Page 156 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
I know that.
“We start with a doctor,” I say. “One you choose.”
Her brows pull together. “I choose?”
“Yes.”
“And where I live?”
“You choose.”
“Who knows?”
“You choose.”
She studies me like she is waiting for the trap.
There is none.
Not this time.
“I do not know if I want to live in Miami,” she says.
“Then we do not live in Miami.”
“You say that as if you can simply move.”
“I can.”
Her eyes narrow again, but there is less fear in them now. “You have businesses there.”
“I have businesses everywhere.”
“Stefano.”
“Maya.”
She exhales through her nose. “You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Controlling.”
“I am trying not to be.”
“That sounds exhausting for you.”
“It is.”
Her laugh breaks through then. Small. Wet. Real.
I would burn every city I own to hear it again.
The thought arrives too easily.
I do not say it.
Instead, I lift her hand and touch my mouth to her fingers.
