Cruel Mercy (Dark Mafia)

She was wavering. I could tell she was mortified by the thought of letting me buy her anything, let alone an entire wardrobe. But I was not going to be gainsaid. I would have my way in this, and in all things.

“Do you want people to gossip? Or think badly of us?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“I… look that bad?”

She looked away quickly, but I had seen the sheen of tears in her eyes. For fuck’s sake. I had overshot the mark.

“No. You don’t.” I bit out. “But we do have a reputation in this city. Anything that makes people wonder might make them see an… opportunity. A chance to hurt us. Is that what you want? Is it worth the risk?”

She shook her head. She had no choice. I had given her no choice.

An uncomfortable feeling of guilt reared its ugly head but I pressed it down and ignored it. It was an inconvenient moment of weakness. I could not let anything interfere with my reaching my goals.

Would I feel guilty when I finally held her in my arms? Kissed her? Pressed myself inside her beautiful body?

No. So why should I feel guilty now? But I did somehow feel guilty, all the same.

“It is nothing,” I said, stepping closer, my voice surprisingly rough and intimate. “Let me spoil you. I promise it will not put me in the poor house.”

She nodded uncertainly and gave me a wobbly smile. The guilt was back with a vengeance. But so was something else. A fierce tenderness and feeling of wanting to protect her from ever feeling hurt again. From the world. From life.

From everything but me.

Chapter Twelve

Theresa

“Oh my GOD,” I moaned as I saw the numbers flash on the register. Michael handed the woman a card and guided me away, distracting me from the astronomical number he was spending on me. Again.

It was the third store we had been to, and we had shopped in multiple departments. It was worse than one of those makeover shows, or a movie where a girl finds out she is actually a princess and gets the royal treatment.

I was getting the royal treatment, despite my best efforts to get him to slow down, and I didn’t understand why.

Micheal literally would not stop buying me things. I didn’t even try it all on. Once he had an idea of my size, he took over, holding things up to my face and tilting his head. Looking me over and clucking his tongue or nodding his head.

That is, until we got to the lingerie department.

My cheeks grew bright red just thinking about that. Michael turned away briefly to sign the receipt and then we were off, heading to god knows where, leaving someone else to collect the bags.

With the number of bodyguards following us, there was always someone to carry the bags. I had yet to lift a finger, other than lifting my arms to try on yet another dress, shirt, sweater, coat, or jacket.

But it was the bags full of lacy, sheer stuff that was the most mortifying of all.

He had picked all of that out for me as well.

To say he was knowledgable about ladies underthings was an understatement. I didn’t want to think about how he had come to all that knowledge. And he was clearly not the least bit embarrassed about picking things out for me, who was virtually a stranger to him.

Although, to be fair, we didn’t exactly feel like strangers. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure what we had become, or were becoming, but I knew that it made me nervous and exhilarated at the same time.

He was overwhelming and exciting to be around but in another way, it felt as if I had known him forever. My lifetime, at the very least. Or even longer.

That doesn’t make a lick of sense now Terri, does it?

I closed my eyes. I was romanticizing a gangster. Yes, he was also a lawyer. And I had grown up with a family that lived outside the lines of the law. But he was a thug. A rich and successful thug, but a thug all the same.

“I told you not to look,” he said with a grin as we headed to the shoe section. I already had ankle boots, knee high boots, sneakers, loafers, and a pair of heels. All knew. All outrageously expensive.

“No more. I couldn’t possibly need anymore.”

“You need some pretty shoes for daytime. And more heels.” He gave me an assessing look, looking me over from head to toe. “Lots of heels.”

“I never wear heels!”

“You do now,” he said smugly, making me want to smack him. I couldn’t tell if his attention was flattering or insulting, The way he bossed me around was at the same time infantilizing and comforting. And I couldn’t lie. His take charge attitude was definitely sexy.