Chapter 19
GRACE
I’m playing house with a mafia man.
We’ve fallen into a routine over the past few days. We have dinner together every night. And while he’s working, I fill my day with books and movies.
It’s Sunday morning now, and I have this light, bubbly feeling in my chest when I wake up. I try to remember a reason for this happiness, but I can’t think of anything.
I just feel good.
I have to keep reminding myself that Dante is keeping me prisoner here.
He says that it's a temporary marriage, but I don't believe him.
There's a darkness in his eyes. I know when people are lying to me, and since the moment I met him, I had a feeling that Dante is not who he appears to be.
He keeps a part of himself hidden.
We talk, but only about things that don’t matter. It’s been bothering me that he’s not opening up to me the way he did when we played twenty questions at the beach.
I pad out of the bedroom. I search for him, but the rest of the house is empty. My steps slow when I reach the kitchen. There's a bouquet on the breakfast table. It's not just any flowers. It's a stunning arrangement of sunflowers, white roses, and baby's breath wrapped in brown kraft paper.
I stare at them for a moment.
It's not supposed to give me that fuzzy feeling in my chest, but I can't help it. I see a note stuck to the bouquet.
I had to leave early to run some errands. There's a chocolate cornetto next to the Moka pot. I know you don't drink coffee, but help yourself to some if you like. I'll be back by noon. Try not to miss me too much -Your loving fiancé, Dante.
I roll my eyes at the last part.
I glance at the clock. It's 10:30 a.m. I don't know when he left or when he'll be back, but I'm alone in the house right now.
Curiosity gets the best of me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I take the staircase to the first floor.
The door to his bedroom is open. I peek inside to see a four-monitor computer setup in the middle and a single bed pushed to the wall. I walk around the room, searching for something that'll give me some insight into his personal life.
I check all the obvious spots—the drawers, his closet, the inside pockets of his jackets. But I come up empty. There's nothing here that can help me demystify this man.
There’s not a single personal touch inside his home. There are no books on the nightstand, no photographs on the walls.
I sigh and head back out. Halfway between his desk and the door, I feel a shift beneath my feet. I pause. This portion of the floor is uneven. I take a step back and crouch to inspect it. My fingers trace the outline of the floorboard. I knock on it.
Hollow.
With my heart racing in my chest, I wedge my nails under the edge and pry it open. Dust puffs into the air, making my eyes burn.
There's a collection of guns and explosives here. But my focus zeros in on a white envelope. It's frayed at the edges, like it's been picked up and put down multiple times over the years. I lift the envelope and open it.
A photograph falls into my palm.
It's Dante. He's younger here. There's a light in his eyes that has been dimmed with time. A girl is standing beside him. I bring the photograph closer to my face. She's stunning, even as a child. She has the same eyes and cheekbones as Dante, which makes me think she might be his sister.
"You're not supposed to be here." His baritone voice surrounds me like an inferno.
I look up at him. He's wearing a stormy expression on his face. It should make me want to shrink and cower, but I don't fear this man.
"You left me no choice," I say. "I don't know anything about you. Even when you answer my questions, you're always dancing around the truth."
"So you decided to go through my things?"
"I was just trying to get to know you better."
His gaze drops to the photograph I'm still holding. For a split second, I see the depth of his melancholy. But he blinks, and it's gone, like it was never even there.
"What was she like?" I ask, standing. "This is your sister, right?"
He takes a deep breath. "I don't like to think about the past, much less talk about it."
It might have been a long time ago, but I can see that the wound is still raw. It's still bleeding.
I don't want to bring him down, but something tells me that all the answers I seek lie in his past.
“There are still so many things I don’t know about you,” I say.
“If there’s something you want to know, you only have to ask,” he says.
“I do,” I exclaim. “But you give me everything but the truth. I met you at a fucking human auction, Dante. And the next thing I know, you’re asking me to be your temporary wife.
How am I supposed to be okay with any of it when I don’t even know who you are or what you stand for? You owe me the truth.”
His whiskey eyes are ablaze as they study me. It makes me feel achy and restless everywhere.
"I don't owe you anything, little bird," he says. "And if I ever catch you going through my things again, there will be consequences. Is that fucking clear?"
