I shrug. “Tell whoever you want.”
That ends her rant because she munches on the pancakes, mumbling something like stubborn ass.
I might be especially determined when it comes to her. She has no idea how hard it is to resist taking her, moving her in—the image of going to bed and waking with her daily intoxicates me.
A frown digs between her brows. “So, it wouldn’t bother you if she finds out?”
“She is my sister, but she won’t tell me if I can or can’t be with you.” I grip her hand on the table and look deep into her eyes. “I want you to erase the thought from your mind that this is not serious or that I’ll let you go.”
She gulps, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Whatever arguments she presents, I am ready to decimate them one after another.
“I’m a Mafia princess,” she says, closing her eyes as if she said something despicable and doesn’t want to face me not wanting her.
“I know,mo run.”
Her eyes shoot open. “What? How? I don’t understand.”
“I know people from all domains, Viviana,” I say in the softest tone I can conjure.
She chews on her lip, worry tightening her features. “But you should…”
“Be afraid?” I ask, and she dips her chin in a small nod.
“I’m not.”
Chin quivering, she bursts into tears and hides her face between her palms. Those pained sounds butcher me, and I shoot up from my seat. The chair topples over and scrapes at the tiles, just like my heart.
I can’t stand her tears, so I wrap my arms around her. “Please,mo run. It fucking kills me. Stop crying, I promise it will be all right.”
She spreads her fingers, eyeing me with glistening eyes. “You can’t promise that. I will have to marry someone of my family’s choosing.”
I pull her hands down to make her see how earnest I am. “You won’t marry anyone else but me.”
She cries some more, and I hold her as she stammers, “The men in my family are…” She hiccups, unable to finish her sentence.
Killers. Monsters. She lies in the arms of one.
It takes everything in me not to reveal that I am even worse.
“I’ll deal with them.” Not knowing how else to assure her, I cup her cheeks and press my mouth to hers.
She opens to me, welcoming the deceiver with such eagerness it undoes me.
Only after she has calmed down do I return to my seat.
“Eat, baby. After breakfast, we’re going to the stables.”
She blinks the tears away, smiling at me with her entire face, her heart reflecting in her eyes.
“Really?” she squeals in pure joy.
She scarfs the food down, and as she goes upstairs to change, I bring the two boxes from my car inside, then walk upstairs and lay them on the bed.
She approaches me, grazing her finger over them. “Are those for me?”
Nerves scrape at my throat, making it difficult to form words, and all I can do is nod. I’ve never given a gift to a woman before.
She opens the orange boxes, revealing riding gear, a helmet and boots.
