Indebted to the Mafia King

Eleni

When Dante turns back to me, the heat in his gaze is dead. "I have to handle this."

"Yeah." I pull my bralette back over my bare chest, and the dress over that. "Of course."

He watches me like he wants to help but doesn't know how. "I'll have Seb take you home."

I climb off his lap and try not to feel like the stupidest woman alive. After a few moments, Seb opens a door I didn't notice and leans in.

"I'm sorry-"novelbin

Dante just nods at me. Seb shoots me an apologetic smile, and I walk out with him.

"So, have I pretty much ruined my chances of you ever liking me?" he asks as we walk up the stairs to the main club.

"Between this and Mama?" I smile wryly. "We'll see."

Pretending to be normal with Seb is the only thing keeping my emotions from overflowing. I don't even know where they're going to go anymore. I can just feel them, corked and bubbling in my chest.

He chuckles and holds open the door to outside. I step into the cool night air and rub my arms until he pulls up the car he drove Gianna and I here in. Feeling restless, I climb into the front seat rather than the back.

"Radio's all yours," he says. "Especially if you tell Dante this was Gianna's idea tomorrow. I'm trying to make capo someday."

The mention of Dante sets my blood boiling, so I turn on the radio and crank up the volume on the first station that comes in clearly. I don't want to hear anything else Seb has to say.

When he drops me off in front of the house, it takes the three steps up to the door for my emotions to crystallize into potent anger. Dante keeps pretending to be this super cool mob boss like I can't see the way he looks at me! Like I couldn't feel his cock when I climbed in his lap! I know he wants me. Sometimes, like when he asked for permission to kiss me, I start to think he might like me. But he's too scared to do anything about it.

I storm up the stairs and start to head to my room, but a new idea pops into my brain. He thinks he can just keep getting rid of me. Well, I'll show him I'm not going anywhere. I stride down the hall to his bedroom, throw open the door, and flip on every light I can find. As I expected, he has a private bathroom, and I need a shower before bed. I turn on the faucet and strip quickly. Gianna's pink dress that I probably stretched out. The flimsy bralette I hope I never see again. My still-soaked panties. The stupid, ribbon-laced heels come off last mostly because I struggle with the ties, and then I launch myself into the shower.

The still ice-cold spray shocks most of the remaining alcohol out of my system in a second. Showering in here is silly. But I'm not exactly going to get out now. I scrub myself as quickly as I can, trying not to let the smell of Dante's products coax me into visions of him joining me in here and finally having sex with me, then climb out.

I might be sober now, but I'm still pissed. I leave my clothes on his floor and all the lights on, but I resist the instinct to fall into his bed naked. He doesn't deserve that.

***

I roll over in bed for the hundredth time, and a sliver of light peeks in through my eyelids. I pry one open and the light is sunrise. A quick check of my phone confirms that five a.m. has come and gone. No sign of Dante yet.

At least my head has stopped spinning every time I move. Gianna made me drink water between every cocktail, so a small headache pounds between my eyes, but nothing serious. And the tan sheets on the bed are soft against my skin. I can only come up with two reasons for him to still be out, and my brain keeps fixating on the "he hates me now" one. Something could've gone wrong with his business, but I know how I must've looked. Half-dressed even before I let him make a mess of me, grinding on his lap and begging for him. I looked like a slut. The thought sends me burrowing deeper into the blankets, like I can just make the whole night go away.

The front door opens. I sit up. That has to be Dante. Do I go out to see him? Does he want anything to do with me? The front door closes slowly, but not like he's trying to be quiet. Like he's holding onto it. His footsteps on the stairs stumble out of time, and my heart leaps into my throat. I don't care what he thinks of me. I have to know if he's okay. I pull the sheet off the bed, wrap myself in it, and race out of the room.

There, at the top of the stairs, stands Dante. His lip is split and swollen. His knuckles drip blood onto the stairs. I can't see his jacket anywhere, and his shirt is pulled part of the way open, exposing a triangle of fine, dark chest hair. My mouth falls open, and I rush to him.

"What happened?" I demand.

"You know that douche I punched?" He stares down at me, some unknowable emotion in his eyes.

I nod.

"Turns out the douche had friends." Dante wipes the blood off his lip. "Biker friends. So I had to convince them Piacere wasn't their kind of club."

My heart hammers, and I grab his hand to look at his split knuckles, remembering at the last second that I have to hold onto the sheet. "You shouldn't have done that. I know a little bit of first aid. Let me clean you up." "You giving me orders now?" he asks with a crooked smile.

I shake my head and tug him down the hall toward the general bathroom. Too late, I realize my mistake. His gaze catches on his open bedroom door, then drops to me. There's a feral hunger in his eyes, wild and wanting. "You're certainly not taking them." Faster than I can follow, he snatches the sheet from my grasp.

I can do nothing but stand before him, naked and outlined in the golden light of his bedroom. He looks me up and down slowly, absorbing every detail. For a cold, terrifying moment, I think he's going to dismiss me again. "My bed," he says. "Now."