Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Possessive Mafia Kings Book 1)

What I love about innocence is how easy it is to take.

Delilah has no idea what she has agreed to. I’m not a man who will change my mind because she bats those pretty eyes at me or pins those pink, full lips. While I want to ruin her in the best and worst ways, business is always first.

If there is one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to always protect yourself no matter the cost.

And beauty like hers, if I allow it, will cost me.

She’s sitting there with her arms crossed, her chin up, and a hate-filled glint in her narrowed eyes. Weaker men might choose to die to gain a single glance from a woman like Delilah.

A sweet little flower.

And she’s made a deal for me to pluck every petal from her soul.

She’ll be ruined for everyone else.

I have a feeling she’ll ruin me too, but I can’t decide if it’s for the best or not. I don’t like how my hand still burns from touching her. I don’t enjoy touch. Touch has only ever inflicted pain in the past, so now I decide when and where touch happens.

Delilah is already making me forget my own fucking rules. Gripping her neck wasn’t planned, and everything I do is calculated and thought out in detail.

But I couldn’t help myself. I can’t help myself. Not when her skin reminds me of the finest silk, aching to be appreciated and dying for someone to wrap themselves in it.

“I’ll have a contract delivered to you shortly.”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs, slapping her hands on the chair’s leather arms before pushing herself to her feet.

I lean against my desk, the edge digging into my lower back. “Is there an issue, Ms. Reynolds?”

“Yes, there’s an issue. You want me to sign a contract? I’m not a transaction—”

A rumble crawls its way up my throat, and impatience blinds me for a split second, but one second is all it takes. I grip her wrist and swing her against the desk. A harsh exhale escapes her when the edge digs into her back, taking the place of where I was standing. I lean forward, bracing my hands on either side of her.

Her warm, unsteady breaths are pure temptation against my lips, but I refuse to give in. Her eyes widen while she leans away from me, but there’s nowhere for her to go. Invading her space is what I’ll live for the moment she signs the dotted line.

Lowering my voice, I meet her eyes, mapping every expression crossing her face. “You are a transaction, Sweetling.” I curl over her. “You.” I lean forward, even more, her body brushing mine, and I try to ignore how good she feels pressed against me. “Came.” I whisper across her cheek, and she turns her head away, but the goosebumps across her skin speak the truth. “To.” Images of her naked across my desk or bent over, taking my cock, screaming my name fill my mind. Or she’s under the desk between my legs, sucking me down her throat while I take care of business. “Me.” I kiss her cheek and lift my hand, pressing my fingers against her jaw to force her to look at me.

We stare each other down, pride against pride clashing, neither of us wanting to show weakness. “You came into my home, wanted to speak with me, to save your father’s life, and made a deal. I do not do business with a handshake, Sweetling. This is real business. You’re getting something out of it, and I’m getting something out of it.”

She curls her lip and sneers. “I bet you are.”

A dark chuckle escapes me; it sounds like a laugh echoing down a tunnel. It’s one of disbelief. My hand roams to her neck, my fingers easily wrapping around the back of it. My grip tightens, and she gasps. I pull her forward until we’re both standing straight, nose to nose.

“Make no mistake; you will be in control of when we have sex. I’m not the type of man to force myself on anyone. You will beg me to fuck you, Sweetling. You’ll do anything for me to ease the ache that will be burning inside you.”

“You’ll be waiting forever then,” she tries to sound smart as if she has the upper hand.

“I highly doubt it.” Without breaking eye contact, I press a button on my phone because I can’t tear my gaze away from the fear and bravery staring back at me. “Gianni, please escort Ms. Reynolds to my room. Lock her in there too. I don’t trust her,” I say to him, loving the fight burning in her irises.

“On my way,” he replies.

“You’ll like Gianni. He’s my righthand man.” I don’t have friends, but Gianni would be my only one if I did. I don’t let anyone get close. Close means strings.

And strings always end up needing to be cut.

“I’m sure I’ll like him more than you.” She tugs free from my grip, but I let my fingers graze the softness of her nape.

Accidentally.

Because sneaking soft touches is something I do not do or know how to do.

The doors to my office open, and Gianni, without breaking stride, grabs Delilah by her arm to lead her out.

She yanks herself free. “I’m capable of walking with you without force. I’m not a fucking damsel.”

And yet, she came to me to be saved.

“Don’t count that out just yet, Sweetling.”

