Mafia Casanova

Probably just as much as Romeo did.

“You do not catch villains by chasing them.” Andrei tapped his temple with his fingertip. “You catch them by standing still. By waiting.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of my house with every associate following him.

Including my father. His eyes were sad as he looked between Romeo and me, shook his head, and walked out.

He’d never been a man of great affection.

But what he lacked in physical comfort, he gave through his eyes. They always were so expressive.

He loved me.

He was scared for me.

And he was just as irritated that Romeo was going to be staying at my house as I was.

Damn you, Tristian!

How dare he have put Naz and me in this position?

The click of the door shutting was like a final gunshot slamming into my chest, sending me backward into oblivion as blood sprayed all over the room.

I would have welcomed that more than the fact that Romeo would be living in my house for as long as it took.

Eating my food.

Existing in our space.

A space that used to be his brother’s.

Did he think he could just step in and everything would be okay? Like a sad replacement for what we’d had? That’s not how families worked or how life worked.

Suddenly furious over this decision that was made without my consent or opinion, I shot to my feet and stomped out of the dining room or at least tried—after two steps, I was grabbed and spun around, pressed tightly against the countertop as Romeo crowded every inch of space between us.

“Stop,” he hissed.

I tried yanking my wrist away, but it was useless. “Stop what?”

“Pouting.” He clenched his teeth. “I take your life and the life of my nephew very seriously. Don’t for one second think I want to actually live here with his memories—with pictures of your perfect little family lining the walls. If I could, I’d burn every last one of them, so don’t test me. Drop the attitude and show some thanks for living in this hell for as long as it takes because that’s how I see it. A fucking living hell.” He pulled away, chest heaving. “Now, say the words…”

Anger boiled up so hard and fast I wanted to slap him again. This time for good measure. “How dare you come into my home, on the day of my husband’s fun—”

He grabbed my chin in a painful grip, forcing my jaw to close as he pulled me close, his fingers digging into the skin on my face. “I’m going to let go, and when I do, all I want to hear is ‘thank you.’ That’s it. No complaints. No threats. Don’t make this difficult. I’m not my brother. I let you hit me once, several times actually, but my patience is wearing very thin. I won’t let you do whatever you want; I’ll spank you until your ass is red if you disrespect me yet again. Now. Say. The. Words.”

Tears of pain filled my eyes as I glared; with difficulty, I got out a, “Fuck. You.”

I expected him to yell.

Instead, an amused smile spread across his features as he dropped his hand, suddenly moving in a split second. He went for my body and threw me over his shoulder instead.

I beat at his back while he gracefully carried me down the hall and into the master bedroom; kicking the door shut behind him, he tossed me onto the king-sized bed.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he rolled up his sleeves like he was getting ready to work, and I was too shocked to do anything but stare at the golden skin of his forearms and the tattoos that littered his flexed muscles with each movement of his frame.

I sucked in a sharp breath when he was finished. Stalking toward me like a graceful predator, his eyes willing me to run.

However, that’s what men like Romeo wanted.

The chase.

The adrenaline.

The final catch.

The trophy.

I sat shocked as his eyes roamed over me. My mouth trembling with a mixture of anger and curiosity warred inside.

Was he going to hurt me?

Would he hurt me?

More than he already had?

His cold blue eyes flashed before he reached for me. It was pure instinct to scramble away. He caught my ankle and dragged me across the duvet, then very gently put me over his lap. A hand swatted my ass so hard I couldn’t breathe, only to do it over again.

“Stop!” Tears stung my eyes. “Romeo, stop!”

“No.” Swat. “Not.” Swat. “Until.” Another swat. “You say it.”

“Please,” I cried.

“I don’t want you to beg.” He stopped spanking and gave my hair a tug with one hand while he wiped my tears with the other. “I want your submission. I want your understanding. I want you strong enough to endure even this—so I’ll ask one more time—”