Faked A Dark Mafia Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,29
the police would create more problems than it’d solve.
Maybe I could smooth this over.
We'd done nothing but banter, and he had a calm presence. The president watched me with a small smile. His gaze never left me as I drifted to the espresso machine.
I made a drink with whipped cream and stepped around the counter. His expression lit up as I approached. He pulled out the chair next to him and patted the seat. I sank in the chair, pushing the cup toward him to bring this situation to sane ground.
“It’s an iced mocha.”
“Looks nice. Would you mind?” He nudged it. “You don’t look bloodthirsty, but I can’t be too careful. Nico Costa might force a pretty girl to poison me.”
Whatever.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed it, and drank. Then I sucked the contents from the bottom of the straw.
“Satisfied?”
“Very. You’re not what I expected.” He took it back, rubbing at the spot where my lips touched. “I thought you’d be high maintenance, but here you are, slaving away at a cafe. Wiping tables. Picking up chairs. Is this what you really want?”
He’d spent way too much time thinking about me, and his unwelcome frankness gritted my teeth. I didn’t need a stalker, especially a biker who was supposed to kill me before deciding to bulldoze my life and tell me what to do.
“Killian, you seem…decent,” I settled on, skipping crazy, creepy, and odd. “But the truth is I’m just a college student. My brother’s world has nothing to do with me. I have no interest in playing mafia politics. I’d like to take my classes and my internships in peace, so I'd appreciate it if you left me alone.”
His smile grew, and my insides squirmed. “Like it or not, you’re involved.”
My nostrils flared. “But—”
“You’re just what I need. Too good to be wasted as a sweetbutt.”
Whoa.
The heaviness in my gut sank further. What would make him leave?
I stood. “I have to get back to work.”
He caught my arm, locking me in the chair. “Sweetheart, you’re not working here anymore.”
“Says who?”
“Your future husband.”
A violent throbbing began in my throat. “And who the hell is that?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Me.”
This guy was off his rocker, and I wasn’t dealing with it.
“I don’t have time for this. You’re obviously drunk or high, and you thought coming in here and harassing Michael’s sister would be hilarious.”
“Your uncle gave you away,” he growled, fingers digging into my flesh. “You’re part of a trade.”
I tried to keep my heart cold, but the idea that I’d been used for a transaction dipped me in lava. “My uncle wouldn’t do that!”
Killian’s voice smoothed to a velvet caress. “I won’t hurt you. I just want you to be my wife.”
Fear knotted inside me.
What disturbed me more—his words or the earnest hush in which he said them? I shrank from him, shaken by his intensity.
“You’re crazy.”
I shouldn’t have said that.
Killian waved me off. “An arranged marriage isn’t crazy. It’s par for the course for people like us.”
“I'm not marrying you.”
“You’ll get to know me, and you’ll realize I’m not horrible.” He took my hand, but I wrenched from his grip.
“No. I found out what you did to Carmela.”
“That wasn’t me,” he responded coolly. “And I wouldn’t judge us all on one bad actor. Let’s go.”
“No.”
His lips thinned, and he frowned as though I behaved in a way that disappointed him. “I don’t want to have to strap you to my bike.”
“My brother would never, ever approve of you.”
“You’re not listening. It’s not up to him.”
He grabbed me, dragging me past the students gaping at us over laptop screens. We burst outside, and he marched me to a row of chrome.
A black fright swept through me.
“No.” I yanked my elbow back. “I—I don’t want this.”
“Too bad.” He engulfed me in his steel embrace, restricting my movement. “It’s a done deal—”
My chest strained against a bottled scream, killed by my clamped lips. A fist wrapped my guts as he shoved me toward his motorcycle.
“Killian. Stop.”
My joy soared at the graveyard voice. It boomed from a Mustang rolling to the curb. Vinn stepped out, positioning himself behind the vehicle. He draped his arm over the door, his hair mussed, and his clothes wrinkled. He seemed off-kilter, not himself.
“Take another step toward those bikes, and I’ll blow up every Harley dealership in this city.”
Killian laughed, and so did the bikers lined on the street. “What do you want, Costa?”
“To chop off your hands for touching Liana.” Vinn's slanted gaze shifted, warning me not to