Stolen Touches (Perfectly Imperfect #5)

“Well, I can’t say it makes much of a difference.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Oh? My life might have seemed small and meaningless to you, but it wasmylife.” She chokes on the words. “Why didn’t you just tell me to leave New York? You knew who I was from the start.”

“I planned on doing that. It would have made things much easier.” I reach out and take a strand of her hair between my fingers. “However, the situation has changed.”

“Why? In what way?”

Because I’ve decided I won’t let her go anywhere. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself about now,” I say.

“Yes, let’s not overwhelm my limited brain with stuff onlymen can understand.” She moves her gaze to the strand of hair I’m still holding and grabs at my hand, trying to pry my fingers open. “Let go of my hair.”

“You always knew you’d end up married to someone in the Family, Milene. So, what’s the problem?”

“Well, therein lies the rub—I didn’t,” she mumbles as she keeps pulling at my fingers. “I left Chicago because I hoped I’d somehow avoid that destiny.”

I let go of her hair and take her chin, tilting her head up. Her green eyes bore into mine as her breathing picks up slightly. “You can’t run from Cosa Nostra, Milene.” I say and move my hand.

“No. I guess I can’t.” she whispers and takes a step back, escaping my hold. Grabbing the carrier again, she walks past me toward the bed and puts the cat down next to it. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I follow her with my eyes until she disappears into the bathroom, wondering if I’ve made the right decision. Maybe the Irish wouldn’t have come for Milene, and by marrying her, I’ve only made her a more lucrative target. But I wasn’t satisfied with watching her from afar anymore.

I want Milene Scardoni like I’ve never wanted anything else before.

I let the cat out of his carrier, then flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Calling this a disaster would be an understatement. What am I going to do? Live the rest of mylife here, with him? I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t know me. Who the fuck still thinks arranged marriages are a good idea? It’s like we’ve forgotten five hundred years of history and returned to the Middle Ages, for fuck’s sake. Yes, I messed up. He didn’t have to marry me to prove his point. He could have let me go back to Chicago, and everything would have been a bed of roses. Why the fuck did he want to marry me?

Was it some kind of a whim? We didn’t even exchange rings. Maybe he just wanted to teach me a lesson? No, he has more important things to do than that. Sex? Nope, it wasn’t that either because I was ready to have sex with him anyway without this shitstorm. Well, it’s not going to happen now, that’s for sure. Maybe he’s bored, and he’ll let me go when he’s had enough of me.

I roll over on the bed to bury my face in the pillow and groan. He didn’t do this out of boredom, and I very much doubt he’ll let me go. This shit is for real.

Me. Married.

To the fucking Don of New York.

Chapter 7

There have been some issues with one of the construction projects, so when I return to the penthouse, it’s already nine in the evening. I thought I’d be agitated by not knowing what Milene was doing during the day, but having her in my home made it easier. As I pass by the kitchen, I nod to Ada, who’s taking dishes out of the dishwasher, and head into my bedroom to have a shower.

When I exit my bedroom half an hour later, Ada’s putting on her coat, readying to leave.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“In her room. She hasn’t come out since you left, Mr. Ajello.”

“Did you take her lunch?”

“Yes, but when I went in again to bring her the litter tray for the cat that she had asked for, the plate was sitting on her nightstand, untouched,” Ada says. “I took her dinner at seven, but she didn’t touch that, either.”

“Has she eaten anything since this morning?”

“No. I offered to make something else, but she said she wasn’t going to eat anything made under your roof. I’ve put the food in the fridge.”

Grinding my teeth, I nod. “You can go, Ada.”

I wait for Ada to leave and then head to Milene’s room, furious as hell and with no experience as to how to deal with it. I never get mad. Annoyed, yes. Irritated, sometimes. But where that woman is concerned, every emotion jumps straight into overload. I open the door and see her sitting cross-legged on the bed, typing something on her phone.

“This childish behavior ends now!” I roar, and her head snaps up, her eyes suddenly wide. “Ada left the food in the fridge. If you don’t eat something, I’m going to fucking force-feed you!”