Page 32 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince

SIENA

I lie in his arms, in his bed, my cheek resting against his chest as I listen to his heartbeat. We’ve been lying like this for almost an hour. I’m not sure if he’s asleep, but I don’t want to drift off, not yet. I want to savor this feeling of peace, of not worrying about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly.

I smile, wriggling closer to him. My body aches contentedly, sore but pleasant.

“That running away from you is getting harder every single time we see each other.”

“I solved that problem the day we met, Siena. I never started running.”

“You did–toward me.” I prod him playfully in the chest. “Like an eager dog.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” he says. “It shows that when I want something, I don’t quit.”

“You got what you wanted,” I murmur.

“Are you going to start that hookup talk again?”

“Well–what else would it be?” I demand. “A life?”

“That depends on if you could stomach being with Mr. Mafia .”

“You don’t like that nickname, do you?”

“That’s not what I am. I play that role because I have to, because if I didn’t, someone else might come along, someone worse, and use it to do sick things. But it’s not who I am.”

“What do you want from life? Do you think about the future?”

“I’m a little older than you. I should think about it.”

I nudge him playfully again. “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically. “I’m thirty-seven, angel.”

“And I’m twenty-three. Now, are we done stating pointless facts?”

“It wouldn’t be pointless to some.”

“It is to me,” I tell him. “But fine, let’s say it’s an age thing or just a you thing, but do you ever think about life? Your future. Stuff like that.”

“Honestly? Before you, no.” His voice grows gruffer, as if he’s putting up a defensive shield. “If a future, a life, was ever going to be a thing for me, it’d be through some arranged mafia alliance. Some political connection. I’ve always hated that idea.”

“Someone else choosing for you would be weird,” I agree.

“So I just blocked it out. But when I climbed into your boat, I wasn’t the mafia prince anymore. There wasn’t all this bullshit weighing me down. I was just a man making you laugh.”

“And then… you thought about it? The future?”

“I’m not some old-school mafioso who’s going to claim you after a few days, Siena. I will not chart our course here and now. But yeah, I’ve thought about it. A house. Kids. A future. I can see that one day.”

I kiss his chest.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“For being honest,” I murmur.

“Do you ever want kids?”

“Yes,” I answer, maybe too eagerly. “I’ve never had any doubt there. As for when and who with… I’ve never given it much thought.”

“Think about it now,” he says with passion.

I close my eyes, sink into a dream of the future, a barbecue or a party or a fireside scene, me and this almost stranger, and a house full of love and laughter. The fantasy is comforting, but it’s also dangerous. There’s so much between us and that, and I don’t want to make any firm commitments.

“I can see it,” I whisper. “In the future.”

“In the future,” he mutters.

“I’m not going to say our future, Mr. Mafia. Here and now, remember? That feels like it’s a million years away.”

He rubs my shoulder and kisses the top of my head, then inhales like he wants to draw my scent into him. “This is enough,” he says huskily. “For now.”

As sleep finally takes me, that phrase bounces around my head.

For now.

He’s planted the seed. It’s growing. But after this trip is over, if it somehow has a happy ending, I have a life of my own to return to. Work. Mom’s business. Dreams and aspirations.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to fit a relationship into that.

I drift off, and wake what feels like a few moments later, warm sunlight filling the room. I blink as I watch Dario walk out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Morning, beautiful.” He smiles. “Any regrets?”

I take a moment to look at him, water dripping down his sculpted body, his expression showing his usual confident self… with a hint of uncertainty. In the end, I’m honest.

“Nope.” I hop out of bed. “Which either means we’ve got chemistry for days, or I’m completely off the reservation.”

He winks. “A mixture, maybe?”

“It’s a good thing you like it when I get crazy, then,” I tell him.

He laughs. For a moment, everything feels easy and carefree. Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” he says.

“It’s Nico–your father wants to see you.”

Dario sighs. “Okay, then.” He gestures at me. “You need to get dressed, Siena.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Until I know where Rocco is–if he left the island, if he’s hiding somewhere–you’re coming everywhere with me. I don’t want to go all Mr. Mafia about it, but you can either come voluntarily…”

“Easy, tiger,” I say, standing up. “We’re not at the kidnapping stage yet.”

He arches his eyebrow as if asking what stage we’re at. I pretend not to notice the subtlety of his expression.

“Have I got time for a quick shower?”

“Only if you let me join you.”

“I said a quick shower. You’ll get carried away.”

“How do you know?”

I gesture to his towel, his manhood already tenting the material, showing how badly he wants me.

