Page 77 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

His chuckle reaches into my soul. "No take backs. You’re a permanent fixture in all of my bookstores." His eyes flash with the same excitement fluttering around in my chest.

The bookstore hums around us. Someone orders a latte. Toddlers squeal again from the picture book section. A ladder rolls along its brass rail with a smooth, metallic whisper.

I am standing in front of twelve coloring books with my name on the spine and my heart in my throat and a man beside me who just rewired my entire understanding of what one word can mean.

Love.

He reaches for me. His hand finds the back of my neck, and the pressure of his fingers against the base of my skull is gentle enough to make my eyes sting all over again. He tips my face up.

The expression on his face has shed every layer I've learned to read in the weeks since he carried me out of my apartment in a towel. What's underneath is the man, exposed, standing where the king usually stands.

"Marry me."

My heart stops. He doesn't drop to a knee or pull a ring box from his pocket. He just stands there with that rough voice and the accent swallowing his vowels and looks at me like I'm the only thing in the room that matters.

"Marry me, Cora."

My mouth opens. The air in my lungs sits suspended between an inhale and an exhale and my brain fires in twelve directions at once, none of them useful.

A fresh wave of tears fills my eyes. I open my mouth to answer.

A familiar ringtone shatters the air between us. I flinch. Rowan's fingers tighten on the back of my neck, a reflex, holding me in place while the sound drills through the quiet of the bookstore a second time. His free hand goes to his pocket.

“Fuck.” His jaw tightens and a muscle jumps at the corner of his temple. He pulls the phone from his pocket with his free hand, glances at the screen. His entire expression shifts from lover to fighter in a blink and I know our stolen moment has come to an end.

While I’m stuck on that thought, his eyebrows lift a fraction of a centimeter. On Rowan Volkov, that fraction is equivalent to another man's full-body double take.

"Rafael." He answers without taking his eyes off me. Rowan listens for three seconds. His expression shifts again, and this time a light enters his eyes that I've never seen before. Warm and sharp at the same time, like sunlight on a knife edge.

Dangerous, yet beautiful.

"Wait." He lowers the phone and holds it between us. His thumb finds the speaker button. "She'll want to hear this. Say again."

Rafael's voice fills the space between us, smooth and dry. "There's a woman here promising bodily harm to me and my brother if I don't connect her with her sister."

My heart stops.

A voice cuts over Rafael's. Sharp, furious, achingly familiar, and loud enough to rattle the tiny speaker on Rowan's phone.

"Lethal bodily harm, buster. I said lethal. There's a legal distinction and I want the record to reflect my exact words."

I can’t keep the smile off my face.

Fifteen

Cora

The elevator doors open on floor thirty-two and I am hit with a wall of thick testosterone.

Six large men occupy the lobby, filling every available inch of space with waves of authority and… good looks. I haven’t met a single one of them, but I know I owe them all varying degrees of gratitude for helping me recently. How these men are not plastered all over social media is a testament to their ability to fly under the radar even though they all look like they belong on magazine covers.

Especially the ones with long hair.

My heart gives a small quiver as I look down at my yellow dress. I’ve never felt more like a neon sign flashing in a sea of black Armani and Gucci than I do right now. But it's too late to head home and change. Besides, Rowan seems to be very happy with my pick of outfits today with the way he’s beaming down at me. He leans in and presses his lips to the shell of my ear.

“You look very worried. I’m right here and you are beautiful.”

He’s very perceptive.