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And this on my stepdad’s yacht.
Where the hell is the staff? I struggle, but it’s no use—he’s much taller than me, and by the feel of his hard chest and arm muscles where they’re flush against me, he’s physically able to toss me into the marina from here if he wants to.
He shifts, and the painful pinch in my shoulder eases, only for him to lace his fingers with mine. He wraps both our arms around my middle then lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, his other hand still covering my mouth. I kick out with muffled screams that are only trapped, and he presses his mouth to my ear.
“Be still, angel,” he mutters as if I’m just a toy. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I know it’s true. The way he carries me is with enough pressure to hold me in place but not to bruise or with force. And he’s laughing.Actually laughing.
I fight him, becausehim. I spotted this man as I made my way along the marina to our mooring berth. Dressed in a tailored stone-colored suit, he was hard to miss. On the Riviera, people tend to dress more casually, even if it’s in the most expensive couture out there. It’s the way he carried himself I couldn’t ignore.
As I strode up to our yacht, I honestly thought he was here to see a neighboring yacht up for sale. But then I spotted his bodyguards, the dead giveaway.Mafia.
Now I glance around, frantically trying to see if anybody is coming to my aid, but I only spot some of the waiters, wide-eyed and gaping. Useless.
“Leave us,” Matteo says.
By the male authority in his tone, everything I say is going to be overridden. I’m just a woman. AMafiaprincess. A pawn.
I grunt against my capturer’s hand, wanting to bite. The frustration in me boils up. Ever since I’ve understood where I fall in the hierarchy of these crime rings, I’ve been avoiding getting sucked in. I’ve vowed to never bow to the unwritten rules the Mafia have for their female kin. But now, I’m here, and this girl—thiswoman, who is barely older than Carla—is clearly in trouble. Trouble I’ve now witnessed. This can’t be happening to me. Surely, Don Trapani wouldn’t let me step blindly into a Mafia mess.
I can’t leave her. I can’t even imagine?—
“I’m going to let you go, angel.” His voice is deep and masculine, sending chills of desire over my sensitive skin where his breath ghosts down my neck. “Try not to bite, okay?”
Bite?I see red. Not because he read my mind, but his words imply I’m a freaking dog and he is my owner.
No man will ever own me.
Least of all some Mafia motherfucker who should be on death row. Every cell in my body wants to go at him, but thisis a precarious situation. If this were Carla… I need to put this woman first. Get her out of here. I know the ins and outs of the yacht, the marina, and I have friends in Cannes. I can help her escape.
I still, and he lets me go. His hand strokes over my stomach, his strong fingers untwining from mine as he clasps my hip, making sure I’ve found my footing before he lifts his palm from my mouth. He traces my jawline with a fingertip, almost in apology. His touch is so gentle and in contrast to every expectation that it deflates me.
“Get your filthy Mafia paws off me,” I huff out, stepping away from his body, fully aware he’s managed to turn me on in these few minutes of having me hugged to him, even more so with that final soft sweep of his fingertip.A caress.I curse my treacherous female body that’s reacting to an overdose of male pheromones.
In two steps, I’m sitting next to the young woman and reach for her hand, my gaze homing in on her wrist where I thought I was seeing wrong.Abrasions? On her wrists? God help us. “Cara, what’s your name?”
She only blinks at me before her eyes jump to my former capturer. My gaze follows hers, only to watch him reaching for his belt buckle.
“Can I gag this one?” he says. “It will give me endless pleasure.”
Every last nerve shoots desire to my sex, and I curse under my breath. What is it with this man? I’ve never had the lunacy to react like this to anybody before, never mind inthissituation, which reeks of human trafficking. If I don’t watch out, I’m next.
“Nobody is getting gagged,” Matteo says with a sigh. “Gigi, what goes on here is none of your business.”
I’m stunned. The gall! “You’re on my yacht.She’son my yacht. Itismy business.”
“Yep.” He grinds his jaw. “Youbeing on this yacht wasn’t exactly the plan.”
I love Papa to bits, but sometimes he does things that make zero sense to me. Why put me here if he knew there was human trafficking going on? I’m still trying to think when my capturer’s eyes home in on those abrasions on the girl’s wrists that also had me do a double take.
“There’s some damage to the merch, Matteo,” he says, his words slicing through the tension between us.
Merch? Like in merchandise?
“She did it to herself.” Matteo stares him down.
“Oh, no, please, don’t tell me you tried to cut your wrists!” I call out but realize they aren’t self-harm scars but more those made by handcuffs.
