Page 17 of The New Godfather

VIOLA

Iam speechless.

I thought he would take the contract to his lawyer, have it dissected line by line, maybe even laugh at my demands. Instead, he scanned it twice and signed every page without hesitation. Just like that. My heart is still hammering against my ribs as I stare at the ink drying on the paper, under the soft glow of the hotel lamp.

I am tempted to ask if he missed the part where I said I could terminate this marriage at any point. Did he even see those lines? Or is he so sure of me that none of it matters?

He leans back, dark suit jacket open, collar unbuttoned just enough to show the strong tanned column of his throat. He looks regal, powerful, like a king who already owns the room and everything in it. While I can barely breathe.

He watches me, those eyes steady and unreadable, and the intensity of his stare makes me want to hide under the table. But at the same time, it makes my clit throb with a sudden, shameful pulse of desire. Heat blooms in my belly, spreading down between my thighs. God, what is wrong with me? I don’t know this man at all, and my body is reacting like it’s already decided I’m his.

He asks if there’s anything else. His voice is low and calm, like he’s discussing the weather.

A shaky laugh slips out of my mouth. I try to joke to cover how rattled I am. “With the way you signed that so easily, I’m wondering if I should have asked for more.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just keeps watching me, the corner of his mouth curving up in the faintest smile. The look makes my skin flush hot, makes me shift in my seat because the ache between my legs is getting worse.

“Ask for more, if you want.”

I stare at him speechlessly.

“Well,” he urges.

“I was joking,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you weren’t. You want to feel safe, don’t you? So stop with the ‘fair settlement’ bullshit and stake your claim. Name your price.”

I shake my head with confusion. “I… I…”

He smiles, slow and devastating. “Go as high as you want.”

He is playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse. I feel a spurt of anger. “A million.”

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

I stare at him. Is he baiting me? Is this a joke? But he looks at me seriously. “Three million.”

“Go higher, Viola. You’re worth it.”

“Five million,” I blurt out.

He doesn’t even blink, just smiles indulgently. “More.”

Before I can stop myself, the next one slips out. “Ten million.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something dark and possessive flickers in his eyes. “Tell your lawyer to ask for half of everything, and I’ll initial the amendment.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My throat goes dry. My mind is spinning as I pick up the contract with trembling fingers. I force the next words out, trying to sound calm. “I’ll send it to my lawyer to amend tonight.”

He nods and rises from his chair. The movement is fluid, powerful. The dark suit stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he stands, the fabric outlining the hard lines of muscle beneath. I can’t help but be nervous. Now that we’ve both signed and the wedding is tomorrow, maybe he might want to consummate our agreement right now. My body tightens at the thought—equal parts fear and something hotter, darker, a liquid ache that makes my thighs press together instinctively. I watch him, breath caught in my throat, waiting for him to reach for me, for those big, tanned hands to finally touch me.

But he turns toward the door.

And suddenly, I realize, with a rush of heat that shocks me, that I’m no reluctant bride! I want him to stay the night. I want his hands on me. I want to feel what it would be like before the vows—before the church, before the witnesses, before there’s any turning back.

As he reaches for the handle, my hand shoots out. My fingers wrap around the hard muscle of his forearm through the sleeve of his suit, and the contact sends a jolt straight between my legs. My voice comes husky. “Do you… want to spend the night?”

He turns slowly, his eyes dark but glittering, searching my face for a long heartbeat. “We’ll be married tomorrow,” he says quietly. His hand reaches out and touches my cheek. A feather-light touch. “I’m traditional. I want to honor our vows. Tomorrow night I will make you mine. Goodnight, Viola.”