Page 81 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
A dangerous one.
A useful one.
A woman who should not look right sleeping beside a child she met three days ago, and yet somehow does.
I reach for her hand first.
Slowly.
No sudden movement. No tug that might wake Heath. I slide my fingers beneath hers and ease them out of the boy’s grip one at a time. Heath shifts, frowning in his sleep. Maya makes a faint sound, not quite waking, and I pause with my hand around hers.
Her skin is warm.
Not fever-warm. Exhausted-warm. Human in a way that makes the room feel too quiet.
Heath settles.
I take Maya’s hand fully free and place it gently on the blanket near his hip, close enough that if he wakes, he will feel she was there. Then I slide one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees.
She is lighter than she should be.
That irritates me too.
She mutters something when I lift her. Her head falls against my shoulder, then jerks slightly as her body remembers that being carried is not a situation she has agreed to.
“There you are,” I murmur. “I wondered how long that would take.”
Her eyes open halfway.
Not sharp yet. Sleep-heavy. Confused. Too soft for her own safety.
Then she sees me.
The softness doesn't vanish completely, but it tries.
“Put me down,” she whispers.
“No.”
Her brow pinches. “Stefano.”
“If you wake the children, I will take that personally.”
That keeps her quiet. She cares more about Heath sleeping than winning this argument.
Useful.
Dangerous.
She turns her head slightly, looking toward the bed. “Is he okay?”
“For now.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the accurate one.”
Her gaze drifts to Heath and Erin, both still asleep. She watches them with the strained tenderness of someone trying to leave part of herself behind without bleeding on the floor.
