Sold: Dark Mafia Romance

“I swear to God, I will fucking make the Russians pay for what they did,” he growls, pressing a kiss to her hand.

I sigh and lean against the doorjamb, watching the misery take hold of Marcello. Pain radiates off him, infecting anyone who comes near, including me. I can’t help but feel for him as he sits there hoping, praying his mother comes back to him even when he knows she can’t.

Even when he already admitted to me in the garden that she was on her deathbed.

Poor Marcello. No matter how bad a person is, no one deserves to have their mother taken away from them. Not like this. Not in this agonizingly slow way. And certainly not in their own damn house.

No wonder he’s losing himself, knowing that his mother is dying and he can’t do anything to stop it. Guilt is eating away at him. Maybe that’s why he’s so easy to lash out at those who try to be gentle and care for him.

People like Mario.

People like me.

Maybe this is the reason Marcello bought me and claimed me as his own. How is a man like him supposed to know what love is when no one ever had the chance to show him? When his own mother was ripped away from him, just like mine was ripped from me?

I rub my lips together and lean my head against the door, watching him suffer in silence while caressing his mother’s hair so gently it melts my heart.

I shouldn’t be watching, shouldn’t even remotely care about the sorrow he’s experiencing right now, but I can’t help myself. This is the first time Marcello has ever shown a semblance of humanity, of caring about another human being. And it moves me. It just fucking moves me so much that I want to cry along with him.

Is that so wrong?

Suddenly, I lose my balance and bump into the door, enough to make it nudge open a little farther. The creaking noise alerts Marcello to my presence.

He looks up. Our eyes connect, and my heart stops beating for a second.

I’ve been caught.

The pain that was so poignant mere seconds ago vanishes like it was never even there. His eyes flicker with anger—pointed directly at me.

He stands, violently scooting the chair back, only to march straight for me. I try to turn but trip over the doorstep and barely manage to catch myself against a thick support pillar in the middle of the hallway.

I hear his footsteps behind me, but I’m too late to run. The moment I spin on my heels, he’s right up in my face. He grabs my shirt with a fist and shoves me against the pillar.

“What did you hear?” The husky tone in his voice doesn’t hide his aggression.

I gulp. “Nothing, I—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he says through gritted teeth, making me turn my head away in fear. He leans in, smelling my fear before letting go of my shirt. “Tell me what you heard.”

“I …” I mutter.

I heard enough. Enough to know there is history here.

“Did you hear me speak about the restaurant?” he asks, his breath smelling of alcohol.

I nod, biting my bottom lip. I can’t even look at him. He tips up my chin with his index finger and forces me to meet his gaze. “What else?”

“That you wanted to destroy the Russians,” I say, swallowing when he cocks his head at me.

Is that why he’s been gone so much lately? To best these same men who not only put his mother in a coma but sold me at an auction, too?

“Is that it?” he murmurs, narrowing his eyes as if he’s waiting for me to spill my guts.

“I won’t tell a soul, I swear,” I say, hoping he’ll believe my word. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you should never, ever get on a don’s bad side.

“No, you won’t,” he says, making me look at him.

My chest constricts. Is that a threat?

“What you saw in there was private,” he adds, the pain still marring his voice.

“I … I …” My cheeks flush with heat. Why am I stumbling over my own words like I’m still a goddamn teen? I’m not. I should be over this by now, but it’s only getting worse. “I’m sorry.”

His face remains stoic, but with a tender finger, he caresses my cheek so carefully that I almost melt into a puddle right then and there. But he’s intoxicated, so it’s wrong to give in right now.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” I whimper, trying to leave.

However, he plants his hands on the pillar behind me, trapping me in his arms before I can flee.

I could give him a knee, lock him in my elbow, and stomp him in the face until he buckles. I could do all of that, but do I really want to?