Mafia's Devil part 11

KARINE

It’s too easy.

Who knew that to defeat a mafia Kingpin, all you need is five feet of height?

I clutter through the small kitchen space, planning what I’ll need to make Luciano a snack. As the saying goes, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m not sure if that applies to men like Luciano, whose tastebuds are probably as dry as the rest of him.

I guess it’s worth a shot.

When I heard his glass shatter against the wall, I smiled. He’s frustrated because I’m getting through to him. He can stomp, growl, and snarl all he wants, but Luciano is not as impenetrable as he looks. I’ve cracked him, and now I’m seeping in.

If only he would hurry and develop a strong attachment to me so I can stop acting like a brainless lady in distress.

He thought I would cry because some guy groped me. Seriously? I would lose my fist up the nostrils of any asshole that harasses me.

It has been a long night. Since I left home in my suffocatingly tight dress, I waddled into a sea of alcohol, sex hormones, and tall club patrons. My three-inch heels did little to make me taller, and I nearly drowned as I blended in and waited for Luciano to show up.

I got this far, but there’s still so much more to do. This is only the first phase toward making Luciano a penniless man.

He’s still on the balcony when I grab the phone and make a request for service. There’s not many options of what I can cook, so I’m going to make bruschetto. I order bread, tomatoes, cheese, spices and wine. It’s simple, but I’ll still blow this man’s mind.

Now, I need to close the gap between us even further.

I approach Luciano and find him watching footage from his club on his phone. He’s searching for my non-existent assailant, only that he’ll never find one because I calculated all camera angles and stood in the middle of a dancing group. It’s hard to tell whose arm is whose, or even my given location within the crowd.

I stand beside Luciano. He ignores me and keeps his attention on his investigation.

My hands rub up my arms, and I fake a shudder. In my peripheral vision, I see his head inch in my direction.

“Thanks again,” I sigh. “I know we have a weird relationship and you could’ve easily walked away.”

“That’s what I should’ve fucking done,” he grumbles like the troll that he is.

“Are you hungry?” I ask and force another shudder.

“Get inside. It’s cold,” Luciano says, as he notices my discomfort. It makes me feel invincible being able to distract him and having him eating out of my palm with the simplest gestures.

A tear? A shudder? He can’t stand any hint of my suffering. I don’t think he has any particular attachment to me yet. His protection likely comes from his nature as a provider. He looks over his army or men, making daily decisions that decide if they live, die, or are captured tortured.

He’d feel useless if he couldn’t protect me, too.

I need to dial his nature up a notch.

“I’m okay. I just need to change into something warmer.”

As expected, his eyes fall to my body, and I force myself to jerk away as if afraid.

I’m being an inconsiderate, evil bitch for faking sexual trauma— something people actually go through. I never claimed to be a good person.

Luciano realizes his mistake and moves his eyes back to my face.

“I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…” he fumbles like one of his scared soldiers as he tries to assure me he wouldn’t force himself on me.

I know he wouldn’t. Luciano doesn’t need to lift a finger to convince a woman to sleep with him. He also wouldn’t risk ruining his reputation among socialites by creeping around.

“I’ll go call a service and ask them to bring me something,” I whisper, and return to the room.

I pick up the phone and fake a conversation like a crazy lady. I am my mother’s daughter, after all. I’m supposed to be toxic.

I make it seem like I request a robe to cover up with, but I know that’s not coming. Luciano remains on the balcony, avoiding me as if I’m the end of organized crime.

Thirty minutes later, the only thing that arrives is the ingredients I asked for. I work efficiently and quietly to make the bruschettos, still in my tight dress.

As Luciano entertains a phone call, I walk over with a plate of toasty warm snacks.

He eyes me approaching the balcony, and he looks like a gun about to go off. It’s too bad for him that I’m bulletproof.

“Here. I made these for you.”

“Not hungry,” he shuts me down.

His resistance is expected in many forms.

“Please?” I raise the plate higher.

He takes one, stacks it atop another, and shoves both into his mouth. In a few furious chomps of his jaw, the food is gone.

He glares. “Happy now?”

“You’re going to give yourself indigestion,” I frown. “Let me get you water.”

I purposely walk in the direction of the broken glass, acting like I forgot about it.

“Careful!” Luciano sweeps in and tucks me under his arm as if I was a football, saving my feet from the glass I never intended on stepping on.

He makes this way too easy.

After prying the plate from my hands, he dumps me on the bed.

“No more talking, no more cooking, no more walking… and I swear to Christ, Karine, if you break any of those rules, I’ll make it so there’s no more breathing, either.”

His nostrils are flared, and his arms are swollen.

I remain sitting on the bed and staring up at him with wide eyes.

He looks down at my exposed thighs, and curses in a mess of English and Italian. Next thing I know, he undoes six of his buttons before losing patience and ripping the rest.

“Put that on!”

He throws the shirt at me and hauls ass to the nearest couch where he sulks shirtlessly and stabs his poor cellphone with vengeous fingers.

I can tell him that there’s enough space in the bed for both of us and mess with him some more, but it’s too early. He’d get suspicious if I invite him to the bed after the harassment parade I threw.

After slipping into the bathroom, I remove my dress and put on his shirt. It fits me like my livingroom carpet, swallowing me entirely. I wonder if seeing me wrapped in what is his will make Luciano feel some kind of way. Does it happen to men in real life, or only in the romance novels I spend too much time reading?

I walk out of the bathroom and close the door behind me, going out of my way to look clueless.

I guess Luciano does feel some kind of way about seeing me in his clothes, because he doesn’t look away from me, even from across the room.

I fight a smile. This is going to be a long night. I almost feel bad for Luciano, and then I remember what he did to my restaurant.

He deserves what’s coming for him.