Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Mine.
Yes, I like the sound of that. This fierce little tigress is mine. Diego can't argue from the grave. He's not worthy of her anyway. If he were, he wouldn't have her hidden away like a dirty secret. She'd be tucked up in his penthouse on The Loop, living in luxury the way she deserves instead of in squalor here.
Why the fuck is he hiding her here?
"What's your name, tigrotta?"
"My name is irrelevant," she says, brushing off my question. "You came here looking for Diego. He isn't here. You and your men can leave now."
"Her name is Amalia Santiago."
She turns a venomous scowl on Mattia.
"Amalia," I say, unable to resist. It's a beautiful name. I can't wait to whisper it in the dark when I'm fucking my kid into her. I'll say it again and again, until she hears it in her dreams. "Where is your boyfriend, tigrotta?"
"Of course that's what you assume," she says, rolling her eyes at me.
"He's not her boyfriend," Mattia says, translating her annoyance. He's far better at understanding women than I am. Save for my housekeeper, there hasn't been a woman in my life since I was a teenager. People say it's because I'm a heartless bastard. Their whispers suit my purposes, so I let them think it. But the truth is I never let myself get close enough to one to risk falling. I may have made my world safer for women, but that doesn't mean one deserves to be shackled to a motherfucker like me. "I believe they grew up together."
Interesting. Diego's father, Alvise Butera, was one of my father's associates. He was never fully one of us, but he was never entirely on the outside, either. Diego grew up in our territory. This girl didn't. I'd remember her. You don't forget perfection like this.
"I don't know where he is," Amalia says, casting another dark glower at Mattia before turning back to me. I'm sure she intends it to be fierce, but it's just fucking cute if you ask me. She's a kitten facing down a lion. Her claws are sharp, but they're soft. "He doesn't tell me where he goes or what he does. Even if he did, I wouldn't tell you. I know who you are."
"Then you know why I'm here," I say, my voice soft.
A shadow passes through her mocha eyes, letting me know I'm right. She knows, if not everything, then enough to know this visit doesn't end with Diego living a long, happy life. And yet he left her here anyway. Either he's confident I won't involve her…or she means less to him than Luca thinks. I'm not prepared to say it's the latter. Not if they've known each other since they were kids. Not if he's been coming here twice a month like clockwork. Not if she knows he's in deep. She means something to him. He's just banking on the fact that I won't hurt her because she's female.
The arrogant bastard thinks I'll dance on his strings, bound by my own honor. If Amalia were anyone else, he'd be right. I'd let her go simply because I'm not my father. Luca, Gabe…every man on my payroll chose this life, same as I did. We knew the risks. We accepted them anyway.
If war comes, we die bloody. It is what it is.
But Diego seriously fucking misjudged the content of my character. I may not be my father, but I'm still the motherfucker this city loses sleep worrying about. And I want this girl beneath me, her nails embedded in my skin. When it comes to some things, there is no honor. There's only want. And take.
I want. And I'm taking.
No, that's not right. I need. It's damn near a compulsion at this point. She's mine.
I'll burn this entire fucking complex to the ground before I leave here without this girl.
"You're lying," I say, taking a step toward her. She doesn't back up. She doesn't waver. My dick throbs in the face of her defiance. Will she be as fearless in bed? As fiery? "I think you do know where he is, Amalia. But I think you'd rather sell your soul than tell me."
"No hago tratos con el diablo." I don't make deals with the devil. She flings the insult at me in Spanish, but I speak the language fluently.
"You'll make a deal with this devil, tesoro," I say, taking another step toward her. The toes of my dress shoes land flush against her ballet flats. Her cinnamon and vanilla scent swirls around me. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to snarl like an unruly beast. I press closer, until her tits graze my chest.
Ah, tesoro. Your ripe little body tells a story your eyes would deny.
She knows I feel those hard little nipples. She grits her teeth, her cheeks flushing. Her defiant gaze never wavers from mine.