Page 108 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

He grins at me. “I love it when you prove me right.”

I wait for him to leave, and then for her to speak.

She rolls her lip between her teeth in that innocent way that makes me immediately hard, and she quietly studies me.

“What have they been saying, Riley?”

“I don’t know what it means … and perhaps it’s nothing…”

“Nothing, like the bullying? Nothing, like your feelings toward me?”

She draws a breath. “Sandro odia la sua fidanzata.”

The truth blindsides me, and I see red. This is my villa. My sanctuary. And they’ve soiled it with bullshit I can’t seem to escape.

“Alessandro, please,” she pleads, reading my reaction perfectly. “Don’t hurt them. They’re jealous, is all.”

“I’ll have my man pack a bag after he returns with your wardrobe. You’re coming to Sicily with me tomorrow.”

“If that’s what you want…”

I pin her with a look.

“Okay,” she squeaks, but then curiosity creeps in. “What does the expression mean?”

“Sandro hates his girlfriend,” I say, and feeling my night turning ass end up, shift the conversation. “Nine a.m. Be ready.”

She looks relieved, and I escape the room.

Italians use the same word with different meanings. Sandroodia la sua fidanzata?

Even if Riley were my girlfriend, I couldn’t hate her. My feelings are not even close to hatred.

But what is fucking true?

Alessandroodia la sua fidanzata.

Alessandro hates hisfiancée.

CHAPTER 22

RILEY

It’simpossible to remain angry with a man who ravages your body with his eyes as you bare your soul to him beneath the full brunt of his attention. I’m dining on an expensive yacht’s deck on a twelve-hour cruise to Sicily, and—aside from the small crew tending to us—am highly unsettled by the thought of spending so much alone time with such an unpredictable man.

Out on open water, the world seems vast, and we’re simply two tiny figures frantically navigating life. Fate’s brought us together, ripped us apart, and now is having a good laugh at my expense. It’s much easier being angry than emotionally sabotaged this way.

He licks the red wine stain from his lips, and my breath hitches in my throat. He has no business looking like a CEO anticipating the glory of a hostile takeover.

And I’m the target in his sights.

“Did you wear the bathing suit like I asked?”

I reply with a simple nod. The white crochet bikini is tiny, with two triangles covering my areolas and a third my sex. Over top, I’m wearing a sheer white cover-up.

There’s no hiding from this man.

His shining blue eyes say he knows it, too.