“Va bene, Capo(Alright, Boss).” Matteo wastes no time as he nods stiffly and walks out. Now that she’s settled she must understand her part to play in fulfilling the alliance.
A few more puffs of smoke stabilize me in the mood for dealing with someone not directly relevant to my mafia…or my cock…at least for now.
The door clicks open later than I expected, and that alone lifts the mask of indifference I have on. I despise being made to wait.
Although watching her stare at me for a beat too long almost makes me reevaluate my preferences. Almost. Because my principles are set in stone.
I watch her hands fiddle with the knob as the door slowly pushes back in place. I wonder why she’s taking time to shut the door. Nervousness? Or to spite me?
Either way, I’m enjoying how her pants split her ass into two delicious halves. I take another drag of my cigar to abate my raging hormones, and release when she turns to me.
“I hate lateness.” I clench my teeth, watching the nervous fiddle of her fingers pause. Nervousness it is.
She stares at me like I have two heads. “He just told me a few minutes ag—”
“That is none of my concern.” My voice cuts sharp through hers. She frowns.
“Rule number one. Don’t—”
Now, she interrupts me, her voice sharper and firm this time.
“I thought you gave me my rules yesterday.”
I hate that she’s right. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I narrow my eyes on hers and catch it. The fire in her eyes, the one that seemed to have been a little dim at the club the other night.
“You. Do. Not. Interrupt. Me.” I warn her.
She lets out a slow breath, arches her brow, and raises both hands in the air as if humoring me. “My bad.”
Somehow that sparks amusement in my chest. Might be the way her armpits expose the side of her creamy tits. Or the odd gut feeling that I’d enjoy seeing that fire dim.
I take another drag of my cigar to hide the small smirk on my lips. Oh, I’ll enjoy taming this one.
“Sit.” My voice turns dangerously low.
She swallows, and I wait for her to oblige. But her shoulders square ever so slightly, her voice mimicking mine.
“I wish to stand.”
That lights a fuse.
“Careful, little wife.” I crush my cigar into the ashtray and hold her gaze. “You don’t get to wish in the devil’s lair.”
The corner of my mouth twitches into something that could almost be a smile as she visibly releases a shaky breath. I lean back casually in my chair, watching her stride toward me and sit in the chair opposite mine.
Good.
“You’ll be required to attend outings with me.”
A flicker of surprise dances across her eyes, followed by a mischievous smirk. “You don’t strike me as the social type.”
I let out a dark chuckle. “Social implies human, darling,” I drawl. “I’m not.”
“That’s a lot of ego coming from—”
“From the only man in this mansion who decides where you stand, sit, or breathe,” I hiss.
“And here I was hoping for a honeymoon.” She lifts her stubborn chin a notch, sarcasm and mockery tainting her voice.
