Page 29 of The Mastermind (Mafia Rivals #1)

CESARE

‘What the fuck was that all about?’

She flinched at the sound of my hotel room door being kicked shut after she entered. And even that pissed me off.

Fuck .

I’d won my favourite race and gotten a solid lead on my traitor problem after months of scratching my balls like a schmuck while the Mancinellis and Ivanovski laughed.

I should have been celebrating.

Instead here I was, searching Maddelena’s face for clues as to why she’d tried to bail. And yeah, the signs of carefully controlled distress weren’t filling me with warm fuzzies.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked, eyes widening.

I followed her gaze to my bruised hand. A couple of knuckles were busted open and in the hour since my little skirmish, they’d swelled some.

‘Nothing a little ice won’t fix,’ I said, dismissing her concern. ‘Answer me, Maddelena.’

She ignored me, crossing the room to the liquor cabinet on four-inch heels that made her legs look miles long and started rummaging around.

My irritation with her didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the view, and when she bent over to scoop ice from an ice bucket, that was exactly what I did. She was wearing the same skirt as before with the slit that showed her creamy thighs, and I was no fucking saint.

The fact that she’d meant to keep that ass from me tonight riled me all over. Still, I waited, curious despite myself, as she finished whatever the fuck she was doing and returned to where I stood. Waiting like a horny, doe-eyed moron.

‘Hand.’

I raised a brow at her sass.

She flushed but didn’t back down. Fuck, I loved her little bursts of spirit as much as I hated the signs of her distress.

I held out my hand, then snatched it back when she stepped forward to take it. ‘You think playing nursemaid gets you off the hook, baby?’

‘No, but I’m assuming you intend to fuck me. And I’d rather you didn’t touch me with literal blood on your hands.’

Fair enough. Eyes narrowed, I gave her my hand.

She cupped it in her smaller one, and fuck, in one short night, I’d missed the feel of her soft skin against mine. Was damn thirsty for more. ‘Are you going to congratulate me on winning or is that something else I have to drag out of you?’

She flicked me a look from beneath her eyelashes and just like that, my dick, which had half-masted when she knocked on the door, jerked to painful life.

I wanted that look when she was on her knees, deep-throating me. Did she even know how? Would I have to teach her? The possibility thrilled me no end.

For now, I let her clean my cracked skin with a wet towel before she pressed the ice-filled napkin over it. When she started to look around, I caught her wrist to stop further delays.

She protested half-heartedly as I walked her to the dining table.

Seeing her startle at the laid-out table threatened to annoy me all over again.

‘You ordered dinner even after…?’

‘I did. So you better not have gone against my wishes and eaten.’

Her belly gurgled right on cue and, my mood altering with whiplash speed, I laughed at her blushing scowl. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ I pulled out her chair. ‘Sit down, Maddelena.’

She resisted for the briefest moment. Then sat. ‘You had almost a quarter million people screaming for you. Wasn’t that enough?’

I caught her chin in my hand. ‘Nice as that was, one more wouldn’t hurt.’ Yeah, I was being a bastard, and I could reduce this to petty ‘you-started-it’ with her trying to cancel on me bullshit, but hell, I couldn’t deny I wanted her accolade.

She licked her bottom lip, and I stifled a groan. ‘Congratulations.’

I kept hold of her for a little longer. The feel of her skin was intoxicating and I didn’t drink nearly enough champagne after the race. ‘You watched the race?’

Her nostrils fluttered and she tried to look away, but I loved that she couldn’t. ‘Yeah.’

I couldn’t resist brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. ‘Good.’ I jerked my chin at her plate. ‘Eat. I don’t want you getting dizzy again.’

I rose and went to dispose of the ice towel and wash my hands before rejoining her. She’d spread the napkin on her lap and uncovered the dishes holding two juicy Wagyu steaks and an assortment of vegetables.

At my approach, she turned with the potatoes dish in her hand and a question in her eyes.

I nodded, calling myself all sorts of Neanderthal for how much I enjoyed her serving me.

Then I shrugged. I was a red-blooded male with an enemy threat hanging over my head.

It was right that some primal instincts came into play.

But I could be civilised enough to select a bottle of red wine, which she didn’t refuse this time, and pour two glasses.

She was a neat but ravenous little eater.

She didn’t pick at her food or complain about calories, which was hella refreshing. I wolfed down my steak in record time – Enrico’s protein shake had finished doing its job hours ago, and punching out coked-up meatheads took it out of a man.

