Page 19 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

FOURTEEN

harry

The events of the day replay through my head like a nonstop loop. I sit on the bed dressed in a T-shirt I stole from his closet, my arms wrapped around my legs.

It’s definitely not that I want something of his on me, but he only brought me a few things of my own. I’ve showered, put on fresh panties because he at least brought those, but…

I raise a shaking hand and press it against my aching temple, again tumbling down the rabbit hole of my twisted thoughts, completely unaware of the time when the door opens.

I’m in the dark and he’s a shadow that takes up space… dark, foreboding, and completely fucking soulless.

“New rules. No contact with your uncle,” he says.

“Why?”

“We had a conversation. Let’s just say he can live, but I don’t trust him.”

Bitterness poisons my mouth as my chest tightens. “You just want to kill my whole family, don’t you?”

He ignores me. “You’ll have an escort to the church. So I need a list of times that you’re there or I’ll cut that off, too. I’ve got work to do, but tomorrow you’re going with Lucie and Declan on a shopping trip. Clothes, makeup, hair salon, the whole fucking shebang.”

Torin steps closer, his eyes cold, yet they ignite sparks deep in my core.

“You won’t be able to escape, and you’ll have no say in the clothes. Choose your own makeup and hairstyle. Within reason.”

There’s a note of dark warning there. Like he thinks I’ll come back with a green mohawk or something. Or get a face full of piercings.

“Is that all?” I ask nastily. “There’s no style book for me to consult?”

“Lucie knows what to get. You’ll be dressing the part of a good mafia wife. My mafia wife.”

Then he moves farther into the room and flicks on the lamp. My heart skitters, pulse leaping. Fuck my life, can he be any hotter?

He casts a look down at me. “You stole my shirt.”

I swallow. “You ruined my dress.”

“Your shit is ugly as fuck.”

“Forgive me that I’m not a fashion plate for men to ogle.”

“The only man ogling or touching will be me. But…” He looks at the ceiling for a long moment. “There is a chance someone saw you today. My wife would be dressed better.”

“Would she?”

He moves closer, settling over me, his face way too close to mine. I can see the tiny scar on his chin in the lamplight now that his face is smoothly shaven.

I don’t like it. Somehow the scar makes him human.

“We have parts to play, and yours is on your hands and knees, doing what I tell you to do. And one of those things is to dress better. Mafia is the name of the game, Harry.”

He retreats, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave the door open. But he comes back with a paper bag and a bottle of water. “Dinner.”

Torin turns to leave again. I grab the bag and throw it at him. He whips around and catches it.

“Your loss,” he says before locking me in.

My loss, indeed.

I’m fucking starving.

And not only for food.

The bedroom door is unlocked the next morning, and outside my room there is a glossy bag of clothes sitting on the floor. I pick it up and rifle through the contents. Dressy pants, a fitted top, and a gorgeous coat in slate gray. And there is a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes.

It takes me no time to get ready and I pull my hair back into a low ponytail.

“Style your hair, Hazel,” I grouse, using the name I go by. “Go on. You’ll look like someone I want to be seen with.”

For fuck’s sake. I really don’t want to bother with maintaining a hairstyle.

But whatever floats my master’s boat.

I grab the sink as a wave of wooziness passes over me. Master. It’s a word I should hate and snub my nose at. But there’s something about it that lights me up. I don’t know why. I’m not sure I want to.

I go down to the kitchen, ignoring the box of cereal on the counter and the piece of paper with an arrow pointing to the fridge with milk in block letters beneath it.

Lucie is a little cool when I walk into the living room, but I take a breath and say, “I’m sorry. ”

Her smile’s like sunshine. “It scared me. I called Cal but he said Torin was already on it. Running doesn’t work, FYI.”

It does, but I don’t say that. She must not know what Torin is all about.

I’m about to make some idle chitchat when she speaks again.

“I have a list of places where we need to go. And I’ll add in a few more stores.

I’ve got a card so we can shop like mad if you want.

Callahan pretends to hate it when I do.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles. “I also booked an appointment for our hair in Williamsburg, so we’ll be looking fabulous for our date tonight.”

“Date?” That sparks worry. “Tonight?”

“We’re all going out. Something about the first public outing as husband and wife.” She hesitates. “Just do what he asks, it’ll make things easier. And please don’t try to run again, Hazel. It will only make things worse.”

The front door bangs open and the German shepherd bounds in, leash trailing behind him. Declan appears in sweats. “Give me five for a shower.”

I frown. “You’re coming?”

