Page 10 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince

SIENA

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my shirt, wondering if I should undo another button.

It’s the way you fidget…

It’s the way you laugh…

It’s the guilt in your smiles…

Somehow, Dario read me like a book. It’s sweet, and a little scary in a way I don’t fully understand, how much attention he’s paying to me. As I walk up the beach, I think about how dark he got when his uncle, Eddy, accosted me, threatening to break his jaw.

A cloud fell over him. It was like he became a different man.

Between the boat tour issues, the loose rocks, and Dario’s darkness, my instincts shudder. I can’t put my finger on specifically what, but it seems like there’s more going on here than I understand.

Or am I just being paranoid?

Marcela answers my knock with a big smile, ushering me into the room. Her suite has a large table resting on thick glass that shows the ocean beneath. Windows let in ample sunlight and a view of the open sea.

Vittorio sits on one side of the table, Dario on the other.

“Is it just us?” I ask.

Marcela beams at me. “Yes, dear.”

“My wife is playing the matchmaker,” Vittorio says, laughing.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

“He’s joking.” Dario stands, pulls out my chair. “But if you’ll allow me to pretend to be a gentleman…”

Dario wears a cream shirt. It’s opened to reveal hints of his firm muscles, the sleeves hugging his tight arms. His silver-threaded hair is wet, presumably from the shower.

Sue me–he looks handsome.

We sit around the table, then Marcela takes out her cellphone and shoots off a text. “Seafood platters okay for everyone?”

“Great,” I say. “Thank you, Mrs.—thank you, Marcela.” I correct myself when she makes a face at me.

Dario is sitting next to me. The seating is close enough that our legs are touching. Warmth courses over my thigh, between my legs, tickling and teasing at my heat. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose until he moves again, deliberately pressing his leg against mine.

We make small talk about the island until the food arrives. Then, as she adjusts her napkin, Marcela says, “I’m very impressed with you, Siena. Your boss has taken ill… but you’ve risen to the challenge. Do you want to have your own event management business one day?”

It’s hard to focus on her words with her son’s leg pressed against mine, but I spat out an answer.

“I’d definitely pursue that, but mainly because it would give me the financial freedom to help my mom.”

“Help her how?”

All three of them watch me keenly, Dario most of all.

“She had a catering business when I was a kid. It was her passion, her life, her dream come true. And she worked hard . But sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard a person works.

Sometimes, fate has ideas of its own. The wrong people got their claws into her business.

They took advantage of her. She thought they were helping her make it big…

but they ran the business into the ground.

I saw how she struggled… and I thought, even at that young age, I’m going to make this right . ”

I stop, taking a breath. “Sorry–I didn’t mean to go on a rant.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dario says fiercely, his leg pressing harder against mine.

“He’s right.” Marcela smiles. “That’s fascinating. And I know you’ll make it happen.”

“Thank you.”

We go on with our meal, Vittorio and Dario talking about a football game they recently watched. It’s difficult to focus when Dario puts his hand under the table and rests it against my knee.

It’s not like he’s feeling me up in front of his parents. He doesn’t slide his hand up my thigh. He just rests it on my knee. It’s innocent. But it’s also enough to make my body ache with the closeness, with the implication of what could come next.

By the time we’ve finished our meals, my heart is racing and a hot flush has covered my body.

Marcela yawns, stretching her arms over her head.

I stand, taking that as my cue to leave. “Thank you for this lovely meal,” I say.

Dario stands. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I do–Mother would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“He’s right.” Vittorio laughs. “She keeps trying to make Dario into a gentleman. And I keep telling her it’s a losing battle.”

“Not funny,” Marcela says, tapping her husband’s hand. “Dario is a fantastic man.”

“She doesn’t need the sales pitch, Mother. She already knows that.”

I roll my eyes and smile. When I immediately try to wipe away the smile, Dario gives me a look. I remember what he said about smiling with guilt, and something about the heat and the closeness and his ability to read me makes me continue to smile…

No guilt. No grumpiness. At least for now.

“Are you ready?” Dario says, offering me his arm.

“Sure.”

I take his arm, noticing the way Marcela grins. We leave the hut and walk down the beach together, the soft sand warm through my sandals.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asks.

“I’ve got a meeting with Veronica to fill her in on how I’ve been doing.”

“Tell her you’ve been knocking it out of the park.”

I squeeze onto his arm.

“Did you…”

“What?” he says when I trail off.

“Forget about it.”

“I can’t now.”

I swallow. “At the table–did you know what you were doing?”

He leads us toward a collection of palm trees. We walk into the shade, away from the beach. It feels like our own private little space.

His hands slide over my hips effortlessly. I know this is going to get complicated, and I’m not looking for a relationship… And I definitely did not consider hooking up as a perk of this job.

But I can’t lie. This, here, it’s… not unpleasant.

“Anything I can do to make you feel less grumpy, I’ll do.”

“Like feel me up under the table, huh?”

He leans down, his breath moving over me. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

I turn my face away.

“Would one kiss be the end of the world?” he says seductively.

“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“What idea would that be?”

“That anything is happening here.”

His hands tighten on my hips, sending warm sunshine coursing through my body. “Oh–nothing’s happening?”

He gets closer and closer. I know I should stop. I know I need to focus on my career, and this can only complicate things.

When our lips touch, another shimmer runs through my body, like a wave of sunlight dancing over me. The kiss doesn’t last long. Maybe a few seconds. But it feels much longer.

A moan escapes me as I sink against him, digging my fingernails into his firm chest. He answers my noise of pleasure with a groan of his own, sliding his hands down my body.

He grips my hips, pulls me close.

He’s already hard, an urgency pressing through the fabric of my dress that makes me want to give in. But then panic strikes me. I push against him gently, meaning to shove him away, but he’s too strong. I end up pushing myself backward instead.

“I-I have to go,” I stutter.

“Siena.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

I turn and walk away. He mutters something. It sounds like, but it is a big deal . I can’t be sure.

“Pardon?” I say, turning.

His intense eyes glare. “I thought you had to go.”

I turn and keep walking.