactionary—like my sister would be—I sit with Maximo’s explanation. He’s possessive and obviously jealous of Enzo for one little touch at that party. I file that information away for later. It could be useful. Maybe I should call Enzo, perhaps he’ll come rescue me.
No one will rescue you. You have to rescue yourself, remember?
It’s true. No one in their right mind would step between me and Maximo the all mighty don. In our world, he has every right to trap me in marriage. This isn’t the first time a couple has legally been bound together in such a manner, and it won’t be the last.
Gah, I loathe this place.
When Maximo steps out of the kitchen, I think he’s going to let me eat in peace. Wrong. He shows up a minute later, picks up my left hand, and slips that pink diamond engagement ring onto my finger. Seething, I do my best to ignore him.
His scent mingles with the waffles and syrup as he hovers closer like he’s waiting for my reaction. His body heat warms my side. I swallow my food, then finally spare him a sharp glance. Which turns out to be a big mistake because he’s looking at me like he wants to drench me in syrup and take a bite.
My lips part, drawing his hungry gaze. His body sways toward mine and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. My skin tingles, my nipples pebble in anticipation. Even my braincan’t seem to find a reason why that’s a bad idea. In fact, Iwantto taste him again—wait, no I don’t.
He catches himself, straightening to his full, imposing height. “I need to go. Be a good girl and stay here.”
Gathering his things, he steps into the elevator. His bright eyes stare right through me as the doors slide closed. I swear he knows my every thought, like he can see inside of my head.
I glance down at the waffles and strawberry syrup. Maximo thinks he knows me. He’s already proven he knows my favorite color, preferred breakfast, and my love for books. He probably thinks he’s privy to what I’m going to think, say, and do before I am. That gives him an advantage over me, which is unacceptable.
What if I’m able to prove him wrong?
He wants me as his wife based on what he thinks he knows about me. I’m the pretty arm candy that’s always polite and proper. My parents raised me to be the perfect wife for a man like him. He thinks I’m a sure thing, a guarantee, a qualified match.
If I convince him that I’m not who and what he needs, will he let me go?
A slow grin spreads my lips and I pop another piece of waffle in my mouth as I mull over this new idea.
Maximo needs a mafia princess at his side, but what if I give him something else entirely? His reputation can only bear so much.Hecan only suffer so much before the cons outweigh the pros. I just need to show him how unsuited we really are for each other. Prove that I’m a liability instead of an asset.
I tap my chin in thought. What’s the opposite of me? I suppose I can take some tips from Ravenna. She and I are nothing alike. She’s everything I’d never dare to be; outspoken, strong-willed, and confrontational, but those things could beused to my benefit. Except she’s so grounded, whereas I need unhinged.
What would a wild, rebellious, totally psychotic woman do in my situation? What’s the most destructive, crazy…
My gaze flits to the liquor cabinet. Drunken recklessness? Fuel for fire? Maybe he has a really expensive bottle he’s been saving for a special occasion. Hm…
Sliding off of my chair, I open up the glass case and explore what Maximo keeps on hand. Cognac, mostly.Gross. Vodka, bourbon, even some tequila. In the back I find a sealed bottle of Macallan 1926. Hm. Looks expensive.
I search for the brand and year on my phone.Ding ding ding. We have a winner. The lowest price tag for this comes in at two million dollars per bottle. Which makes me dizzy just thinking about spending that much money on something you’re going todrink.