She whips around, hair spinning like an angry tornado, and marches up to me. Gianni grabs for her, but I hold up my hand, too interested in her fire to even consider extinguishing her flame.

Delilah shoves me in the chest, but I don’t move. Her attempt to punish me has me smiling, and her cheeks flush with anger as she lifts her index finger at me. “I am not your Sweetling. I am not your anything. It’s business, and I’ll be counting the days until this transaction is complete.” Her eyes waiver, skimming down my body to reassure the lie she’s just told herself.

“We’ll see about that.” I step forward, my chin hitting my chest to look at her. My presence swallows Delilah’s stature, a sight I love to see. She’s so small, and I want to wrap my arms around her fragility to keep her safe.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“There will be nothing to see, Carmine.”

No one calls me Carmine. No one.

Coming from Delilah, though, my entire body reacts, my cock twitching in my pants from how gentle and breathless my name sounds from her lips, in complete contrast to the hate-filled gaze.

Gianni clears his throat to remind her to leave.

Delilah rolls her eyes. “Impatience is an annoyance in this house.” When she walks away from me, her hips sway, and her soft skin gleams in the sunlight peeking through the windows.

Gianni lifts a brow at her as she walks by him without breaking her stride. Licking my lips, I watch her stroll down the hallway until she must choose whether to go left or right. She looks over her shoulder and waves her hands.

“Well, do I have figure out where to go myself, or are you going to show me to my room, Gianni?”

I chuckle. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

“We’ll see if you still think so tomorrow.” He grabs the door handles and walks backward out of the room, closing the doors.

I exhale a weighted breath, thinking about the last time I felt so out of control. I despise it. My hand flies to my chest, and the raised skin of the scar left from father begins to itch. A phantom reminder of how many years I was out of control, and I refuse to fall back into weakness because of a pretty woman with prettier eyes.

The scotch glass scratches along the desk as my fingers push it across the polished surface where I sit. Lazily, I step around until I’m clutching onto the leather chair, anger rising with every breath I take.

What have I done?

I’m not getting any younger, and an heir is something I’ve wanted for the last few years, but it can’t be with just anyone. It had to be with someone who tests me, who challenges me, drives me insane, and has me question everything.

In the short amount of time I’ve spent with her, Delilah not only challenges me but also makes me wonder what it would be like to change.

Change isn’t a luxury I can afford.

With an impatient sneer, I snatch up the glass and hurl it against the wall with a savage roar. Glass shatters hit the floor and spin out in all directions. Alcohol drips down the wall, reminding me of blood splatter.

Sagging in my chair, I rub a hand down my face and slam my fist against the desk. Before calling the attorney who only works for me, I need to figure out the terms of our agreement because this maddening woman will try to find a way to slip through my fingers.

I can’t allow that to happen.

Just one look at her, one experience of her rage, one sniff of her sweet perfume that reminds me of freshly picked flowers, sweet and fresh, and all I want to do is chain her to my bed so she has no way of escape.

She’s mine.

After snagging a pen, I rip a page from my notebook and begin to write. I only use the laptop when necessary. Writing, seeing the ink on paper, the glide of the pen against paper, feels indefinite, as if nothing can change.

Terms to settle Mack Reynolds’s debt (Delilah Reynolds’s father):

-An agreement has been made between the two parties. Delilah Reynolds has agreed to marry and have a child with Carmine Milazzo to save her father’s life and settle his debt.

-She will choose when sexual intercourse takes place. Every move after this agreement is in her hands.

-She agrees to stay in my bed and no other.

-We are to raise our child together. She will be a part of this baby’s life. A child needs a mother.

-She will agree to wear an engagement ring.

-She will not ask for a divorce for three years.

“Not that she’ll ever divorce me. I won’t allow it,” I say, but I want her to feel like she has options. Three years from now, she will have learned to love me.

Licking the tip of the pen, I begin writing again.

-Financially, she and our child will always be taken care of.

-The only way to break this agreement is death because that’s The Devil’s way.

-She is to kiss me every night before we go to bed. The first time she initiates the kiss, every night after that, I will expect said kiss.

I reread what I just wrote and tossed my pen on the desk, staring at the sentence and trying to figure out why I’d want such an absurd term.

Because I’ve never been kissed at night, not even on the cheek by my mother because my father killed her in a fit of rage.

This isn’t about love. It’s still about control. It’s about me wanting moments of good. That’s all. There’s no more meaning behind this.

A kiss at night because going to bed in a rage only leads to death.