Sold: Dark Mafia Romance

Of course, he flees. I wonder if this is how Mario has always been, or if it’s because there’s finally someone to put the coals under his feet. Someone to make him remember all the bottled-up emotions that he keeps at bay.

Because there’s much more to these two than meets the eye, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

Mario hurries into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, locking it. Tea is steaming in front of me, but I ignore it and immediately get up to search his office again. If he’s not going to answer me, I can at least use the situation as an opportunity to find that folder again.

I rummage through his drawers again. None of them are locked, which is a surprise. Not even the one that contained the documents that pertain to my parents. But when I open it up, my eyes widen in shock.

They’re not here. The entire drawer is empty.

Harper

Where the hell have those documents gone?

I search through the other drawers and cabinets, but they’re nowhere to be found. Mario must’ve put them somewhere else.

Did he realize I was snooping?

When the door clicks, I quickly put away everything I misplaced and jump back into my seat right in time for him to come back inside.

“Oh …” he mutters, pointing at a pen that’s clearly not in the drawer anymore. “I thought I’d cleaned up the place before.”

“Sorry, I needed to write something down,” I lie.

It’s the only good thing I can come up with to cover for myself. And I hope he’ll believe it.

“For what?”

I stare at him, unable to form an answer. Instead, I pick up the special tea he made and chug it down in one go. It tastes awful and makes me want to puke, but I swallow it down with tears stinging my eyes.

“I just wanted to write something down that I want to say to Marcello. In case I forget,” I say in a moment of clarity.

“Oh, I see. I do that, too, sometimes.” He puts the pen away. “As an old man, you tend to forget the important things.” He chuckles, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

After putting my cup down, I get up and say, “Thanks for the tea. And the bandage. I should get back to my room now.” I clear my throat and walk toward the door. No point in staying if he hasn’t got what I need.

But as I open the door, he says, “I know you’ll eventually get what you want.”

I pause and take in his words. Does he know about my search? Or does he mean Marcello?

Cryptic.

Typical of Marcello … but Mario? Maybe I underestimated him.

But these final words prove he knows more than he lets on.

“Thanks,” I reply, and I leave before he tries to stop me.

But one thing’s for sure—they’re both hiding something from me, and I will find out what it is, even if it is the last thing I do on this earth.

When the evening arrives, I lie in bed awake. I can’t sleep, no matter how much I toss and turn. I can’t stop thinking about those documents and where Mario could’ve hidden them. Or if Marcello took them and placed them somewhere I won’t ever find them.

He must know about my quest to find more information about my parents.

Why else would the documents suddenly be missing?

When I asked him if he’d killed them, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Fear. Heat. Rage. All at once, like a magnificent inferno of emotions waiting to combust.

I needed to light the flame, but we never got further than that because he quickly cut me off. Even if he did say it was truth or dare, nothing could stop him from lying.

What if he did kill them?

And I’m letting this man walk all over me, use me, fuck me, like some pretty doll he bought at a store?

I should be fighting back. I should use this information, his guilt, to make him admit the truth. And then hopefully I can find some justice either by calling the cops when I have the chance or … by killing him.

I sigh. It sounds good in my head. My parents deserve justice and retribution.

But I don’t know if I could actually go through with that.

I’d thought about it ever since he bought me, but I can never bring myself to actually pick up a weapon and do it.

Every time I try, he’s right there, looking at me with those same dark, penetrating eyes that make my throat clamp up and my heart stop. Something about the way he moves, acts, talks, and licks his lips makes me beg for more.

And I’m not the type to beg. Not at all.

But this man …

He’s got me under his control.