Page 48 of Wounded King

I grit my teeth. "You're blackmailing me with a man's life."

Marcello lifts a hand, palm up. "You call it blackmail. I call it incentivized empathy."

"Ohfine!" I yell, throwing my hands up. Not even my mom could argue that someone else's life isn't worth going on a date for. And if it ever comes up, I'll go with that too.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he says smoothly, already victorious. "Alejandro has your address?"

"He's been picking me up all week. He better," I mutter, spinning on my heel.

"Good," he says behind me, amusement lacing every word. "It's settled then. Poor Felix."

I stop in the doorway, turning to glare at him. "Felix is mycat, by the way."

"I knew he wasn't real," Marcello says, utterly unrepentant. "But I was going to shoot him anyway."

Luciano snorts.

I walk away, cursing the universe. And my ovaries. And myself.

Because God help me… I'm looking forward to dinner.

"I have no idea what to wear. This is such a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid," I tell Felix, who is intently watching me.

I can't believe I agreed to adatewith amafia boss, which is bad enough, but oh no, it gets worse. I'm also compromising the health of my patient, who should be in bed, not gallivanting through town with me, and who is also… here's the real kicker: My boss.

"This time you'vereallyoutdone yourself, Vi," I mutter to myself as I rip clothes from hangars like someone possessed.

After what seems like an eternity, I slump to the ground so I'm eye level with Felix, who is still perched on the bed, staring at me. "I have nothing to wear," I complain for the thousandth time.

Felix gets up, stretches himself lazily, then hops off the bed straight into the pile of clothes that minutes ago were neatly hung on hangers or folded on shelves.

"Don't you dare pee on them," I warn, checking my phone to see if I have enough time to run to a store and get something to wear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see light blue chiffon in the shape of a cat's paw poke out from underneath the pile. I pull at it. It's a long, wide skirt I've never worn. I bought it because the color complements my eyes. It has a thick black belt across the middle and looks classy as hell. It's nothing I would ever wear, but it's perfect for this occasion.

Now, if I could just find… bingo, I pull on a silky, off-white blouse. Yes, that'll do.

"Felix, you're a genius, and I'll leave the lid for the treats off while I'm gone."

I stand up and chuck the towel I've been wearing on top of the discarded pile of clothes, fully aware that the mess I made in just a few minutes will take hours to fold back up.

"Screw it, let's live dangerously."

Felix stays unimpressed with my newfound optimism and saunters out of the room. Probably looking for the aforementioned treats. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm only wearing white lacy underwear. A set I treated myself with a few years back and have never dared to wear.

"You look good," I assure myself, trying not to stare at the too-big ass and the slightly flaring hips. I might have put a pound or two on them since I started working for Marcello. When I worked at the hospital, it was easy to get twenty thousand or more steps in a day—now, not so much. The couch and Felix are seeing more action than my feet.Probably time to hit the gym, I tell myself. But then I think of all the money I'll be making and all the workouts I'll be having once I buy my first fixer-upper.

I take in the rest of myself. The heart-shaped face that looks a little too innocent, the big hazel eyes that emphasize that impression even more, and I shake my head. "I'm not that damn innocent of a person," I tell myself, lifting up my blonde hair, trying to make it look seductive, but only managing to make it look messy. I shake my head against my mirror image. "At least you've got long legs," I say out loud, which is true. My legs are long, long enough that one of my exes suggested a career as a model.Yeah, I laugh depreciatively,some career that would have been.

I try one more time, "You look good." Unsure of who I'm trying to convince. I'm way out of my depths here. What could have possibly possessed me to say yes to going on a date with a mafia boss? No good can come from it.

"They'll find your dismembered body in a ditch," I tell myself.

Icy gray eyes dance in front of me. "So worth it though."

All my life, I've lived responsibly and been a goody two-shoes. I never dated thebadboy at school, despite being tempted. I saw what bringing abadboy home did to our mother through my sister Elaine. I still remember the hysterics and drama of that night, and I swore I would never do that to our mom. I realize that my loyalties to her are a bit askew because she has always been my only parent, but she also worked hard to give Elaine, Sebastian, and me, if not a life filled with luxuries, a good life. There wasn't anything we wanted for. We had shoes, non-brand-name, but good shoes. Same with clothes. We had food and toys. We had phones and laptops—second-hand—everything we needed. So I did my part to make life as easy as possible for Mom. I never got a grade below an A and never got a parking ticket. I worked my butt off to get a scholarship for nursing school. Dated sensible men, men like Scott. Men who had excellent careers. It's a long story, but my point is that I've been a responsible person for over ten years, and if I want a night out with a mob boss, then dammit, I deserve it. And I don't care what my mother has to say about it. I don't.

Blue eyes shimmering with tears flicker in front of my memory, bright, wet, and perfectly timed.