Page 60 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“It has couches. They sit. They sleep. The room can evolve.”
“This is not my decision.”
“Then call Stefano.”
He looks at me like I have suggested summoning a plague. “No.”
“Afraid?”
“Practical.”
“Same thing, in your case.”
He stares at me for three long seconds.
Then he steps into the hall and makes the call.
Erin immediately looks impressed. “You made him call Stefano?”
“I annoyed him into making a good choice.”
Heath watches the doorway.
When Omar returns, he looks even more irritated, which tells me everything before he speaks.
“The Don says one night.”
“One night,” I agree.
Omar points at me. “Do not look pleased.”
“I would never.”
“You are doing it now.”
“I have a naturally triumphant face.”
Heath almost smiles again.
Worth it.
The staff brings blankets, pillows, and a second couch cushion wide enough for Heath to use as a bed on the floor. He refuses the couch beside Erin, refuses the one across from her, every option that doesn't put him between her and the door. I don’t argue. I help arrange the cushion where he wants it and pretend not to understand the habit.
“Are you staying?” Erin asks me once she is bundled on the couch with Mr. Buttons tucked beneath her chin.
“For a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Until Omar kicks me out.”
“That may be soon,” Omar says from the doorway.
I look at Erin. “He’s emotionally fragile.”
“I am armed.”
“See? Defensive.”