“Run once,” he says, “and you don’t get to do it again. Tor’s rules.”

The black cat saunters up to us, yawns, and stretches.

“Y’know, Luce, he might be getting a little… round,” Declan says, nodding at the cat. “Hey, how about we get Clawzilla a harness and he can join me and Arnold on our runs.”

Clawzilla turns to hiss at him like she knows exactly what he just suggested.

“Do you expect a fashion show?” I ask the moment I step foot into Torin’s room hours later. I am completely exhausted from our whirlwind shopping spree. He sits on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, fingers clacking on a laptop.

The grim, determined expression on his face unnerves me.

I slide my eyes away from him. There’s a box on the bed from a very expensive boutique and a smaller box that I’m sure contains jewelry.

I carefully set down the bags I’m carrying.

“Not my style.” His gaze flicks to me. “At least, not the fashion show you’re thinking of.” He frowns at me before he goes back to his computer. “I told you to get your hair done.”

Jesus, his words are like a pin pricking a balloon. And I don’t even know why I care. I’ve never gone to a salon like the hip one Lucie took me to. The stylist was amazing. She gave me a cut that kept the length but gave me layers and bounce. And then she weaved magic to make my hair shine.

My eyes blur for a moment.

I blink the extra moisture away. I don’t care what Torin thinks. He’s the worst.

“We’re going out tonight. You’ll wear the dress and the lingerie and the rings.”

“They might be too big or too small.” I glare at him and stalk to the box, ripping it open. The jeweler is famous, and as I open it, an icy sensation winds through my insides.

A beautiful gold wedding band with diamonds and a gorgeous square cut diamond engagement ring wink at me, the facets glittering in the soft glow of light.

They slide on easily, and while not perfect, they fit well enough.

I hold up my hand. “Great. Now I’m announcing I’m someone’s property. How exciting for me.”

He looks up at me once more and I catch the gold on his ring finger. “Now you’re getting it. Now get ready, we’re going out for drinks and then meeting my family.”

“I’ve met them.”

“Don’t,” he says, “be cute.”

He leaves, taking the computer with him. I glare at the box, and then I walk into the bathroom, close the door, and pin up my hair so it doesn’t get wet when I shower. He might not care, but… But it’s the first time I’ve done something so frivolous for me.

It feels… nice.

“Not for you, idiot,” I remind myself. “He ordered you to. Your jailer. The monster.”

After my shower, I dry off and wrap myself in a soft velour robe. The makeup we bought is in brighter shades than I’ve ever worn, and I do my best to apply the eyeliner, shadow, and mascara. And then come the red lips.

With a sigh, I slump over to the bed and yank off the top of the box.

There’s another package on top of the tissue paper.

When I open it, I stare at the underwear, my jaw damn near hitting the mattress.

Silver satin panties so thin and low they barely cover my pussy.

The bra’s basically wired to thrill a man and is made of the same silver satin.

It doesn’t cover my nipples, though, it just pushes up my breasts.

Finally, there are a pair of nude stockings. I put them on.

Next, I look at the dress.

Silver gray, and when I put it on, I want to cry.

If I could pick a fancy dress, it would be this. None of the more fitted ones I had to buy or the cutting-edge things Lucie talked me into would ever be my choice. But this…

Did Torin pick it?

I stare at myself in the mirror.

The dress plunges down to show the swell of my breasts. The sleeves are long and billowy, tight at the wrists. And it fits perfectly. The skirt ends above the knee, swirling when I move.

It’s pretty, sensual, a little sexy.

“You’ll do.”

Torin’s careless words make me gasp and spin. And I almost fall to the bed because my legs lose their ability to hold me up for that split second.

If I thought he looked good the other night when we got married, now he looks even better. Slate-gray three-piece suit and black tie.

The elegant gangster.

The charming devil.

His eyes glitter as they move over me, and though his words are tepid, this look is not.

I lift a shaking hand to my hair.

“Leave it. I like it. A little mess suits you. And I can still see my bite mark.”

My eyes narrow and I move to pull the pins out of my hair.

“I said leave it.”

This time I heed his warning.

And the fucker smiles. It’s both filthy hot and bloodlessly cold. “Wear your wedding shoes.”

For some reason, I avert my eyes, dropping them to the floor as I go to the closet and pull them out, pushing my feet into the bright-red pumps. When I turn back, he has the little crystal bag Lucie chose.

He holds out his arm.

I want to ignore it. I do.

The last thing I want is to touch him and yet, I’m practically dying to lay hands on him again.