The Business Arrangement | Mafia Romance 18+

Chapter Fourteen: The Ceasefire (part 2)

Click.

All locked in, and nowhere to run.

A month ago, this realization would have terrified me.

But now?

Now it's exactly what I want.

Henry turns from the door, giving me his full attention. Slowly, he draws his gaze from my bare feet all the way up my body. When he finally meets my gaze, his expression shifts from surprise to drab neutrality.

But no obvious signs of interest.

Damn him and his mask. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking when he's like this.

And given the hours he's been working this week, he's been playing the part of Mob Boss more often than not.

I'll just have to try harder.

"Maya. You're awake."

His voice is low and rough, and sends a rush of delicious tingles down my spine.

"Waiting for you," I purr, doing my best to sound inviting rather than like a deranged houseguest who just cornered him by the door.

It must not work, because his eyes flash dangerously.

"And why is that?" he asks, each word clipped with barely-concealed anger.

"Why?" I laugh, "You can't be serious."

But he is.

Rather than argue, he just waits.

"You haven't spoken to me all week," I continue, voice slightly smaller. "And after what happened, I thought we were..."

My words trail off into nothing.

The letter I wrote Henry before leaving was nowhere to be found when we returned to the penthouse last week.

Either he already read it, and he's ignoring me rather than reject me outright.

Or it got lost in the chaos, and he still doesn't know how I feel.

But I don't want to confess a second time, only to get struck down.

"You should hate me," he growls, startling me into taking a step back.

As I process his words, my anxiety shifts to surprise.

I should...hate him?

"Why?" I stammer.

He looks affronted, as if by asking this I've offended him.

"You almost died because of me."

The tension in his tone, the outright fury, is unbearable.

Does he really think that?

Surely he realizes that what happened to me is Bianchi's fault alone, right?

"Because of you, I'm alive," I argue. "You can't seriously blame yourself for what happened."

"I'm not good for you, princess."

Despite the warning in his tone, his words have the opposite effect.

"Yes, you are. Whether you want to admit it or not."

"You were hurt because of me. Two separate doctors confirmed you were knocked out with chloroform for an extended period of time. The bruising on your face also suggests you were hit by someone. You'll likely need continued counseling to avoid experiencing post traumatic stress from what happened to you."

So, he hasn't been ignoring me after all.

He's just been making his weirdo staff of doctors and counselors report to him, rather than ask me himself how I'm doing.