Page 22 of The Don’s Omega

“I like this room.” He glances at me. “Have you read all of these books?”

“No, but I’ve read a lot of them.” The shelves are lined with books that look chosen by men who believed reading was another form of warfare: Roman history and military strategy. Leather-bound Italian classics, biographies of empire builders, and old novels about revenge, and ruin.

He peers closer at the books. “Every book here looks like it has either survived a war, caused one, or taught someone how to win one.” He looks over, a little smile on his lips. “I guess you don’t believe in light reading?”

I find myself smiling back at him. “I don’t know what you mean. I have Rebecca and several P.G. Wodehouse novels in the mix. It’s not all about war.”

“Those are surprising choices,” he murmurs.

I move closer to him. “You only say that because you don’t know me.”

He looks at me and something flickers across his face. Then it’s gone and he’s looking at the shelves again. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I think that because I know your type.”

“And what type is that?”

“Powerful. Aggressive. Insatiable.”

I shrug. “I see nothing wrong with any of those things.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He turns to face me fully. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes glitter. “When we first met, you said you own several businesses.”

“Yes.”

He says softly, “Am I allowed to be blunt?”

“Of course. I want you to speak your mind.”

He gives a harsh breath, then blurts, “You’re in the mafia, right?”

I’m not hugely surprised he figured that out, but I am curious what tipped him off. “What makes you think that?”

He grimaces. “The men at the gate speaking Italian and waving around guns was a huge clue. Plus, you and Kessler were so secretive. It was either the mafia or the CIA, but you seem more the former than the latter.”

“Oh, really. Why?” I ask, amused.

“It’s the way you carry yourself. It screams power and wealth, but in a way that says you’re not afraid of anyone.” He hesitates. “I suspect you’re not afraid of anyone because you’re the one others need to fear.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. He nailed it so perfectly. “Nicely done. You should have been a detective.”

He swallows hard, looking uneasy. “I’ve never met anyone in the mafia before. Are all the stories true?”

“Depends. What stories have you heard?”

“That your kind are ruthless. Cruel.” His eyes slide away. “That a man in your position might not live very long.”

“Does that worry you or excite you?” I smirk. “Are you hoping you’ll be rid of me sooner than three years?”

He recoils. “No. I don’t want you dead. Why would I want that?”

“Because you’d be free quicker.” I inch closer to him, unable to keep my distance. I like that he figured out what I am so quickly. It saves me a lot of awkward conversations. It’s best that he knows upfront what he’s gotten himself into.

His cheek twitches. “I’m here by choice, Marcello. Because of you, my brother is going to live. I’d never wish you dead.”

I sigh. “Such a nice thought. But I fear you won’t always feel that way, Elio.”

“Why not?” He wrinkles his brow.

“Because I’m not a nice man. I’m selfish. Greedy. And yes, I can be cruel.” I reach out and touch his cheek and it’s obvious he has to work not to flinch away. “But I’m not a liar. Or at least, I don’t lie to those close to me. I won’t lie to you.” I rub my thumb over his bottom lip and he shivers. I like that. It’s not a shiver of disgust. It’s a lusty sort of shiver. His omega instincts respond nicely to my touch. That excites me.