Chapter 25
ANDREA
He heaves a long suffering sigh, and I suppress the urge to give him a smug smile. He thinks I’d forget so easily? I bet none of the folders he has about me informed him as to just how stubborn I can be when I set my mind to something.
“You really want to know?” he asks, taking a bite of his own dish, making the action look annoyingly sensual. He chews quietly, and I wait for him to finish with raised brows. “Fine. Because I want you. I want you, so I took you for myself and now I’m blackmailing you to marry me, happy?”
My lips part in surprise. I kind of suspected that might be the underlying reason. A man like Hudson wouldn’t go ahead with a marriage–fake or not–unless it serves him.
Plus, I felt his hardness the night I was kidnapped, but I thought there might be another, sinister reason. Like punishing Ezra or something. “So, that’s it? You see something you like, and you have to own it?” I ask, lips curling in disgust but damned if my belly doesn’t get a little fluttery. He wants me.
“Precisely,” he answers arrogantly.
“I was ready to invite you upstairs that night, you know,” I confess. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d just stuck around a little longer and spent the night with me. You could’ve scratched that itch and moved on.”
“I could’ve fucked you that night, I could see it in your eyes. But it wasn’t just about one night, and I don’t share.”
Before I can cut into him, the waitress is back and places small plates of black cod on the table. “Miso–marinated black cod,” she says as she clears the plates of lobsters and scurries away.
I narrow my eyes on Hudson as I stab the cod and stick it in my mouth. My eyes widen in pleasure as the flavors explode in my mouth. I have to bite my lips to trap the moan bubbling at the back of my throat. Especially with the way Hudson is staring at me with such intensity. “Delicious,” I murmur and he nods in approval.
“We should use this opportunity to get to know each other, or rather you should use the opportunity to get to know me,” he corrects himself when I raise my fork threateningly.
“You’ll answer my questions honestly?” I ask.
“Of course. If I don”t like a particular question, I’ll simply pass. I don’t lie.”
“You rarely lie,” I correct, remembering his words.
He chuckles softly and mutters, “See? You know that much about me already.”
I give him an unimpressed look as I forge ahead with, “How did you become a mafia don?”
He grabs his wine and takes a sip, “Going for the jugular I see,” he remarks to which I shrug.
What’s the point of getting to ask questions If I can’t ask the things I’m actually curious about? I did a quick google search on him yesterday and I could barely find anything. I found nothing on Hudson Moratti but plenty about Hudson Moor, the founder and CEO of Moor corporation, a conglomerate.
Thirty-five year old philanthropist and self-made billionaire. No known family. According to an old article, he ran away from an orphanage at the age of seventeen. Despite police searching–which I doubt was more than a week long–he couldn’t be found. Then he suddenly showed up when he was twenty-two and established Moor cooperation. Of course, there are no photos of him online so Hudson Moor remains an enigma to the general public.
I searched for Massimo Moratti and had even less information to digest. Just some articles about how bloody the streets of Rhode Island were the month he took over the city. A few more articles about his crime doing endeavors. No pictures. No biography. Nothing. It’s like he was a ghost before becoming the don of the Moratti family ten years ago.
“It’s a messy story. Not fit for dinner conversation. Especially a pre–proposal dinner,” he insists.
“Are you stalling?” I raise a brow and the corners of his lips twitch into a slight smile. The waitress comes back with the next dish. A geoduck clam dish.
“I was a capo for the previous ruling family. I studied the don and his family for years and when the time was right, I struck. Killed him and his useless son. Killed everyone else who were loyal to him, and rose to the throne.”
I shiver at the dark look in his eyes as he seems to remember that moment with relish. “Why?” Call me crazy, but the more I learn about him, the more I want to know. It’s never enough. Maybe I should be wary of him but when you grow up in a family like mine, you become desensitized to certain things.
“Why what?” he asks, his green eyes closing on mine.
“Why did you do that? You had to have a reason. You wouldn’t just kill innocent people.” I may not know about his history, but I know that much.
His face closes off. “They certainly were far from innocent. Next question.”
I nod. He definitely had a reason. Fuck, why am I so desperate for him to have a good reason to kill people? Justification or not, murder is murder and he just confessed to it. I should be disgusted. My attraction to him should be dead. I should–
“Andrea?”
I glance up at him dazedly; the waitress is back again. She sets a bowl of crab meatball soup in front of us. Just how many courses does this darned dinner have? Hudson grabs his spoon.
“You really should try this soup.”
It does smell divine, but I can’t let it distract me. “Do you kill people discriminately?” I ask, if only to prove to myself that he isn’t a big bad criminal who pulls the trigger on anyone unlucky enough to be at the other end of his gun.
He nods at my soup bowl. I sigh as I pick up my own spoon. I scoop some broth and meatballs. Delicious.
“What’s your definition of discriminate?” he asks, and I shrug. “If you mean do I kill people who cross me…well, the answer would be that it depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“The scale of the crime.” He shrugs. I remain quiet, hating that I understand exactly what he means. I grew up in the Beaufort family. I saw things, despite Dad’s attempt to shield me. We finish our soup in silence and dessert is brought out. Matcha Panna Cotta.
