Home > Made for the Mafia Boss(8)

Made for the Mafia Boss(8)
Author: Cameron Hart

He must somehow sense the turmoil swirling around inside me, because he wipes a hand down his face and then rubs the back of his neck, finally lifting his gaze from where it was fixed on the ground to look at me.

“What was I supposed to do? I had no clothes and no way to communicate with anyone, so I wandered around trying to find someone to talk to—"

“But you ended up in the library instead?” Most of the anger is drained from his voice, though it still sounds a bit rough. I don’t understand this man in front of me.

“Well, you did mention it as a perk of staying here,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. Matteo does not want the mood to be lightened, however, judging by his clenched jaw and stern gaze. “I really don’t understand what I did wrong. I like rules, but you haven’t given me any yet,” I say softly, hoping to not aggravate him even further.

Matteo's eyes change again. I wonder if he knows how much of himself he gives away with just one look. Part of me hopes he's only like that for me. Right now, he looks so conflicted. I see regret, confusion, and something darker looming in his gaze. I almost want to cry at the kaleidoscope of ever-changing emotions bouncing off the golden specks and chocolate swirls of his irises. He's beautiful. Jagged. Bitter. But he's trying to figure out what I need and whatever it is, become that for me.

“I can’t have you walking around, showing off what’s mi— I mean,” he clears his throat. “I can’t have you showing off so much skin. It’s...distracting.”

I instinctively grab at the edges of the robe to stretch it over more of my skin. I hear a soft rumble coming from Matteo as if I've upset him again. What the heck? Can't I do anything right?

I’m transported back to every foster family and group home I stayed in. I was never good enough to keep around for too long, and it looks like I somehow messed up again without even knowing what I did wrong. Stupid tears prick my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall. I can’t.

“Darlene…” Matteo murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear him. “I...I’m sor—"

“Matteo!” Comes a sharp, loud voice from near the double doors on the other side of the room.

“I’ll be right there,” he responds, never taking his gaze off me. I can tell he’s not a man used to apologizing or second-guessing his actions, but once again, his eyes say it all.

“I’ve got Stefano on the phone,” the other man shouts.

Matteo looks torn for a split second, but then he stands up taller, more rigid than before. I can see him step back into the role of a crime lord, his expression veiled once again while every muscle and movement changes before my eyes.

“Just check the closet,” he addresses me. “I promised you’d have everything you’d ever need, and I don’t break my promises.” He gives me one last lingering look before turning around and walking back towards the exit. Matteo stops a few feet from the door and looks over his shoulder at me. “After you get dressed, Luca needs to see you in his office.”

I nod my head and watch him walk away, still unsure of what to think about our interaction. Then I remember I’m actually lost. “Wait!” I call out, stumbling from my chair and running to catch up with him. Of course, I stub my toe on the corner of a bookshelf and go tumbling to the floor.

I stick my arms out to break my fall, but before I make contact with the hardwood floor, I’m swept up in a strong embrace. Matteo crushes me into his warm chest, and I can feel his muscles flex as he holds me close. I have to restrain myself from burying my face into his neck and inhaling his cedarwood and spice scent.

Matteo grips my shoulders and pulls me back a little so he can look at me. His brow furrows in concern as he inspects me for damage.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs, his hands sliding down my arms and then coming to rest on my hips. The worry is evident in his beautiful eyes, yet another contradiction to the mysterious, confusing man who can’t seem to decide if he likes me or thinks of me as a burden.

“Y-yeah,” I breathe out. What I don’t say is I’m okay now that I’m in his arms. God, I don’t think anyone has ever handled me with such care. We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to let go, yet both unsure of what to do next.

Our moment is broken when the man in the doorway clears his throat. I pull my hands away from where they were gripping Matteo’s impressively sculpted biceps, while his hands linger on my hips another few seconds before he slowly lets me go.

“Did you need something?” He asks, his eyes flitting over my face and then down my body. I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me at his inspection. Maybe he was so upset earlier because he...finds me attractive? Matteo quirks up an eyebrow, reminding me that he asked a question.

“Oh. Right. Can you point me in the direction of my room?”

He grins.

I can’t breathe.

Matteo is all dark beauty, rough edges, and sharp angles. But when he smiles? Light shines into those dark recesses, making him absolutely radiant. It almost hurts to look at him.

“Follow me, angel. I’ll never lead you astray.”

How can he go from angry to annoyed to soft and gentle in under ten minutes? I don't know what to make of this man and his emotions, but then again, I don't think he does either. One thing is certain, though. I'd follow him anywhere.

 

 

Chapter 4

Darlene

 

 

Matteo dropped me off at my room ten minutes ago. He sunk further into his cold, ruthless shell with every step. I think it was due in part to the guy walking with us, and partially because he wasn’t sure how to process what happened in the library. I know I’m still trying to figure that out myself.

Right now, I'm standing in a freaking walk-in closet filled with every kind of outfit imaginable - along with the appropriate accessories and undergarments. They are all my size, down to the bras and shoes. How the hell did he manage that?

Maybe I was more exhausted than I thought last night if someone came in and filled the closet with an entire store’s worth of clothes. It dawns on me that the woman who took my clothes must have also been sent out to do some shopping - or at the very least, she passed my sizes along to someone who did the shopping.

For someone who has worn hand-me-downs her whole life and currently shops at thrift stores, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around the money and resources it would take to make something like this happen.

I let my fingers drift over the silk evening gowns, cashmere sweaters, lacy tops, and soft denim jeans until I get to a dresser that is pushed against the back wall. I can't help the laughter that bubbles out of me when I see the drawers packed full of t-shirts with funny, book-related sayings. One says “Get Lit” on the cover of a slightly opened book, while another says “My Weekend Is All Booked” with a pile of books underneath.

Sure, the lady who took my clothes may have made a note about my preferences, but somehow, I just know it was Matteo. He's detail-oriented and in control of everything. I have no doubts he gave specific instructions he expected to be carried out to a T.

I select a pair of slim-fitting, impossibly soft jeans, along with a lacy black camisole and a sheer red blouse. After grabbing a gorgeous black bra and matching panties, I lay everything out on the bed and head to the bathroom to finally take a shower.

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