Chapter Six

Luciano’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with anger when he heard her absurd reason.

“You’re very adventurous, Rosie,” he gritted out with disgust, and Rosa smirked, sensing the hatred in his tone.

Well, yes. Hate me and get lost from my life again, she spoke in her mind.

But outwardly, she just shrugged, making an innocent face.

He snorted, making a sarcastic expression, and spat out, “You want a different man every night to sleep with? Not even for double the payment?”

“No, Mr. Mancini, not even triple payment will work. I work on my conditions,” she said with an impassive face.

He glared at her for a while. She knew who he was and what he was capable of, yet she still dared to piss him off. The little Rosie had surely become very bold. But Luciano Mancini wasn’t used to taking a no.

“Well, it wasn’t a proposal. I want you in my bed for two weeks, and that’s not fucking negotiable.”

Rosa’s mouth dried, and her heart sank with her sense of doom. Fuck—she had never thought he would be so intrigued by her after one night, when he had never paid attention to her even while living in the same house for six months. 

What an idiot—an absolute masterpiece of idiocy and assholeness.

She masked her terror with feigned confidence and spoke in a calm tone. “No, Mr. Mancini. I’m sorry, but I don’t take week-long bookings. I only work per night. If you want a two-week booking, find someone else,” she stammered, trying to come up with a quick excuse.

God help her escape this ruthless mafia boss.

Luciano’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away and remained hovering over her face. His expression remained unreadable. “You work only at night, huh?!”

“Y-yes,” she mumbled with nervousness.

“Alright then, I will book you for every night for two weeks,” he said with an intense, dark expression. 

Rosa’s face turned pale with nervousness despite her efforts to remain composed. And now the Italian don became very angry. 

Was he really that bad in bed that she was making excuses not to be with him again, and was that one night really a mistake? Now he wanted answers, and the only way was to take her to his bed again and see whether she screamed in fake pleasure or reached a real orgasm when he buried himself deep in her dripping pussy.

“But Mr. Mancini—” she tried to make another excuse, but it only seemed to fuel his frustration.

Without warning, he crashed his angry lips onto her parted ones, kissing her hard—rough and punishing. His mouth dominated hers, not letting her lips close as he mixed their saliva. His tongue invaded her sinfully sweet mouth, and she tasted like a beautiful mistake he was voluntarily making. 

His heart hammered with a dark intention to uncover layer after layer of what this woman, his ex-wife, had wrapped behind her innocent face. Like a man on a mission, he locked one arm around her slim waist, pinning her flush against him, while his other hand tangled in her hair, gripping her head to hold her in place. 

Rosa’s eyes slid closed, and an involuntary moan left her mouth when his tongue tangled with hers, demanding submission.

Her body melted into his arms without her consent, her hands instinctively clutching his suit jacket as his demanding, intentional lips moved fiercely against hers, turning her legs to absolute jelly. But the next moment, he broke the kiss, panting heavily.  As his lips hovered mere inches above hers, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected their mouths. Rosa didn't open her eyes. She didn't dare to.

“What’s your rate?” he asked, remembering what she had told him. “Ten grand? I’ll pay you double,” he murmured, his voice low, hoarse, and dangerous.

Though the offer was tempting, the risk was even greater, and Rosa was unwilling to give in.

“No, I…” she began to reason. But again, he caught her kiss-swollen bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard and pulling roughly, making her gasp and close her eyes again with a breathless moan before he released it with a pop and whispered, “Fifty grand per fuck. And there’s no limit to how much you can make in a night.”

Her eyes fluttered open in shock. Why was this cruel mafia ex-husband of hers so desperate to torture her in his bed? Oh God! Yes, torture—that was all he wanted to do to her as punishment for fooling him into his bed last night. What if she refused his offer? He would surely suspect her motives. Her mind engaged, racing through the deadly possibilities. No, no, no, no. She couldn’t take that risk. She couldn’t let him find out. 

So, masking the fear in her heart with a look of pure desire, she curled her arms around his neck and arched her back sensually before smiling sweetly.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so happy with my service, Mr. Mancini,” she said. “Is it because no woman has ever pleased you in bed the way I did last night? I mean, seriously… you must have had countless women in your bed, but none of them compares to me, right?”

She batted her lashes at him, feigning innocence, though her taunting tone betrayed her amusement. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed at her before a muscle flexed in his cheek. His large hand gripped her throat, pinning her jaw hard between his thumb and finger as he stared down at her. 

“Don’t be so fucking happy about it,” he snarled, his grip tightening. “I only like to fucking own things, and right now? I want to own your slutty cunt for the fucking next two weeks,” he spat the filth in his deadly cold voice, and Rosa shivered at the effect of his icy tone. 

She almost laughed at his intentions. He seemed obsessed with her now, even though he refused to admit it. Five years ago, he hadn't cared enough to keep her, and now he couldn't stand the thought of another man getting anywhere near her. It was almost as if he wanted to possess her in every way, determined to claim her heart and soul—as though he hadn't been the one to ruin her life in the first place.