Chapter 17 #2
He squats in front of me and wraps his long fingers around the armrest, caging me in without touching me.
“You’ve already given me more than I deserve. Open the envelope and sign the documents, amore mio ,” he says.
The certainty in his rich amber orbs infects my limbs, and I follow his command with no doubts plaguing me. I open the envelope, slip out the papers, and fight a wave of disbelief.
This isn’t just in case paperwork.
He’s transferring half his portfolio to me, naming me as joint owner of his business, and giving me three houses.
I look up from the stack of papers and shake my head.
“You’re crazy,” I breathe.
He hums a noncommittal note and rises.
“Wait, it gets better,” he chuckles.
I shake my head harder when he plops an even bigger stack of papers on my lap.
“No, Mario. Just no. I’m not signing—”
“Those should have been yours from the beginning. Think of them as your father’s parting gift to you, sì ?” he says with a smirk.
His words make no sense. I shake my head again even though pain throbs through my temples.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“He used you. You were his spokesperson. Without you, none of his endeavors would’ve found success.”
“But I never did anything important.”
“You brought in clients, built brand trust, and managed his reputation without even realizing it. Those are legally yours already even if you don’t accept them.”
The smugness in his tone makes me think stripping my father of all his assets was already part of his revenge but giving them to me fills him with savage glee.
His enjoyment is contagious. I smile and wonder how I found such fortune as his lips tilt into a smirk.
He takes the heavy stack of papers off my lap and gestures to the original documents. I take a pen from the side table and add my initials and signature in the designated spots.
Emotions buoy my stamina for a few minutes, but breakfast sits heavy in my stomach and my entire body feels weak and sore. When he offers me his elbow, I use him as leverage and rise. He ushers me back into bed, but when he turns to leave, I grab his wrist.
“I know you probably have things to do but—”
My heart leaps into my throat when he slips his wrist out of my grip, but he walks around the foot of the bed and settles on top of the covers.
Lying on his back in jeans and a black t-shirt—I swear this guy never wears the same clothes twice—he laces his fingers together behind his head and closes his eyes.
“I’m right here, paperotta . Get some sleep,” he says.
I forgive his abrupt mannerisms and roll on my side to face him. I grasp the knife under my pillow and twirl my fingers into my hair out of habit, but he’s the only protection I need.
Sleep snatches me away from the world between one breath and the next.
I wake with my neck at an odd angle and a brick for a pillow. Fabric presses against my face but hot, smooth flesh greets my hands. I hum and snuggle closer to the gigantic furnace. It smells so nice, too. Like soap and man.
I stiffen in horror as reality settles over me.
Fuck. I rolled onto Mario in my sleep. With my head on his chest, my hands under his shirt groping his abs, my breasts flattened against his ribs, and my leg thrown over his hips and trapping his erection, I may as well be humping him like a bitch in heat.
By his stillness, he’s been awake for some time, enjoying my mindless groping.
I lift my head and glare at him.
His chuckle bounces me around on top of him.
At least I didn’t drool on him this time. Embarrassed and eager to roll away, I shift.
He snarls and bands his arm around my back.
“No. Stay,” he demands.
My heart squeezes and my anger flips into gratefulness.
He stayed. I’ll stay, too.
Even if my body betrays me. My nipples harden and a blush works up my chest and face.
Although my mind is much clearer than when my pain was at its worst, I still equate the achiness in my joints and tenderness in my abdomen to my father’s unwanted touch, and the last thing I want is to associate my trustworthy husband with my snake of a sire, so I pull my hands out from underneath his shirt.
He snarls and pulls me tighter against him.
“You started this, paperotta . Don’t stop now. Touch me.”
I want to touch him. I also want to replace the helpless feeling with a sense of power.
A flash of insanity blips through me. Instead of pushing away the crazy, I lean into it and tilt my head.
“Only if you keep your hands off me,” I challenge.
To my surprise, he grins and lowers his arms to his sides.
I walked right into his trap, and I’m not even mad about it.
Mindful of my waning energy, I explore his body, ignoring the arousal growing in my veins, and take what I want.
His pleasure.
He stays true to his word and twists his fists in the sheets instead of grabbing my head as he floods my mouth.
I become the most powerful goddess in history with my brutal mafia boss lying helpless underneath me as he succumbs to my feminine wiles.
After cleaning himself and ferrying my toothbrush, toothpaste, and a glass of water back and forth from the bathroom, he tucks me under the covers for a nap and retreats to his office for an hour or two of work.
When I wake, the evening sun streaks through the open curtains and pain squeezes the base of my skull.
Mario strides in with my next dose of NSAIDS and a bottle of water. He helps me through a quick shower and change of clothes before scooping me into a cradle hold.
“I’m sorry, mia moglie . I need to hold you,” he murmurs.
I open my mouth to tell him it’s fine, but he carries me out of the bedroom and down the hall.
“Where are we going?” I demand.
“We’re not leaving the house,” he promises as he carries me down the stairs.
My relief proves foolish when he steps into the living room. A woman wearing a flowery skirt and chic blazer rises from the couch. I swallow my hurt and aim accusatory eyes at my husband.
The woman steps toward us and extends her hand for me to shake.
Confusion spears through me, but I take her offer out of habit.
“It’s nice to meet you, Valentina. I’m Doctor Barker, New York City’s leading gynecologist, but you can call me Annie,” she says.
Her smile and straightforwardness disarm me, and even though I’ll never admit it, Mario’s efforts to get me the medical care I’ve never had endears me to him even more.
When I accept her presence and allow her to lead the conversation, answering her questions as honestly as possible, the worry creasing his brow lessens.
Which is enough for me to push through the home visit despite my discomfort. He sits on the couch with me in his arms as Annie takes my vitals and discusses options.
When she mentions birth control as an initial management option while we conduct tests, I dismiss the idea, but Mario shocks me by agreeing with the doctor.
A million worries plague me at once. He cups my chin and pulls me out of my spiral with a pointed look.
“I want babies with you, paperotta , but not until you’re ready. You’re still young, and I’m in no rush. Capisci ?”
I sigh, nod, rest my head on his shoulder, and fill my fist with the front of his shirt.
He’s mine.
I’m never letting him go. Ever.