Page 17 of Revenge

“Antonio,” I choke. “I had no idea, I swear. I'm so sorry.”

“I believe you.” He looks at me coolly. “And thank you. But honestly, your being sorry takes some of my satisfaction away. So go back to being a snobby debutante, and I'll go back to torturing you.”

It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of his statement.

“For how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long do you intend to torture me? When will it be enough to satisfy you? Is it not enough that you took King Yachts and embarrassed my father in front of all of New York society?

“Do you plan to keep me forever? I mean, how do you see this going? I'm going to have your babies? Be a good little mafia wife? Do you really want a loveless marriage?”

“Oh, that's right,” Antonio says. “Are you telling me you love your precious mayor?”

My face gets hot, not with embarrassment so much as the indignity of my entire life. The fact that I never had the option of love.

“No, but I didn't have any choice! You do. Why would you willingly choose this? Don't you believe in love?”

Antonio’s upper lip curls, but he says, “Sure. I believe in love. I'm doing this for love.”

I'm shocked by the heat of jealousy his words produce and the bile that rises to my throat. Is there someone else? A girlfriend he had to leave behind when he went to prison? “Love for whom?” I snap.

Antonio tips his head back slightly, looking down the column of his nose at me. “My mother.”

I blink. “What?”

He picks up a fork and points it toward my plate. “Eat, Dahlia.”

My stomach insists I obey him, despite my emotional upheaval. I pick up my fork and dip it into a fluffy pile of mashed potatoes drizzled in a Cabernet reduction sauce. Antonio cuts into his steak and pops a piece into his mouth.

We eat silently for a few moments, and I don't think he's ever going to elaborate, but after he takes his next bite, he says, “My mother always wished for me to have a legitimate life.” He takes a sip of champagne.

I pick up mine and drink down half of it.

“I was born into the Beretta family. My father died for la Famiglia when I was four years old. My mother wanted something different for me.

“She fought the family to keep me away from it all. That's why I was working for a catering company the night of your coming-of-age party. I could have been making bank on the wrong side of the law with my cousins, but I refused it all. I chose a legitimate path. And then I kissed the wrong girl.”

My chest tightens. “I'm sorry.”

“You were too big a temptation for me, I guess.”

I’m annoyed by my reaction to his words–the flush of pleasure that spreads from my chest down to the junction between my two legs.

His gaze takes on a smolder. “And now you are mine. Was I the first to slip you the tongue, Dahlia?”

Now the heat spreads across my chest and up my neck. Damn this man for having such an effect on me!

“Hmm? Was I?”

“No. But–” I break off before I reveal too much. But it was the first time I liked it. It was the first time I wanted more.

“But what?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He arches a brow and waits, but there’s no way I’m going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his kiss changed my life.