I tried to remove myself completely by leaving the family business to start my own, honest company, Liquid Elixir, which I’m quite proud of. I’m missing it fiercely now; the hustle of a Friday night, the friendly faces, the feeling that I’m helping people, even if just by providing them an escape from their lives for an evening. I suppose those days are over now, I think solemnly.
“How was the conversation with your family?” Hudson asks as he picks up his desert spoon. Not, did you call your family? Of course, he knows I did.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know the specifics, Hudson. Save us both time and admit to it now,” I bite out, reminded of my earlier anger. Logging into my iCloud without permission. I have no doubt he snooped through my messages. Not that I have anything to hide, but still.
He lets out an exasperated sigh and mutters, “If you’re asking if I bugged your phone, the answer is no.”
“Well, can you blame me for being suspicious?” I give him a pointed glance. He did admit to bugging my previous cell. His phone chimes with a text, and he glances at it.
“My man is here. It’s showtime, pet.”
I give him a questioning glance, but perhaps for the first time since he kidnapped me, he isn’t staring. He snaps his fingers at someone behind me, and Donna rushes over to clear our table. Behind her, Trina pushes a cart of champagne on ice with one hand while carrying a large bouquet of pink roses with baby’s breath in the other.
Oh, he’s going to propose now. I knew this was coming, of course; but for some inane reason, my heart jumps to my throat as he takes out a ring box from inside his suit jacket. “Your man?” I manage to ask.
“He’s going to take photos of us, which I plan to leak to the press. So, look adequately adoring and surprised,” he explains getting to his feet. He drags his chair next to mine. I gulp as my heart starts pounding and my palms become sweaty. Trina hands the large bouquet to me and scurries off. I gulp, trying to hydrate my suddenly bone dry throat.
“Andrea Millicent Beaufort, will you marry me?” He opens the lid of the box, and I gasp at the monstrous diamond. I don’t even have to fake my surprise. The ring is a glittering masterpiece, and I can’t seem to look away. The center diamond is so large that the brilliance nearly blinds me when it catches rays of light from the chandelier.
“How many carats is it?” I choke out as he takes the ring out of the box.
“Five,” he answers, picking up my left hand. There’s a possessive glint in his eye that sends a shiver down my spine as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. My lips part as I examine my hand and test out the new weight that it holds. There will certainly be no missing this ring; if he was looking to make a statement and lay claim to me, mission accomplished.
“Don’t you think it might be too much?” I ask, even as I tighten my fist around the ring possessively.It’s mine now.
“It isn’t nearly enough,” he answers huskily and I glance at him. “I want every man within a five mile radius of you to know you’re taken. You’re mine now.”
The dark lust in his eyes arrests me and I stare at him speechlessly. He doesn’t really mean it. This is just pretend…right?
He leans toward me and trails his warm, firm lips down my cheek; fuck if I don’t turn my head to snag his lips with mine. My eyes slide shut, my senses heightened as his irresistible scent washes over me. My thoughts scatter, and I try to gather my wits. This is fake. It’s all fake. Don’t fall into it.
His lips graze mine with exquisite tenderness that borders on reverence., I realize that he’s trying to seduce me. And fuck, it’s so delicious. Tingles roll down my spine, and I forget where we are, who he is. I forget everything as my lips part for him.
Our tongues touch and butterflies erupt in my stomach. My breath hitches, and he groans, lifting his hands up to cradle my face as he twines his tongue with mine. I shudder, my own hands running up his strong arms to brace myself on his wide shoulders.
His body tenses, but he continues his slow seduction. I want more. My fingers dig into his shoulders. He tenses more, seeming to lose his control as he yanks me out of my seat and onto his lap. I gasp into our kiss when my core runs against him, proof of his own arousal.
He growls, clenching my ass in his wide palms, grinding me against his lap. I moan breathlessly, my head swimming as I feel myself ready for him. Closer. I tighten my grip on his shoulders as I try to make even more contact with him–to press our bodies so close together so there’s no telling where he ends and I begin. More. I roll my hips over his lap and my eyes roll to the back of my head when he sucks my tongue.
“Mr. Moratti?” a tentative voice shatters the spell, and reality rushes back in. I’m on my captor’s lap, grinding against him as we kiss in a public restaurant. I try to break the kiss. Hudson tightens his grip and for a moment, I think he won’t stop; then he lets me go. I scramble off his lap, drawing down my dress that had inched up.
“What is it?” His eyes blaze bloody murder as he growls at Trina who flinches away.
“I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a call.” Her hand trembles as she extends a phone to Hudson. He snatches it from her, and she rushes off like the hounds of hell are after her.
“What?” he snaps into the phone. He listens to the person on the other end for a minute and goes stiff as his gaze snaps up to mine. “We’re on our way.”
“Who was that?” I ask. His gaze drops to my lips and then he glances away with a scowl.
“Your brothers are at our house. We need to go.”
My eyes go wide, and I jump to my feet. My brothers, as in plural. Ezra, that fucking idiot.