“Fair point,” he says.

After a shower, I return to the bedroom to see that Dario has gone to my room and gotten me some clean clothes. Dario isn’t in the bedroom. I get dressed and tie my hair up, then walk onto the pier, the morning sunlight burning hotly down.

“I thought it’d be better if I waited out here while you got ready,” he says with a knowing look.

He’s wearing a cream-colored shirt open at the collar, khaki shorts, and slip-on shoes. Handsome as always.

He offers his hand. “Shall we?”

I debate taking it. In the stark light of day, it feels somehow more meaningful. Finally, I link hands with him, and it feels natural. Like everything with us has from the start.

With Nico trailing behind us, we walk down the pier to his parents’ hut. Vittorio and Marcela are sitting on their balcony. Marcela’s face lights up when she sees me holding hands with her son.

Vittorio is wearing fresh clothes, and he’s clearly showered, but his eyes are bloodshot and there are bags under them.

“Please sit,” Marcela says, gesturing to the table.

We all sit, then Edoardo walks out of the hut, hesitating when he spots me. He walks around the table, taking the seat next to his brother.

“Miss Walsh,” Edoardo says after a pause.

“Yes?” Nerves twist through me. Every interaction we’ve had so far has been a bad one.

“I wanted to…” He breathes slowly. “Apologize. For my behavior. My accusations. And my rudeness.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“He thought you were in on it,” Vittorio grumbles. “He thought my son and his new woman were working together to undermine me. My son, Edoardo, your nephew… you thought he was in on it.”

Edoardo holds his hands up. “In my defense, Dario thought the same about me.”

Vittorio runs his hand over his head, looking at Dario. “How much does she know?”

“Everything,” Dario says.

Vittorio turns to me. “I assume we can trust you not to go running to the cops about the Bianchi Family?”

I let go of Dario’s hand. He squeezes my thigh under the table, not steamily, but as a signal. I ignore it.

Gripping the table, I lean forward. “Mr. Bianchi, I want you to answer me honestly. If I said the first thing I was going to do when I got back to the States was tell the police about this trip, about what I’ve heard, what would you do?”

Edoardo grinds his teeth. Marcela stares at me in shock. Beside me, I feel Dario seething. Vittorio just folds his arms.

“I want the truth. I want to know what you’d do.”

“We would use our contacts in the police to persuade them you are confused and don’t understand what you are saying.”

“If that didn’t work?”

“It would,” he says.

“But what if it didn’t?”

“We would pay you off.”

“And if that didn’t?” I demand.

“Then we would fight you in court. You can dig all you like, Siena, but we are not in the business of harming women or civilians.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Dario says from beside me.

“Are you planning on doing that?” Edoardo demands.

“No, but I had to know. I had to understand what this was.”

Vittorio nods. “That makes you intelligent. I can’t fault that.” He turns to Dario. “Any sign of Rocco?”

“Not yet,” Dario mutters. “There’s an issue–we can’t check the huts of the other guests. We’ve booked almost all the rooms- almost , but not all. So there’s a chance he’s hiding in one of those.”

“Or he left the island,” Edoardo says. “It’d be the easiest thing in the world to get a boat and row to the nearest one.”

Vittorio groans. “He gave me a glass of champagne. Handed it to me with a smile on his face. A few minutes later… well, you all saw. How bad is the damage?”

“You’re sure he drugged you?” Edoardo says.

“Certain.”

“I knew it.”

“It’s manageable,” Dario says. “If we go on with the vow renewal and project an image of strength, the men will understand. Even better if we can catch Rocco and make him pay for what he’s done.”

“Rocco,” Marcela whispers. “My baby’s godfather. I don’t understand.”

“All men want power, sweetness,” Vittorio mutters. “Until they get it. Then they understand the mistake they made.”

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from Veronica.

Veronica: Come to my room.

“I need to see my boss,” I say, standing up. “Maybe she’s feeling better. I could use her help for the final stretch… we want everything perfect.”

Dario stands. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have?—”

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m coming anyway.”

Together, we walk outside.

Dario turns and takes me in his arms. “That stuff you were saying in there…”

“I had to know just how mobbish this mob was, Dario.”

“My father told the truth. No one will hurt you. But if anyone tried, I’d stop them. I’d never let anyone hurt you, okay?”

I try to laugh it off. “It’s fine.”

“No–I need you to understand.” He pulls me in for a hug, and my resolve melts, and I hold him tightly.

“I get it,” I whisper. “Thank you.”