Page 16 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince

SIENA

I t’s midafternoon, time for my meeting with Veronica. She lies in her bed, her blankets swallowing her, her face red and her eyes glassy. As I give her a rundown of what I’ve been doing, she looks almost annoyed, as if she resents me for doing a good job.

A paranoid thought strikes me. What if Veronica trashed my room? What if she’s been sabotaging me? It makes no sense, though. If I look bad, Evermore Events looks bad… which reflects terribly on her.

“It sounds like you’ve got everything handled,” Veronica says.

“I’m doing my best,” I reply. “I just want to make sure I stay on top of everything. Putting out fires seems to be my main job at the moment.”

Veronica sniffles. “Putting out fires is always part of the job, but so far, no one has complained?”

“Everyone is having a great time,” I say. “I think Marcela has taken to me quite well. Not that they wouldn’t prefer the captain running the ship, obviously…”

“Relax, Siena. You will not get into trouble for doing your job.”

“Right–sorry.”

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Veronica snaps.

“I don’t want to argue or upset you.”

“Who said anything about an argument?”

“You just don’t seem like your usual bubbly self. You seem down. I know you’re ill, so obviously you’re not going to be the life and soul of the party. If something’s wrong, I want to help. Other than the illness, I mean. I’m not a doctor.”

I’m stumbling over my words, nerves getting the better of me.

“You’re a good worker, Siena, and I consider you a friend.”

“Thank yo?—”

“But I think you might need to remember who I am. When you’re speaking to me. Our relationship. I’m the boss.”

I put my hands behind my back so that she can’t see me clenching my fists. Squeezing them so hard my fingernails bite into my palms. Is there seriously any need for this?

“Have you spoken to a doctor?” I say. “Instead of wallowing in your room?”

That’s a big mistake. But the words are out before I can snatch them back.

“Wallowing,” Veronica repeats. “What an interesting way to phrase it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Is there an alternative meaning to ‘wallow’ I’m not aware of?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lane.”

When I call her by her surname–something I haven’t done since my job interview–her expression softens. “Forget it. Water under the bridge. Now, please, I need my rest.”

“Seriously, I’m sorry.”

“I said it’s fine, Siena.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid… who talks to their boss like that?

For the rest of the day, things go surprisingly well. Everything goes according to plan, but I’m not able to relish the minor success, because I keep replaying the conversation with Veronica. Just because I’m doing well, doesn’t mean I can disrespect my employer.

I grab a quick dinner alone, then return to the room… Dario’s room, our room. He’s sitting on the couch, reading a paperback book, the sheet nowhere in sight.

“What are you reading?” I ask, wandering over to the couch.

“ Blood Meridian ,” he replies.

“Heavy. I’ve heard that book is pretty violent.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

I’ll break every bone…

“Would you mind if I put the sheet up? I was thinking of getting an early night.”

“Sure. No problem.”

He stands, reaches out for me, and I take a step back. His wounded expression triggers something in me, but I can’t listen to it.

“Friends, remember?”

He smirks, his voice heavy with irony. “That’s right. Friends. Just a couple of good pals. My bad.”

“Where’s the sheet?”

“In the closet.”

I open the closet door, smiling when I see the box of chocolates. I take it out and turn to him. He’s got a boyish grin on his face.

I try to wipe my smile away, but it’s a losing battle.

“How did these get in there?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know… is there a note?”

I look again; there is.

To Siena, for all your hard work, and because you deserve something sweet.

“Thanks, Dario,” I murmur. “But don’t make me eat all these on my own.”

“If you need help, sign me up.”

We sit on the couch, side by side, our legs touching just like they did at lunch. Something as simple as thigh-on-thigh touch shouldn’t provoke this feeling in me, but I can’t help it.

Tension curls around me, grips me, holds me tight in its embrace. Together, we devour the chocolates like a pair of teenagers sneaking a snack before dinner. He looks at me, light in his eyes, and I laugh as I wipe chocolate from his mouth.

“Mr. Old Money is a messy eater. Who would’ve guessed?”

He turns away, but not before I catch the look on his face.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Then why the sulky face?”

“My bad–I forgot you’re supposed to be the grumpy one, eh?”

“Seriously, did I say something wrong? I know you’re more than your bank balance, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nah, beautiful. I’m just concerned that you’re being nice to me, is all. Makes my head spin.”

“That’s what friends do, right? Be nice to each other?”

After the chocolate, I stand and gesture to the bed. He rises to his feet, moves to touch me, then frowns when I back away again.

It’s difficult not to let him touch me. Also, fighting the physical urge inside. But somehow, I manage it.

I grab the sheet, and he takes the other end, and together, we tie it up. Then we step into the bathroom and brush our teeth–in front of the mirror, together.

“This must be what it’s like to be a couple,” he says, smirking at me in the mirror.

As I process his words, I get a glimpse of what he means by my guilty smile. The corner of my lip twitches, then turns into a frown. Why can’t she just let herself be happy ? I think for one surreal moment, as if I’m looking at someone else.

We return to the bedroom together. I change into some PJs despite the heat, not wanting to tempt fate by stripping down to my underwear. The moment I climb into bed, the sheet dividing the room falls down.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dario says from the other side of the room. He’s on his feet, shirtless, his muscles on full display, his ripped chest and rock-hard abs. “I know what game you’re playing.”

I prop myself up on my elbows, eyebrow raised. “Game?”

“You purposefully tied the sheet wrong, knowing it’d fall. You can’t fool me, angel.”

I like when he calls me angel and beautiful and other terms of endearment, but I try not to let it show. Judging from his knowing, confident expression, I fail.

“Care to give me a hand?” he says.

I climb out of bed. “Sure, but this time, I’m double checking both knots.”

We tie the sheet into place again, and I ensure both fastenings are secure. Once we’re done, he peels back the sheet and gazes at me.

“Good enough?”

“Yes. Good night, Dario.”

“Good night, hot stuff.”

“That’s a strange thing for a friend to say,” I huff.

“Never heard of friends with benefits?”

“I told you, I’m not a hookup sort of gal.”

“Then I’ll need to make a proper lady of you, treat you like the queen you are.”

“Ew–puke. You sound like one of those nice guys .”

“Nothing wrong with being nice, is there?” he quips.

“But they’re not nice, not really. They just pretend to be.”

“Good thing I’m a downright demon then, Siena.”

“Seriously, good night.”

I climb into bed, close my eyes, and try to sleep. But I can’t seem to drift off. Minutes pass, then hours, and it’s like I’m hypnotized by the sound of Dario turning the page, the almost silent tsk , making me think of him lying there shirtless, just beyond the sheet.

“Can’t sleep?” he finally says.

“How’d you know?”

“You’ve been tossing and turning all night. You need to relax.”

“Yeah… easier said than done.”

My pulse jumps as I hear him stand, anticipating what he’s going to do next. I watch in silence as he pulls back the sheet, and steps onto my side of the room.

“I’ve got an idea since you stormed out of the massage,” he says.

“An idea?”

“To help you relax.”

Tell him no. Tell him you mean it…

Maybe I could even actually mean it if I tried hard enough.

“Are you offering to give me a massage?”

“You say that as if it’s dangerous.”

It is. It’s a risk. Fighting this desire and physical chemistry is so difficult.

“Just a massage?” I say.

“If that’s all you want,” he replies.

I shouldn’t agree to this. It goes against everything I’ve been saying.

“I do feel tense…”

“Then say no more, Siena. Let me be nice .”

That’s the thing. I think I want him to be the other thing. What did he say?

A demon in the sheets.