I sat back and savoured my wine, enjoying the simple act of having Maddelena Mancinelli in my space and within touching distance, the latter of which I intended to do plenty more of.

‘Are you going to sit there and watch me eat?’ she asked.

‘Nah, I’m going to repeat the question you think you’ve evaded answering. What the fuck was that about tonight?’

She tensed, toyed with the stem of her glass, then sipped the wine. ‘I was tired.’

‘Bullshit. Your lying skills haven’t improved in the twenty-four hours since we last spoke, baby. Try again.’

Her glare was adorable. But it slowly morphed into something else. Something that made the exceptional steak I’d just consumed roil in my gut. ‘Did something happen? Someone upset you?’

The homicidal growl in my voice made her startle. Left her unguarded enough to tell me I was on the right track.

‘It’s fine?—’

‘Don’t fucking do that. Tell me.’

The alpha bark was intentional. It made it known I wasn’t fucking around. And it’d worked with enough people for me to be confident of its efficacy.

So no, I wasn’t surprised when she responded.

‘My uncle is using this’ – she waved a hand between us – ‘whatever this is, to his advantage.’

‘How?’ I snapped, already planning how to dismember Stefano Mancinelli the first chance I got if what she said didn’t sit well with me.

She licked her lips, and my cock throbbed impatiently. ‘He thinks it’s a good thing as long as it… destabilises you.’

I raised my brows, almost amused. ‘You mean as long as he thinks I’m pussy-whipped by your admittedly magnificent cunt, he’ll keep believing he has a chance of winning the championship?’

She winced but nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘And if he thinks otherwise?’

A flash of misery darted across her beautiful face. ‘He’s already laying the groundwork to throw me under the bus in case the tide has turned against us.’

This was where I needed to keep my mouth shut, let the Mancinelli family destroy each other from the inside. It would make everything so much easier.

But seeing her distress wasn’t sitting right with me. Scratch that – it fucking infuriated me, especially now I knew the truth. That they were Ivanovski’s willing or unwilling puppets.

‘The tide has turned, bedda , like it or not. But your uncle won’t be telling tales about you. Not if I have anything to say about it.’

Her eyes locked on mine. A little apprehensive. A little hopeful. ‘Tales? So you believe I didn’t have anything to do with the sabotage?’

I paused. Whatever this feeling growing inside of me was, I still had a duty to protect my family. She might well learn the truth on her own, but telling her what went down at the strip club wasn’t on the table. Yet .

‘Let’s just say I’ve learned more than I knew last night, and we’ll leave it there for now, yeah?’

Hope dimmed into frustration. She started to rise from the table. I caught her wrist and tugged, and she tumbled into my arms.

Catching her, I placed her in my lap. ‘I wasn’t done talking, baby.’

‘Fine,’ she said with a hint of sass.

I curbed a grin. ‘I was going to say, if that’s what Stefano wants to believe, then let him.’

Her gaze snapped to my face. ‘What?’

I shrugged. ‘We have two weeks before the next race.’ I picked up her hand, pulled her pinky into my mouth and sucked on it. She gasped, her hips squirming in my lap. ‘Let him believe you’ve got me wrapped around this little finger.’ I sucked again, harder, and she moaned.

‘W-why would I go along with that?’ My long, steady look made her lips purse. ‘Right. More blackmail.’

‘Do you want them to find out you’re fucking me of your own free will instead of just sassing me every chance you get? That your pretty Mancinelli pussy is already addicted to my Salvatore cock?’

Her head fell forward, but I caught the war of guilt and mutiny on her face before she shook her head.

‘Good, then this keeps everyone in the dark and we carry on as we want, agreed?’ I might even keep the lid extra tight on rooting out our traitors if it buys me more time with Maddelena and keeps her out of her stupid uncle’s crosshairs.

She swallowed. ‘Agreed.’ She started to get up.

I banded one arm around her waist to keep her immobilised. ‘Stay. I have a treat for you. Don’t make me take it away.’

With a small flourish, I uncovered the last dish and placed it in front of her. Delighted when her mouth fell open.

‘Is that…?’

‘Your favourite apple tart from Le Gémir? Sì, bedda ,’ I crooned in her ear, then flicked my tongue over the delicate spot beneath her lobe.

She shivered, whether at my confirmation that the tart indeed was from the exclusive French bakery in New York she ordered from twice a week, or in delight at my caress, I didn’t much care. Watching her face lose its distress made the ache in my chest – which was fucking alarming – dissipate.

‘Are you going to eat the thing, or simply eye-fuck it?’