Все главы Mafia Heir's Contract Wife [Mafia Games V]: Глава 21 - Глава 30

[ S E R A P H I N E ] It wasn't real. Of course it was just a dream. No one proposed to me on the beach. That fancy island wedding didn't happen. It's all in my head. Or it's this stupid virus messing with my brain all day. Wait. There's something behind me. Something warm keeps fanning my nape. A chill runs down my spine when I feel something heavy draped over my hip, the rest of it pressing on my waist. Shit. What is it? Covered up by the blanket, trying not to panic, I try to shift on the bed. That something's making it difficult for me to change position. I rub my eyes, blinking the grogginess away, cussing under my breath. My throat aches. It feels even more swollen. Probably why I can't seem to make a sound. What time is it? The room isn't pitch-black, but my eyes feel like they're glued shut when I try to open them again. Is it almost midnight? Or have I been asleep for longer than that? Some parts of me kinda feel numb, and I can only blame the painkillers I've taken be

[ D O M I N I C O ]This rooftop isn't as bad or freezing as I thought. It's got a clear, panoramic view of the landscape beyond the fence, and the vents for the heating system are doing their job. My guest also seems to be enjoying the hot tub jets. Her arms rest on the edge of the Jacuzzi, her head tilted back, her glistening brown hair partly covering the golden handles. I'm sitting at the fully stocked bar in this dim corner, waiting for her to be done with her hot tub massage. It should alleviate her fever and body pains. She needs a restful night of much-needed sleep to recuperate. Seraphine won't let me join her in the Jacuzzi because she thinks I'll catch the bug from her. All day, she keeps saying she's contagious, which is why I've kept my distance.I don't want to, but I don't want her to think I don't take her seriously or I'm a handsy creep just like my father. I'm not. I'm trying my best not to make her any more uncomfortable. Even though my eyes are just drawn to her

[ S E R A P H I N E ] “Ti serve una mano?” [Do you need help?]“No.” I give Paolo a smile and put down the last box, the second biggest one containing my shoes and some old paperbacks. “Grazie ancora.” [Thanks again.]“Prego. Vado.” [Welcome. I'll head out.] “Molto grazie, Pao.” [Thanks a lot.]“Chiamami se ti serve qualcosa.” [Call me if you need anything.] Still in his black shirt and jeans, Paolo waves at me briefly and walks down the stairs, probably about to dispose of the boxes in the kitchen the movers forgot to throw out. Half an hour later, I'm still organizing my clothes and books into Dominico's old closet and wooden shelf. I still have a few more boxes in the corner to unpack. But tonight's not gonna be another sleepless night. It also helps that this place isn't far from the country club. Like Dominico said, it's not even a half-hour drive. 45 minutes if traffic's bad. Although I know he's busy with work, I still feel kinda disappointed that he didn't show up for

[ S E R A P H I N E ]As big clouds dim the afternoon sky, I check the time on the desktop screen. It's almost six in the evening, and the lobby has become quiet again. No new cars parking in the lot. No new guests approaching. I can take my 15-minute breather now. “Finally.” Hidden in my skirt's pocket, my phone buzzes once more on my thigh as I walk out of the lobby. Just another text from Dominico. I'm sure.Angelo normally doesn't text me at this hour. Dom's text can wait. If it's an emergency, he will call. Same goes for my parents.“It's nothing urgent. It can wait,” I tell myself as I rub my eyes and my warm temples. Dull throbs indicate a bitching headache later. Maybe because I barely got five hours of sleep. But it's not Dominico's fault. The guy left before midnight. Neither did he encourage me to overthink my way into another anxiety attack. It's my fault. I chose to do the things I did last night. Not just the hug I gave him before he left. That was the only wholesome

[ D O M I N I C O ]So this is her on a bad day. I bet she's itching to tell me to get lost. And not in a nice way this time. My fiancée wants me out of here. As far away from her as possible. She thinks I'm just a pain in her neck, and I get it. No woman in her right mind would hang around me for more than five minutes. Unless they need something from me. Or they want something from my family and their handy, mostly shady connections. I'm sitting in this plush couch alone with my buzzing phone. Tired. Restless. Covered in sweat. I sigh and unbutton the front of my shirt. This humidity is fucking distracting. But still not as much as she distracts me. She doesn't even have to do anything. Merely existing in my peripheral vision is enough to throw me off my game.I bite back the urge to swear while my pretend girlfriend leans on the front desk, tirelessly greeting clients with a smile that could end wars. Wait. Shit. We're not boyfriend-girlfriend anymore. People think we're get