I've never seen him this angry before.
And I don't like that it's directed at me. Against my will, my eyes flood with tears.
His entire demeanor changes when he sees them. He runs his fingers through his hair and curses under his breath.
"I didn't mean to use that tone with you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The last thing I expected was an apology from a mafia man. The tears spill, but I quickly wipe them away.
"I'm sorry for snooping," I say. "I don't know what I was thinking."
When he looks back up at me, his eyes are softer than before. He's upset that he's upset me. And once again, I get that feeling. There’s so much more to him than what meets the eye.
There’s more to him than his mafia title.
"There's no other way to say this, Grace, but the less you know about me, the better."
"I can see why you might think that, but I want to know the truth," I say softly. "You're asking me to marry you. I deserve to know what I'm getting into here, even if it’s just for six months.”
"I'm not saying that you don't," he says. "But sometimes ignorance is bliss."
"Maybe I'll decide that for myself."
His eyes trail down my body. I'm wearing another pajama set he got for me—a white cotton top with little hearts on it and matching shorts. His gaze makes my nipples pebble into hard peaks, craving his rough touch.
I can't even blame it on an aphrodisiac anymore.
This is all me.
"If I were to answer your questions, what will I get in return?" he asks.
The hunger between my thighs feels insatiable now.
"What do you want?” I ask.
“I just had to sit through a very annoying business meeting. I think a kiss would make me feel better.”
"Just a kiss?" I ask.
"A kiss wherever I like," he specifies.
We stare at each other for another beat. There's this energy between us. We've been orbiting each other from the moment we met. It's only a matter of time before one of us succumbs.
"Okay," I say. “One kiss.”
"Put the photograph back where you found it," he instructs, walking toward his desk and turning on the computers with his fingerprint.
I crouch down to place the photograph back in the hidden compartment. Before I do, I memorize young Dante's face. The stark difference between the way he used to look and the way he looks now tugs at something inside me.
I want to see that spark in his eyes again.
I stand and walk back toward him. His eyes are on me as he pats his thigh, telling me to take a seat.
My heart is racing as I do what I'm told. I'm surprised by how natural everything feels with this man. I'm surprised by how much I like having his strong arm wrapped around my waist as he pulls me closer.
He leans forward to open the desk drawer. I can feel his muscles shifting against my back as he moves. I'm shamefully wet between my thighs, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to trap my moan inside my throat.
"Before I share anything with you, I need you to sign something," he says, placing a stack of papers before me. “I had it prepared in advance because you kept asking me too many questions.”
"What is this?" I ask, looking at the expensive cream paper before me.
"A contract," he says.
"For the marriage?" I ask.
"Yes, but it’s also an NDA," he says. "Everything you see or hear in the next six months remains confidential. And that includes anything I share with you about my personal life."
For a moment, I forgot I was dealing with a mafia man. Of course he's going to make sure that he has all of his bases covered.
"Don't I need a lawyer for this?"
"I can provide one for you if you like."
"But you won't tell me anything until I sign it?" I ask.
"Correct."
I skim through the first few pages. There's a lot of legal jargon I don't understand. He said that he would provide a lawyer for me, and it would be wise of me to take him up on that offer. But I'm far too impatient.
So I read through the document on my own.
"This can't be right," I say as I finish reading the second page. "If I were to breach the contract in any way, that gives you the right to extend the punishment to my family members?"
“It does.”
"But that's barbaric."
"It's just an incentive for you to keep your lips sealed," he says. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly running a nonprofit organization here."
As I look at the contract, I see a teenage Dante staring back at me.
That carefree smile. Those unburdened eyes. The warmth of his aura.
My intuition has never steered me wrong, and there's no reason to doubt my gut feeling now. I've already decided to trust this man.
He starts tracing patterns on my thighs as I read through everything.
"Are you trying to distract me?"
"I'm happy to stay here all day," he says, shifting his body underneath mine. My eyes widen when I feel his hard cock lined up with my pussy. He continues tracing a star on my upper thigh, making every inch of my skin feel feverish.
I'm saturated through my panties, and I'm sure he can feel it.
But he doesn't say anything about it.