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“Good to hear, fiorella. Guess private rooms are off-limits for you now?”
So, Marco didn’t talk with him. Does that mean he didn’t try to see me again?
“I’m thinking so.”
“Good thing I ran into you, then. You forgot to leave your number when you left. I thought I would have to go to your apartment, track you down.” This reminds me of the car outside my apartment yesterday morning.
“How did you know where to bring my car?” I ask. “And how did it get there so quick?”
“I told you, a friend owed me a favor. He said your address was on a paper in your car. He called your leasing office to confirm.”
“That’s a little . . . intrusive, isn’t it?” I say, my brows coming together.
“I take care of what’s mine,” he says. “You get used to it.” Then he moves, unpinning me and moving me to the grocery cart before caging me between him and the cart handle. “Let’s get food then go to your place, yeah?”
And because I’m either an idiot or a genius, I nod, letting Dante buy me food and take me home.
Twenty-One
-Dante-
“So, this is your place?” I say, looking around Lilah’s tiny apartment. It’s not quite a studio, but just barely a one-bedroom apartment with the living area and kitchen all in one and the world’s tiniest bedroom.
She deserves better.
She deserves luxury and beauty.
Eventually, I tell myself, breathing in deeply. Eventually.
“Yup,” she says, frantic energy in her eyes as she looks around her place and spots a pile of clothes on the couch. I place the bags from the store on her tiny kitchen table and watch her run there. “Shit, sorry, I wasn’t really . . . expecting anyone.” She grabs the pile and tosses it into a laundry basket in the corner.
“You have men over often?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, and I can’t even start to fight back the rage that begins to boil in my veins.
It seems the flash of jealousy makes her smile her sweet, sassy smile.
“Why? Would it bother you?”
It’s clear to me then that she doesn’t get it.
She doesn’t see it.
She will.
She’ll understand soon that she’s mine. That I don’t want a single man to look at her sideways. That the thought of her working at Jerzy Girls has me grinding my teeth to dust because she deserves the world, not working to get the world by dancing for tips.
Soon.
I step to her, pulling her into my arms as my hand moves up her back, fisting in her long hair. I fucking love her hair—the feel of it, the look of it, the smell of it. The way her breathing changes just a bit when I tangle my fingers in it and tug just a bit.
Like it is right now.
“Yes. Yes, it would bother me, Delilah. I told you that first night I had you. Mine. You are mine and only mine.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she says, her voice low as I wrap an arm around her waist.
“None of this makes sense, Delilah. The way I’m fucking feral for you, the way we met, the way I can’t go three damn minutes without thinking about you? But here we are, and I’m not mad about it.” My head dips and I press my lips to hers. “None of it makes sense except that somehow in this chaotic life, I found you, and you found me, and there is something to say for how the universe puts people in your path.”
“You’re saying I was put in your path for a reason, Mr. Romano?” she asks with that sweet smile that screams of innocence and sugary sweetness.
