Page 24 of Texting My Mafia Boss

I go to the bed, looking down at Sylvie. Her eyes are closed as she writhes and whimpers. I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. The only thing I know about sleepwalkers is that you shouldn’t ever wake them. So, I wait, looking around the room, at the photos, the vanity, and the jewelry boxes littering its surface.

A few minutes pass until finally Sylvie goes still.

I gently pick her up and carry her through the house. Livia is standing at her bedroom door in her nightgown, bleary-eyed. “Is she okay?” she asks tightly.

“Sleepwalking,” I murmur.

“Oh, sweet thing. It’s been a while since she’s done that.”

“She’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m taking her back to bed.”

“Thank you, Mara,” Livia says, sounding gentler than I’ve ever heard her.

“How’s the migraine?” I ask.

A small smile. “Getting there—thank you again.”

I return Sylvie to bed and pull her blanket over her. After sitting with her for a few minutes, I leave, making sure her night light is switched on. I walk through the house to Vera’s bedroom because I’m pretty sure I forgot to shut the door.

I almost scream when I see the large silhouette standing in the dark.

Ettore turns to me slowly. The light from the hall shows his square jaw and chiseled face. His eyes smolder as they roam up and down my body… oh, crap! I’m wearing my underwear, nothing else, just my bra and panties.

How didn’t I realize that until now? It’s a cool night, and it didn’t even occur to me. If Sylvie had woken up, she would’ve noticed it, and I would’ve quickly excused myself to pull on a robe or some PJs. Livia didn’t remark on it when I walked by. Why would she? We’re just two grown women sharing a space.

“Why was this door open?” Ettore says, voice husky, walking slowly toward me.

I resist the urge to cover myself. I don’t want to draw attention to my body. He hasn’t said anything about it.

He stops just short of me, his scent wrapping around me, woodsy and manly. I imagine him asking me if the rest of me is as hot as my hand was, and my heart hammers like a drum.

“Sylvie was sleepwalking,” I murmur. “She was calling out for her mother.”

Ettore sighs, massaging the bridge of his eyebrows.

“She didn’t wake. I sat with her until she calmed down, then took her to bed. She probably won’t even remember she was here.”

“She will. Deep down. I should get rid of this room.”

“It must be hard.”

He takes another step forward. What is he doing? Who does he think he is?

But when he reaches up and grabs a handful of my hip, I don’t stop him. Instead, I let out a telltale sigh that gives himallthe signals. “It’s not what you think,” he groans. “This isn’t a shrine. It’s… something else.”

His hand comes to my other hip.

“Look at you, Mara,” he says, voice tight.

“In the mirror?”

He smirks. “So clever. It’s an expression. This body…”

He pulls me closer. I lean back, resisting, a little. Just about stopping myself. We’re in his dead wife’s bedroom. What is he thinking? But that’s the thing. I can tell he’s not thinking at all. I can feel his need in his grip, his heat.

“I should get some rest,” I murmur. It takes my all to say this.

He squeezes me for a moment longer, then lets go. “Me too.” He pushes past me, letting me feel just how badly he wants me, a solid length of thickness pressing hard against my belly through his pants. “Though I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”