She Entered The Wrong Bedroom At A Billionaire Gala — Then Woke Up Next To Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss With A Ring On Her Finger.
PART 5
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Look at me.”
I could not.
“Harper.”
He gently lifted my chin.
“Leo spent two years making you feel small because controlling a strong woman required convincing her she was weak.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you negotiated with me while you thought I might kill you.”
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped me.
Dominic’s thumbs brushed the tears from my cheeks.
“You are not difficult to want,” he said. “You are difficult to deserve.”
The words landed somewhere Leo’s insults had hollowed out.
For the first time that morning, I truly looked at Dominic.
He was still dangerous. Still controlling. Still part of a world I did not understand.
But the rage in his eyes was not directed at my body.
It was directed at the man who had taught me to hate it.
Dominic removed his coat and placed it around my shoulders.
“You will never return here,” he said. “We will replace everything you lost.”
“I don’t want everything replaced.”
“What do you want?”
I glanced toward the bedroom, where Barnaby had emerged from beneath the bed and was watching the armed strangers with deep suspicion.
“My cat.”
Dominic followed my gaze.
Barnaby hissed at him.
Dominic stared back.
“This arrangement may be more difficult than I expected.”
For the first time since waking in his bed, I smiled.
By noon, Barnaby and I had moved into the Castelli estate.
Barnaby adjusted quickly.
Within an hour, he had claimed Dominic’s favorite leather chair, attacked a decorative pillow worth more than my car, and bitten a guard who tried to remove him from the kitchen.
I adjusted less gracefully.
The estate had more than forty employees, most of whom had already heard that Dominic had hidden a secret fiancée from his family.
Nonna Rosa welcomed me with tears, three kisses, and enough food to supply a small army.
“You are too pale,” she declared, filling my plate with pasta. “Dominic has frightened you.”
“I woke up in his bed.”
“Yes. Very romantic.”
“It was an accident.”
“Most marriages begin with worse decisions.”
Across the table, Dominic nearly smiled.
After lunch, he showed me to the master suite.
My suitcase had been placed beside the bed.
I looked toward the couch near the fireplace.
“You’re sleeping there.”
“I know.”
“I mean every night.”
“I agreed not to touch you without permission.”
“You also threatened me with murder before breakfast.”
“I warned you about murder.”
“That distinction probably sounds more convincing in your head.”
Dominic loosened his tie.
“Do you always argue this much?”
“Only when held hostage.”
“You are not a hostage.”
“Can I leave?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps print the definition and read it before dinner.”
His eyes narrowed, but there was no anger in them.
“Six months may be a very long time.”
“They are getting longer by the minute.”
The following days became a crash course in being a woman the city would believe Dominic Castelli loved.
A publicist created photographs placing us at private restaurants over the previous year. A technology specialist inserted believable travel records into hotel databases. Tailors filled the dressing room with gowns, coats, and shoes.
I disliked the deception.
I disliked the cost of everything even more.
“This dress could pay my mother’s mortgage,” I said during a fitting.