Page 15 of Claimed By The Mafia Prince
Her eyes are trained on the red splotches across my collar shirt, and I curse myself for letting her see me like this. Mafia women are sheltered from the darker aspects of this life, but Melissa makes me want to pour all of myself into her.
“Xander,” she whispers, approaching me as a wounded predator.
“I did it.” That's all I know to say. I did it. The devil came, and I did his bidding.
Melissa’s sweater slips down her shoulder as she kneels between my legs. I want to run my teeth across her collarbone, but the concern in her eyes makes me keep my hands to myself.
“You did what?” Her hands shake as she slides her hands into mine.
“I killed the mole.” The air becomes dense with silence, and I hold my tongue between my teeth. Her breath hitches in her throat. She nervously covers her shoulders.
“Oh.” If I were a better man, I would apologize and leave her alone. If I were a better man, I would not subject her to being with me, but I am not. I want her.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes lock with mine, and she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth.
“I want to be.”
Melissa's hand reaches up as she wipes her thumb across my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. When I think she may pull away from me, I grab her wrist, holding her soft palm to my face. “I don’t want to corrupt you, Sole.”
A knock interrupts our moment, and Gianna’s voice rings from the other side: “Mel! Dinner’s ready.”
Mel calls back, not taking her eyes off mine, a sly smile on her lips as she responds “I’m nauseous again, so I’ll eat later.”
“Okay! Do you need anything?” Gianna jiggles the door handle.
“No. I am going to take a shower.”
“Okay!” Gianna calls back. We sit in silence, listening to her footsteps slowly getting farther away.
“Xander,” she whispers, rising on her heels and scooting closer to me. “There is a reason that the moon comes with the sun.”
She pulls my face closer and lightly brushes my lips with hers. I pull her closer into my chest, allowing her to breathe into me. When she pulls away, I almost chase her lips, but she smiles at me softly instead. “Come take a shower with me.”
She doesn’t wait for my response; instead, she starts to unbutton my shirt with a shaky breath. I stare at the way she furrows her eyebrows in concentration and how her sweater refuses to cover the top of her breast.
Once my shirt is unbuttoned, she moves to my pants, speaking softly. “I don’t like the color red.”
“Why not?”
She slides my belt from the loops with a huff. “That’s all I remember from when I found my mother.”
I remember the day we all found out Mama Sedric died. Father sent us away for months; tensions were so high I would check in on my mother every night to make sure she was breathing.
“You found your mother?”
I think back to the red rose I gifted her, how stupid was I to think that would be romantic. How fucked up am I to come to her with a man’s blood splatter across my skin? How is she tenderly catering to me as if I don’t disgust her?
“Yes,” she pauses, her hands torturously hovering over my zipper. “But when my father killed the man who killed her, he visited me that night looking like you. He told me to look at our vengeance, and instead of feeling pride, I offered to wash his shirt.” She laughs humorlessly.
“I don’t feel pride, Sole. I feel numb, mechanical, but I don’t feel pride.”
Melissa pushes my unbuttoned shirt down my arms. “There is no pride in vengeance, but there is in protection. You protected your family. You should be proud.”
She unbuttons my pants and zips down my jeans, rising before me and whipping off her shirt in one motion. I pull my eyes away from her bare chest. I don’t deserve her. I can’t force her to continuously live a life of death and vengeance.
“After everything you have been through, you should be disgusted by me.”
She jerks away from me, her eyes widened in confusion. Like the person she’s watching isn't who she thought he was. I lower my head into my hands, refusing to look at her and seeing her slowly hate me. “Are you disgusted by me now?”