Page 102 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Mialina

I make my grand entrance at Maximo’s mansion in a fitted black dress.

If he wants engagement photos, then fine. He’ll get me dressed like I’m going to a funeral.

His funeral, preferably.

Maximo is waiting in the hall in a suit that probably costs more than a car, his smirk already in place. His eyes sweep over me, dark with satisfaction.

“A black dress, Mialina? On such a joyous occasion?”

“Joyous only for you,” I say sweetly. “Besides, I don’t see you wearing any color. Why should I?”

“Because you are the bride.” He steps closer, and the scent of his aftershave invades me. Dammit. He always smells impossibly good.

“Black on me is tradition. On you, it’s rebellion,” he continues. “I like it. It makes this even better.”

I scowl at him, but he only looks more amused.

The photographer approaches, introducing himself. I turn my most dazzling smile on him. Let’s see how you like that, Maximo Marcos.

I lean in a little, ask him questions, and laugh a little too warmly.

Predictably, Maximo doesn’t like it at all.

He pulls me into a side room with iron strength. It’s an elegant sitting room meant for quiet conversations over expensive tea or whiskey. Sunlight pours through tall windows, catching on pale curtains and throwing soft light across a velvet chaise.

“Mialina,” he growls, “testing my boundaries already?”

I give him a sugar-sweet smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is me being naturally friendly.”

“Well, less of that from now on.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Little rebel,” he murmurs, leaning in so close the hairs of his beard brush my cheek. A shiver runs down my arms, and his fingers catch my wrist as if to prove he feels every betrayal of my body.

“Don’t think for a moment any of this will go unpunished.”

His breath tickles my ear, and my heart flutters like the traitorous thing it is, already choosing him over me.

“I’m keeping count of your infractions. You just added another. As soon as you say ‘I do’, I’ll be collecting.”

His threat shouldn’t make me hot and bothered. It shouldn’t. But it does.

My legs turn to liquid. Great. Even my knees are traitors.

Maximo notices too. His hand slides to my waist, steadying me with infuriating ease. He leans in, his voice a low promise meant only for me.

“Careful, Mialina. Your body already knows who it belongs to. The rest is inevitable.”

He can believe whatever he wants. My body might betray me, but my will is iron, and he’ll break his teeth on it before I give in.

I try to brush past him toward the door, but he’s immovable. A mountain.

He pulls a small velvet box from his jacket. My pulse jumps, but I refuse to reach for it. I know what’s inside, and I don’t want it.

Not really.

But my curiosity burns.

“What, you’re not going down on one knee as you slide this on me?” I mock.

His expression hardens, his tone icy. “I don’t kneel for anyone.”

For a heartbeat, I forget the teasing, forget the ring, forget the photos. He isn’t just a man who infuriates me. He’s a don, raised for power and supremacy. And I’d do well to remember that.

Maximo flips the box open and wastes no time, taking my hand and sliding the ring onto my finger. The weight of it feels like chains. Beautiful, glittering chains.

The diamond catches the light. Emerald cut, platinum band, unapologetically bold.

The kind of ring that screams possession.

I should rip it off, throw it back at him, but all I can do is stare.

I hate how much I love the way it looks on me.

He lifts my hand, admiring it, clearly content with his choice.

“Fit for my queen.” Then he leans in, his lips hovering near mine.

I push him back at once.

“Since this isn’t a proper proposal, there’s definitely no kiss.”

That one I succumbed to before already ruined me, and I won’t risk a repeat. At least, that’s what I tell myself while butterflies riot in my stomach at the thought of his lips on mine again.

My body aches to close the distance, to taste his danger. I grit my teeth, wrench myself away, and slip past him, leaving the room before my weakness shows.

His low laugh follows me, dark and triumphant. He breathes, “And another,” soft as a promise and colder than the metal on my finger.

“Run while you can, Mialina. I’ll be right behind you.”

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