Page 44 of Merciless Daddy

“You stole me.”

“Say it if you want. Doesn’t make it true.”

“You studied me like cargo.”

“That I will admit.”

I put a hand against his chest. Not a caress. A shove, light enough that he barely moved. His shirt was warm under my palm. Solid. I could feel the beat of his heart.

“Go on,” I said. “Tell me how different you are.”

His eyes lowered to my hand. Then came back to my face.

“You are trying to make me frightening.”

My fingers curled in his shirt.

“What?”

“You’re crowding me. Insulting me. You want me to put my hands on you in anger.” His voice was low. “Because then hating me is simple. It’s safer than admitting you want me.”

The slap of recognition was so clean I swung at him.

He caught my wrist.

Not hard. Not cruel. His fingers closed around it by instinct.

Then he let go.

Immediately.

He stepped back so fast that the space between us felt like a door slammed in my face.

“I will not use your anger,” he said. His voice was rougher now. “Your attraction—yes, I know you’re attracted to me. I won’t use your fear. Your dependence on me. None of it is permission.”

My wrist burned where he had held it, though his touch had lasted less than a second.

He stood across from me with his hands at his sides, breathing hard through his nose, and I realized that he was fighting himself too.

That should have pleased me.

Instead, it broke something.

He had stepped away from me as if I were the dangerous thing in the room, and I could not bear it.

That was the truth of it.

Not relief. Not safety. Rage.

“Don’t,” I said.

Sal did not move. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t stand there looking noble.”

“I’m not noble. This has nothign to do with nobility. I’m not a good person. I’m a fucking mafioso. This is my business. It’s the cleanest way. You’re an asset, and I won’t have you compromised.”

“Liar.”