Gemma: A Mafia Forbidden Romance

“Okay,” he trails, “I’ll call Gian to send someone.”

“No thanks.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m good.”

“Gemma—”

“I’ll just lose them again, Papa.” I smile sweetly. “I’m a grown adult, I can leave the house on my own.”

“It’s dangerous.” He says sternly, his sharp gaze raking over me.

If only he knew the danger he’s trying to protect me from is the same danger I’m running toward.

I tap my head, “And I’m smart.”

“Gemma Antoinette—”

“Goodbye.” I cut him off, not interested in listening to his antics tonight. He’ll call Gian regardless, and Gian will send someone to find me and follow me.

Because my last name is DelGado, I have no privacy.

It doesn’t matter. I drive to an address about thirty minutes from the one Liam wrote on the note, once there I call an Uber to take me the rest of the way. He had the whole thing planned out, as if I hadn’t proven that I could escape my leash on my own.

The address is right off Interstate 95. He’s waiting when I get there. Leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant with one leg propped up and a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He has on a black bomber jacket and tight fitted jeans.

He looks like sin.

And I want to be a sinner.

He whistles when I approach him. “Damn,” he smiles. “You’re beautiful.”

I feel beautiful, for once, under his gaze.

He looks at me differently, like he sees me. I know that sounds ridiculous, because he’s probably like every other asshole who just wants to get between my legs, but for some reason I feel like risking it with him.

“Hi,” I say shyly, I don’t think I’ve ever been shy in my entire life.

He gives me a sly smile and gestures to the door, “Come on, “

He leads me into a sad looking restaurant attached to a hotel. It attempts to look like an Italian bistro but the brick walls are just printed on wallpaper and it’s faded and peeling. The red booths have small tears in

them that leaks stuffing. Normally, I would turn around and leave this place, but tonight I follow Liam to our table in the back corner.

There’s a bar at least, a saving grace, fully stocked with wine. Alcohol can rescue any bad situation.

He sits down in the faux leather booth, his wide frame squeezing into the tight space. He’s thick, but it’s all muscle. Every inch of him looks toned and muscular. Even his jaw, beneath his beard, looks strong.

I’ve grown up around strong men, big men, but Liam makes me keenly aware of my size. I feel like a tiny doll next to him, small and pretty.

A soft smile lifts on his lips when I sit down on the other side of the table. “I didn’t know if you would come.”

“No?” I question.

He chuckles, “Well, I hoped you would.”

“I don’t know what's happening,” I say in a near whisper.

My admittance makes him grin. “We’re just having dinner, Princess.”

My core tightens at the nickname.