Married to the Mafia Boss

SofiaAll content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

“You just drove us in circles repeatedly,” I say. “I really don’t think that was necessary.” I wait for him to dismount the motorbike.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we had a tail,” he says irritably, which just annoys me more. Talk about a grumpy fish. “I had to make sure we lost them so that I didn’t just kill a dozen guys for no reason.”

I swallow slightly. “Sorry about that.”

“Sorry about what?” he asks, starting to walk down the block.

I walk quickly to keep up, my small steps hardly a match for his great strides. “Sorry you had to kill people.”

He shrugs as though it isn’t a big deal. I stare at him for a moment. I can’t believe he can shrug something like that off so easily. He obviously kills often.

He stops outside a restaurant and holds the door open. “Get in.”

I walk in and look around. It’s a nice-looking place, everything is neat, and the waiters are dressed impeccably. I realize what state I am in. My hair is a mess, and my clothes are dirty. I definitely stand out.

My rescuer walks in behind me, makes a hand gesture to the hostess, and leads me toward a booth in the back. “Sit, order something to eat.”

I sit as he tells me to, and the hostess herself brings me a menu, “Anything you want, on the house for the Sorvino family.”

He nods and pushes his menu back. “Give us two beers. I’ll have a pepperoni pizza and whatever she wants to eat.”

I look at the menu and look up. “Um, can I have the Chicken Cordon Bleu?”

She takes my menu and leaves, “Beer, really?”

“You need to relax after what you’ve been through,” he says.

“Can I at least get your name?” I ask.

His blue-gray eyes look into mine, and my heart skips a beat. “Dominic,” he says. “Dominic Sorvino.”

I hold out my hand. “I’m Sofia Lopez.”

He doesn’t shake my hand. “I know. I came to save you.”

I retract my hand, frowning. “You’re not very pleasant, are you.”

“It’s not like I’m being paid to be nice,” he says, sitting back as the hostess brings the beers and sets them down on the table.

He takes out his phone and starts scrolling on it, leaving me to my own thoughts. He’s grumpy, self-absorbed, and irritable, and I’m not. I’m like the sunshine, and he’s a hurricane. At least he isn’t bad to look at, but God, I wouldn’t be able to stand being around him for any length of time.

He starts clicking away at his phone, and I ask, “So, is there a next step in your plan?”

“Yes,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Care to share it?”

“No,” he doesn’t even look at me. I decide to add rude to his description.

The hostess brings the food over, and the smell makes my stomach grumble. He puts his phone in his pocket and starts to eat his pizza. I start on my chicken, and the silence hangs thickly between us. I realize I don’t even want to talk to him because his moodiness irritates me, but I’m curious about the plan.

“Where are we going next? Where is my father waiting for me?” I ask.

“At Long Beach,” he says after swallowing. “They’ve probably gone to check there now and will be there for a few days waiting to see if you come back.”

I frown. “So, you’re not taking me back to my family.”

“Not yet, princess,” he says. “Not until it’s safe. Otherwise, again, this was pointless.”

He speaks down to me like I’m a petulant child, which sets off my temper. I eat in a huff, and while angrily thinking of ways I’d kill him, I accidentally choke on a piece of chicken.

“Don’t you know how to chew your food,” he says impatiently, getting up and smacking me on the back. I cough, and the piece goes down the right pipe, and I glare at him. “You didn’t have to hit so hard.”

He snorts. “That was a love tap, honey.”

“I’m not your honey, and I’m not your princess,” I snap. “So just call me Sofia.”

He rolls his eyes and continues eating, so I point a fork at him, “Tell me the plan, or I’m not budging.”

“You can stay, get caught, and get taken to Jose. Firstly, you would have to bear God knows how many children for his little army, and secondly, your father will be unable to break away from the Catalans and give the rest of your family freedom.”

“You won’t let that happen,” I point out. “Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“My family can find other ways to fight Jose Catalan. You’re not my only option, so don’t make my life difficult because I will leave you stranded.”

I look at him, surprised. He simply mutters, “Now eat your food. We need to get going.”

When we’re done eating, I walk with him a few shops down from the restaurant to a pharmacy. He buys a first aid kit, a rather large one, and I wonder who’s injured. I then realize he might be, and I feel slightly guilty, only slightly, though, because he’s still an asshole.

We return to the motorbike, and he packs the first aid kit into one of the panniers. He then climbs back on, and I slide on behind him.

We don’t go far, and we’re only on the bike about ten minutes before we pull up outside a Holiday Inn. He parks the bike in a parking space and climbs off, opening the pannier to grab a duffel bag and the first aid kit.

I’m quiet as he checks us in and leads me to our room. Thank God there are two beds. He leaves me in the room to go shower, and I flip on the television. There’s a news report about an explosion, and I know that’s the house they were holding me at. I’m so engrossed that I don’t notice Dominic come out of the shower in only his pants. I catch his bleeding arm in my peripheral vision, and I almost get whiplash swinging my head. “Are you okay?’

“It’ll be fine. Just have to wrap it up,” he says, opening the first aid kit.

I watch him struggle for a moment before I say, “Here.” I take the bandage from him and wrap his arm gently. I think he’s about to thank me when there’s a knock at the door. In a flash, he has a gun in his hand and stands in the bathroom doorway. “Call, it’s open,” he whispers.

“It’s open,” I call.

The door opens with a bang, and two suited thugs walk in with guns. I scream when Dominic comes out of the bathroom and shoots the one in the head before hitting the other with his weapon. Then he aims and shoots him three times when he’s on the ground.

“Grab the bag,” he shouts, pulling his bloody shirt back on.

As we run out of the room, people poke their heads out of their rooms to see what’s going on. We don’t stop, though, and Dominic grabs the bag, throws it into the pannier, and climbs onto the bike.

I get back on behind him. “We should go to my father.”

“If they found you here, they’ll definitely find you there.”

I hold on for dear life as he speeds off.