Underboss (With Me in Seattle Mafia 1)
“Now we know. This could be a new daily occurrence.”
“I overheard the barista telling someone that they have killer cinnamon rolls.” Carmine shrugs as he takes a bite of his scone. “Maybe we’ll have to check it out for breakfast.”
“God, yes.” I sip my coffee in happiness. “It feels good to finally feel semi-normal, you know?”
“I imagine that it does,” he replies. “And it’s good to see you looking like yourself again.”
“I think that—whoa!”
My toe catches on an uneven part of the sidewalk, and I pitch forward. My coffee flies, and before my face can hit the ground, Carmine’s arm wraps around my waist, and he catches me.
It all happened so fast, yet at the same time, it seemed to be in slow motion.
Especially the part where my almost-full coffee fell and splashed everywhere.
“Sonofabitch,” I growl. “I was enjoying that.”
“You can have mine.” Carmine makes sure I’m standing upright and offers me his cup, but I shake my head.
“No, you enjoy it. I still have my scone.”
“We’ll share,” he says, and then his eyes narrow on my face. “What hurts?”
I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to say it out loud because then it’ll be true.
“I’m fine.”
His finger gently taps under my chin, and he makes me look him in the eyes.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Nadia.”
“My shoulder.” I sigh in exasperation. “I wrenched it a bit when my arm flailed. But it’ll be fine. I’ll just ice it and take an Advil when we get back. It’ll be just fine.”
He sighs and offers me a sip of his coffee, which I accept.
“Let’s head back.”
I’m tired. I didn’t expect our walk to exhaust me as much as it did. Maybe it was the almost-fall that did me in.
The return trip is more subdued. We’re quiet as we sip Carmine’s coffee and eat our scones. When we get up to the penthouse, Carmine orders me to sit on the sofa.
“I’m getting you some ice,” he informs me. His tone says he’s not to be argued with.
I’m not really interested in arguing anyway.
The ice pack feels good on my sore shoulder. “Why don’t you sit with me, and we’ll put a movie on?”
He nods, turns on the TV, and passes me the remote. Then he sits next to me with his iPad in his lap.
He often works as I watch television. I won’t admit it out loud, but I enjoy just being with him.
And that’s stupid. But it is what it is.
“How about Thor?” I ask. “The third one. It’s the funniest.”
“I’m game.”
I turn it on and then lean my head on Carmine’s strong shoulder. Thor and Hulk are in an arena, about to battle it out as my eyes slip closed, and I fall asleep.
* * *
“Wake up, pretty girl.”
I take a deep breath and crack open one eye. It’s still dark outside. “Jesus, what time is it?”
“Five,” he says. He’s already fully dressed in a dark suit, no tie. “I told the pilot we’d be in our seats no later than six-thirty.”
“Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?” I bury my face in my pillow.
“We’ll lose three hours to the time change, and I want to see Mick and Billy this afternoon.”
Just the mention of the Sergi family makes me groan.
It’s been five days since we took our walk, and I almost fell. My shoulder seems to have recovered, and Carmine called Billy Sergi, the second in command there, last night.
They granted him access to the city.
Of course, Carmine didn’t say anything about having me with him.
I drag my ass out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. After I’ve done my business and am in the steamy shower, Carmine magically appears with a cup of coffee.
“You’re a god,” I say as I take the mug and sip the hot brew. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Be ready in twenty.”
He marches out again, but not before his eyes wander over my naked body.
Carmine hasn’t made any moves on me in the weeks we were at the penthouse. He’s kept things completely platonic.
And I know that it was my insistence that ensured we didn’t have sex.
Sex muddies the waters. Clouds judgment.
And sex with Carmine is so fucking good, I would be a quivering pile of sexual need twenty-four-seven if we started something physical.
But damn, I miss the sex. And judging by the look in Carmine’s eyes when he walked away, he does, too.
I let the hot water and caffeine wake me up, and thirty minutes later—much to his annoyance—I’m ready to go.
“It’s a good thing I packed last night,” I say. “Or I would have been late.”
His brow lifts, and I can’t help but laugh.
I’m back in business-mode, dressed in black slacks, a white silk shirt, and a red scarf. Tall, black Louboutin heels complete the outfit, and when I stand next to Carmine, I’m only a few inches shorter than he is.