Owned (Dellucci Mafia Duet)

But it’s too late. He definitely saw me.

Oh, God. Why did I have to look?

Harper

“Marcello … it seems we have company,” Mario says.

He means me.

Oh, God.

I close my eyes and hold my breath, feeling like I want to shrivel up and die. Especially when I hear the click-clacking of footsteps that definitely don’t belong to him.

When my eyes burst open, they meet Marcello’s frustrated gaze.

My lips part, but all I can do is stumble through my words. “I-I’m sorry about your mother.” When he doesn’t say a word, I add, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, planting a hand on the pillar right beside my head. “How long were you standing there?”

I swallow. “Not that long …”

“But long enough to hear Mario and me talk …” He shakes his head and glances over to the room where Mario must still be.

“I didn’t know he was your father.” The words slip out of my mouth before I realize it, and I immediately slap my hands in front of my mouth again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s not,” he growls, and then he looks right at me. “And I’m not mad that you found out. I’m mad that you were spying on us.”

With a single finger, he reaches for my face, but not in a threatening way. Instead, he gently grasps a strand of my hair, swiping it away from my cheek before tucking it behind my ear.

“You don’t need to snoop. If you want to know something about me, ask. I am more than willing to give if only you would ask.”

His strokes are so soft that it moves me and takes my breath away. He looks at me with such intensity that it’s hard to look away. But then I remember that him lying to me was the sole reason I ran away.

So I turn my head away from the palm of his hand. “You expect me to be honest with you, yet you won’t do the same for me.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Why else do you think I ran away?” I say. “You lied to me about the fire. My parents. My father. About everything you could.”

“I didn’t lie. I omitted the truth,” he says with a tightened jaw.

“That’s the same thing,” I scoff. “You knew who I was, and you chose not to tell me.”

He grabs my arm and pushes me farther against the pillar, trapping me between him and the concrete. “I did it to protect you. Because I knew you would hate me if I told you the truth. Harper, please.”

My lips unlatch as I look up into his face. Did he just say … please?

“I hate this. I hate arguing with you.” His jaw tenses up again along with the muscles in his chest. “But what I hate more is that I cannot choose.”

“Choose what?”

Suddenly, he smashes his lips onto mine, and I’m captured by surprise. His lips are rough against my softness, dominant against my sensitivity, and it pushes all my buttons. It confuses me to the point where I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore. Because when his lips are on mine, everything else ceases to matter, ceases to exist.

And that … that’s what’s been scaring me.

When his lips unlatch, my body is on fire, and I want nothing more than to kiss him right back.

But I know I shouldn’t.

Not until I know for sure what it is that I feel.

What it is that he feels for me.

“I want … everything from you,” he groans. “So much that it destroys me.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I say, biting my lip. “If you could be honest with me. If you could involve me. Tell me things.”

He searches my eyes. “Then what? Hmm?”

“Then …” My cheeks flush with heat. How do I say the very thing I forbade myself from ever saying out loud? “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

I sigh out loud and push past his arm. I can’t deal with these emotions, and it doesn’t feel right, especially not after what he and Mario just had to do.

“Harper!” Marcello calls out my name, but I refuse to answer.

Instead, I head straight for the one room I used to despise. Mine. But now, the comfort is the only safety I have from the turmoil in my head … and my heart.

“Harper, stop,” he barks, but I go into my room anyway and sit down on my bed, burying my face in my hands to stop the embarrassment from flooding my veins.

I can still hear the door close … and his footsteps coming closer until he’s right in front of me.

He reaches for my hands and pulls them away from my face.

I look up into his eyes, but he doesn’t meet me with contempt. Instead, he looks almost gentle, caring. Sweet. His coarse thumb brushes my lips, sadness reflecting in his eyes.