The Mafia King’s Doll

Tori

It feels like I have whiplash.

Since Angelo scared the living crap out of me, he’s been…nice, for lack of a better word.

I can feel his eyes on me as I pour the pesto sauce over the gnocchi, chicken, and rosa tomatoes.

Letting the dish rest for five minutes, I turn to him and ask, “Do you want to eat in the dining room?”

Earlier today, I familiarized myself with all the rooms in the mansion.

Rita is so good at her job that there’s nothing for me to do, which is a bit of a concern.

Angelo shakes his head. “We can eat in the living room.”

I nod as I grab two plates, and setting them down, I dish up for us. I make sure the rims of the plates are clean of any sauce before sprinkling freshly chopped parsley and shredded parmesan over the food.

Taking cutlery from the drawer, I glance at Angelo. “Food’s ready.”

He stands up, and my eyes drift over the sweatpants and shirt he’s wearing.

I have to admit, he doesn’t look as threatening in casual clothes.

I hand him a knife and fork, but he drops the knife on the counter before picking up a plate and heading to the living room.

I grab my own plate and follow after him. When I see him taking a seat, I pick the spot farthest from him.

I can’t stop myself from staring at him when he takes a bite of the food, and a second later, I find myself mesmerized by the way his jaw moves as he chews.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Really? Does the way he eats have to be so hot?

His eyes flick to me, and he catches me gawking at him.

“It’s delicious,” he murmurs. “Where did you learn to cook?” I lower my eyes to the plate on my lap. “The local library.”

“The library gives cooking classes?”

I let out an unexpected chuckle that stuns me. “No, I used to check out recipe books so I could practice at home.”

He lifts an eyebrow at me. “You taught yourself to cook.” I’m surprised when he looks impressed with me.

I take a bite of my food and glance at the shadows the old tree’s branches are casting on the floor.

Tilting my head up, I look at the glass ceiling. “The tree is pretty.”

“I like it too. That’s why I had the house designed, so it’s a feature.”

Silence falls between us while we enjoy the rest of our food, and once we’re done, I get up and walk to Angelo. I take his empty plate and carry the dishes to the kitchen.

I load everything into the dishwasher, and when I step into the main part of the kitchen, it’s to find Angelo eating the leftover food straight from the pan.

“Crap, I’m sorry. I’ll dish up more for you next time.”

“The portions you served were fine.” He shakes his head. “But it’s so fucking good, I wanted more.”

A weird sensation spreads over my body because Angelo is enjoying the food I made. Giorgio never had anything positive to say.

He sets the pan down, and closing the distance between us, his hand grips my hip before he kisses my forehead. “Thank you, baby.”

And just as suddenly, he lets go and heads to the fridge. “What do you like to drink?”

I feel so freaking confused. One moment, he’s all fire and brimstone, and the next, he’s…perfect.

“Soda,” I murmur.

“Hmm…we have OJ, cranberry juice, and beer.” He glances at me from over his shoulder, “Which one?”

“Cranberry juice, please.”

He hands me the bottle, then says, “Let’s sit in the living room so we can talk.”

I take a fortifying breath and follow him with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

When I aim for the same spot I sat in before, Angelo says, “No. You’re sitting next to me.”

Shoot.

I change direction and leave space between us as I take a seat.

I open the juice and take a sip while wondering what he wants to talk about.

“Turn your body to face me,” he orders.

I shift and rest my shoulder against the back of the couch before locking eyes with him.

Angelo rests his arm on the cushion behind me, and I feel his fingers in my hair as he says, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

The apology catches me totally by surprise. It’s the last thing I expected to hear from him.

“I was dealing with a…situation when the call came through.” Before I can censor my facial expression, my eyebrow darts up.

Once again, I’m surprised when he chuckles. “Fine, situation isn’t the right word.”

No, it’s not.

Too brave for my own good, I say, “I heard a man’s voice.”

Angelo lets out a slow breath. “He’s an employee who stole from me.” “How much did he take?”

“Two thousand.”

Because he doesn’t seem as dangerous as usual, I ask more questions. “And you killed him for it? Why not just let him pay you back?”

