Page 18 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“That’s not very professional.”

“Do I seem like I give a damn about being professional right now?”

Slowly, he leans toward me, his eyes on my lips. I know I should pull away. But I don’t want to. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this. Is he going to kiss me? Am I going to let him?

He suddenly stands and steps away from me, hands behind his back. I feel stung before Livia walks onto the porch. “Sylvie is in the playroom,” she says, glaring at me. “Can I get you anything, Ettore?”

“Make up one of the guest rooms for Mara,” he says. “We were just discussing my daughter and how she might need more support. Mara will only stay here when she feels comfortable though, of course.”

Livia hesitates, then nods shortly. “Very well.” She turns and leaves.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“Sylvie needs more connection, doesn’t she?”

“From herfather.”

“I’m doing my best. But this world is vicious and confusing. Sometimes, you think someone is the devil. You have all these ideas about them. Scratch beneath the surface and you’ll realize you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

I look at him, confused.Tell me, then. But we’ve already overstepped too many times.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

He nods and walks away. “I like the way you call mesirtoo,” he calls over his shoulder.

That night, after reading Sylvie a bedtime story, I go home. I want to stay at the estate, I can’t lie. But I’m too turned on. If he visits my bedroom with those smoldering eyes and that intense energy, I don’t trust myself not to act. But then, this could all be in my head. What about his comment though? He likes the way I call himsir. That has to be sexual. Or is he just being a snob?

I’m annoyed with myself for not making my point stronger. That was supposed to be about his daughter, nothing else, then he took my hand and everything changed. I replay the moment he leaned in countless times, how close we came to kissing?—

I don’t know that. He could’ve been leaning in just to be more intense.

I toss and turn in bed, the sheets feeling tangled around me.

My phone buzzes when it’s gone midnight. It’s Ettore. My breath catches. It’s the first time he’s texted me, not just responded to one of my texts.

Ettore: Did Sylvie eat all her dinner tonight?

Maybe he feels bad too. How that meeting became about us and not his daughter.

Mara: Yes. She told me she hates sweetcorn, but when I turned it into a race, she had to win.

Ettore: That’s smart, Mara. Good thinking. It’s important she’s getting enough nutrition.

I smile in disbelief at his message. He’s gone from passionate and slightly terrifying to robotic. It’s like there’s no middle ground.

Mara: She needs her energy for her ballet. She does a lot of exercise and practicing. She’s so passionate about it. But then, she’s passionate about everything.

Ettore: That’s just one of the things that makes her an amazing person.

Ettore: I want you to know, you weren’t completely wrong earlier.

I laugh.

Mara: Is that your way of saying I was right, sir?

Ettore: I wouldn’t go that far.