Page 47 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

I nod. “He said if you couldn’t kill me, he would.”

He lets out an expletive under his breath. "Listen to me. Stay away from Salvatore. Don't be alone with him, ever. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

He helps me to my feet, his warm hand wrapped around mine. "We're leaving."

As we walk toward the elevator, I feel Salvatore's eyes following us from across the office.

The phone in my purse seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and I wonder if I've just traded one danger for another.

I stare out the passenger window as Roman drives us home, my fingers absently rubbing the tender spots on my wrist where Salvatore's grip left marks.

The fabric store bags are forgotten.

What started as an almost pleasant afternoon has morphed into something far more sinister.

"Salvatore isn't someone you want as an enemy," Roman says, breaking the tense silence. "He doesn't forget slights, real or imagined. And he holds grudges until they're settled."

I turn to face him. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning. Salvatore has a grudge with your father." Roman flexes and then tightens his fingers around the steering wheel. "He once tracked a man across three states for disrespecting him at a card game. The guy disappeared without a trace."

"Like my mother did?" The words escape before I can stop them.

Roman's jaw tightens. "We're back to that?"

"How can we not be?" I gesture between us. "That's the whole reason I'm here, wearing your ring, living in your home. Because I dared to investigate what happened to her."

"I told you I didn't kill your mother."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?" I laugh bitterly. "You're Marco Calabresi's enforcer. His right hand. If he ordered it?—"

"He wouldn't have." Roman cuts me off sharply. "And even if he had—which he didn't—I wouldn't have touched your mother."

"Why not? Isn't that what you do? Follow orders? Kill people?"

Roman pulls the car over abruptly, shifting into park before turning to face me fully. "You think I'm just some mindless attack dog? That I don't have limits?"

The intensity in his eyes makes me shrink back against the door.

“I’m no saint, Isabella. Not even close. But I don’t kill women or children or innocent people. Neither does Marco. Nor does La Corona.”

“You just said Salvatore has a grudge against my father. Maybe he?—”

“Salvatore wouldn't move against you without Marco's permission," he says more calmly. "And Marco wouldn't give it. That's the only reason you're still breathing after what you did."

"So I should feel grateful?"

"You should feel protected." His voice softens unexpectedly. "Whatever you think of me, Isabella, I won't let him hurt you."

I search his face, looking for deception but finding only determination.

It occurs to me that the most terrifying thing isn't Salvatore's threats or the dangerous game I'm playing with Blackwood. It's how easily Roman makes me want to believe him.

“But if I’m to fully protect you, to have Marco’s full backing to protect you, then you need to follow the rules and trust me.”

There’s something in his eyes.