He shakes his head, and the darkness returns to his eyes, making me regret my questions.

“Whether someone steals ten dollars or millions doesn’t matter. I don’t give second chances.”

Right.

I nibble on my bottom lip and glance in the direction of the TV.

“About the phone…” My eyes flit back to his face as he says, “I don’t care how much it cost.”

“I don’t understand. Earlier, you killed a man for two thousand dollars, but it’s fine if I pay more than that for a phone?” Again, I instantly regret the words.

His voice is filled with tension as he snaps, “He stole from me, and you’re my wife. There’s a huge fucking difference, Vittoria.”

Instead of being startled by the harsh tone of his voice, I feel bad.

He glances away from me and takes a couple of breaths before looking at me again.

“I understand,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not used to being questioned.” When I nod, his hand slips around the back of my neck before he adds, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to ask questions.”

“You’re very confusing,” I mutter.

The corner of his mouth lifts, instantly softening his features. “That’s why we’re getting to know each other.”

I nod and take another sip of my juice.

“Let’s talk about the state of your wardrobe.” My eyebrows fly into my hairline.

“As my wife, you represent me, so I need you to get more clothes. The few items you have are not acceptable.” I feel his fingers brush against my skin, and it gives me goosebumps.

“And there’s no spending limit,” he adds. “I’m a wealthy man, and as my wife, what’s mine is yours.”

“Ahh…okay. I’ll take care of it as soon as possible,” I say to appease him. “Is there anything specific you want me to wear?”

He shakes his head. “Just make sure it’s not revealing.” “Okay.”

He stares at me for a moment, then asks, “Why don’t you have a job?”

Feeling embarrassed, I lower my eyes to the bottle in my hands as I swipe my thumb repeatedly over the label. “I wasn’t allowed to work. I’ll start looking for one tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He lets out a breath, then explains, “I was just wondering whether you wanted to work or stay at home. I’m just giving you the option, but I’d like it if you stayed home and took care of the household.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “And after tasting your food, I’d appreciate a cooked meal from you every now and then.”

A smile spreads over my face. “What are your favorite dishes?”

He thinks for a moment, then answers, “I can’t think of anything specific.”

When he’s quiet for a long while, I peek up at him and find his gaze still locked on me.

His hand lowers to my cardigan, and he tugs at the fabric. “You don’t have to cover the bruises when you’re with me.”

I set the bottle down on the coffee table and quickly shrug the cardigan off before getting comfortable again.

Angelo looks so relaxed I’m starting to forget he’s a mafia boss and begin to see the man beneath all the violence.

He places his hand on my thigh and gives me a squeeze before asking, “How do you feel today?”

“Just a little tender.”

Angelo’s eyes lower to my mouth. “How long do you think it will take before I’m allowed to kiss you?”

I let out an awkward-sounding chuckle. “I don’t know.”

Suddenly, he grabs hold of me and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. He lifts his hands and frames my face.

“Then I’ll just have to improvise.”

He closes the distance between us, and when I feel his jaw brush against my cheek, tingles erupt in my stomach. He blows air over my skin, making goosebumps spread over my arms, and my eyes fall shut.

His hand lowers to my arm as he lets out a chuckle so close to my ear I feel the vibrations in the air.

Dear God.

Slowly, with his skin grazing mine, he turns his head until I feel his lips brush dangerously close to my mouth. I feel him hardening beneath my butt, and flashes of the passion we shared last night flit through my mind.

I’m overwhelmed with sensations, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my stomach, making a quivering breath flutter over my lips.

Holy crap, this is intense and intimate, and he’s barely touching me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls softly, and I almost let out a moan. “So fucking innocent.” Again, his jaw brushes against mine, the day- old stubble scraping my skin.

It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before, and my body starts to tremble with anticipation and need.

“Mine,” he groans, his tone filled with the promise of sex and pleasure.

God.

Again, I feel his lips dangerously close to my mouth, and I experience a strong urge to turn my face to his.

When I open my eyes, it’s to see hunger tightening his features.

God, he’s so attractive.

It’s only then I realize he’s actually managed to get me to relax so much that I feel desire for him.