Page 38 of Veiled Amor

So much in his dark brown eyes.

The very breath sucked out of her when he towered, his head hanging low, as if only attached by a thread of cotton. This close, she felt a tidal wave of movement going through him. Capone’s expression was a shuddering blend of darkness and pain. “Repeat what you just said.”

“No.”

“Lucia.” He growled, his pupils two big black disks. “You said—”

The threatening growl gurgling out of his throat didn’t scare her.

She knew enough that she was never in danger from him, however much he displayed his anger. In some ways, she’d wanted a reaction from him, and here it was.

“I know what I said, and that’s not under discussion. I know what you said too, and that was so fucking wrong, Capone. I thought I was done letting my feelings get hurt by you. After years of avoiding me, you can’t swing in and say that shit to me and not hurt me.”

Swerving around, intent on doing a much needed storming out, well aware people had stopped talking and were staring. Great, fabulous. Not even in their house a few hours, and she was causing a scene. She ignored them and her hot face. But didn’t get five steps before a brawny arm caught around her stomach, stopping her tracks. Capone pulled her back into his chest, and she felt his face pressed into her hair.

Every molecule went nuts trembling and overreaction to his nearness.

She was full of crap because she wanted this, his arms around her, held tight to him.

“I’m sorry.” He gruffed into her hair. Quiet enough, rough enough. “lo siento mucho.” So sorry. “I was out of order to say shit that way. It came out wrong because I’m fucking worried.”

Breathing like a cart-horse carrying bricks up a mountain, she didn’t try to detangle herself from him. She leaned into him, anger fading out. “I asked for you to help me, not ridicule me with something like… that. Have you grown into a cruel man, Giancarlo?”

He jolted, as though she’d punched him. His head hadn’t moved from the back of hers. They stood together as if frozen in time.

“Not with you.” He pressed in, “do you forgive me?”

She sucked in a breath. The last thing she’d expect a man like him to ask. “Do you want me to?”

“Sí.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her skin at a temperature that wasn’t good for her health or her libido, so she stepped forward, separating them. When she turned around, he had a weird look on his face. Unreadable. Andhot. Like a moody bear coming out of hibernation searching for a picnic basket to gorge on.

She’d forgotten he had this kind of smolder in him. Self-preservation, probably.

“I hurt you, and it wasn’t my intention, Lucia, but let me say… and don’t fly off the handle. I meant it. Not letting you go home to Nicholas, he’d back the fuck off if you were already married. The option is staying on the fucking table, so until you wanna talk about it and not want to stab me,” this he smirked at, becoming impossibly hotter, damn him, “we can shelve it. Now, you ready to play bait and switch? I got word there’s a car parked on the street watching the club. It can only be one of Cole’s men.”

With so much to unpack from that, she nodded dumbly.

It was on the table.

Marrying her was on the table.

Marrying Giancarlo to save her.

What a goddamn sacrifice for him and a horrible heart-thumping surprise for her.

She would never do it.

Nope.

Not in a million… okay, a hundred thousand years, but that was still stiff odds in her book.

Married to the right Mercado brother.

Damn, her heart ached. It almost jimmied out of her throat and danced its way over to Capone.Stupid heart, we can’t have him, so get used to it.

She’d rather not have him at all than to have him from a sense of responsibility.