Page 32 of Dirty Mafia King

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Renzo chokes out before going limp. Her eyes fill with tears as Freido hauls him from the office.

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

She hesitates still, deciding whether to stay or run.

Head bowed, she shuffles toward me.

If she knew what I have in store for her, she’d be halfway down the hall.

CHAPTER11

ALESSIA

Iround his desk to stand before him, my legs nearly brushing his knees as he spins his chair to face me.

My bottom lip trembles.

“I’m sorry I spied on you.” There, I said it. Our history is acknowledged. With Renzo hauled off to rehab, it’s up to me to convince Sebastiano our plan is in his best interests. I can’t think of anyone who’d make a worse husband than Sandro. Except what choice do I have? If I had doubts that Sebastiano Beneventi would kill my father, they vanished after witnessing the harsh treatment Renzo just received.

But I don’t stand a chance without his trust. I hope this embarrassing admission’s enough.

Without a word, he reclines in his chair, sips his whiskey, and studies me.

The air charges.

His pull powerful.

I swallow hard. “Your door was open…”

He snorts. “That’s not what this is about.”

“It’s not?”

With lightning quick movements, he snatches my wrist and tugs me between his thighs. His drink sloshes over the glass rim, but that doesn’t stop him from raising my hand to his cheek. “Feel this?” He drags my fingers across his scar. “Six months after my father died and I became capo, my father’s right-hand man tried to kill me in my sleep. I woke up when the knife sliced my face. He died a slow death in the dungeon. The capo who paid him off is buried beneath the state capitol. Point is, I trusted the wrong man. Now I’m not the trusting sort.”

He drops my hand, but the warmth of his skin still lingers on my fingers.

“I’m sorry.” I bite my lip and stare at his handsome face, the scar only adding to his rugged appeal.

“Save your sorrys. You’ll need them.”

A chill runs up my spine. “What do I have to do to prove my loyalty?”

“Use your imagination.”

My heart thunders so loudly my ears ring. “I don’t understand,” I sputter. But it’s a lie, and he knows it.

He drains his drink, and then sets the glass on his desk. “Need me to spell it out for you?”

I don’t respond. I can’t—my lips won’t move.

“What could a kinky little voyeur who claims she’s a virgin do to prove she’s being honest?”

His tone is from my darkest fantasies. One part question. Two parts order. Three partsdare.

But do I dare?

I squeeze my thighs together. Because I’m wet, so freaking wet.