Page 49 of Power & Punishment

The man’s eyes widen. “Y-yes, sir,” he answers before spinning around and almost crashing into a cocktail waitress.

I stifle a laugh, and when I look up, I instantly regret the small deviance because Leo’s eyes are shining with delight.

It’s unsettling.

“Was that amusing, Emilia?”

I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, suddenly feeling parched and speechless all at the same time. The shot from earlier is still coursing through my veins, which is the only logical reason why I can’t seem to get my body temperature under control.

“Maybe,” I shrug, my gaze dipping to where Leo’s hand has slyly moved back to his earlier position around my waist. I wiggle, trying to escape his grasp, but it only makes his hold tighten. “You can let me go now.”

He raises his eyebrows and leans in before stopping just above the shell of my outer ear. “No, I can’t,” he whispers. “You just made the terrible mistake of telling that man you’re mine and in precisely ten minutes or less, most of Caruso’s outfit will know you belong to me.”

“I’m not an object,” I bite back, trying to pull away, but finding my efforts futile.

“I prefer pet over girlfriend, Cara,” he says, letting his lips feather over my cheek. I pretend to recoil, but inside I’m desperately fighting back a much darker reaction. “That term is a little juvenile. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I don’t answer. All I do is lean my head back until I can see his face and flatten my lips into an unamused scowl.

Leo sighs and tilts his head in response. “It’s a good thing you don’t have a choice,” he smirks, grabbing my side and sandwiching me close to him. The silky material of his suit glides against my own clothes, making me wonder what it would feel like if there was actual friction between us.

I erase the thought from my head and begrudgingly let Leo guide me out of the club. I may hate the man’s guts, but pretending to be his pet or whatever is the only way to get out of here safely and under the radar.

When I spot what looks like an exit with a burly bouncer seated next to it, I feel an ounce of tension unwind from my chest. It’s the first time I’ve felt that feeling all night. Or maybe since I’ve met Leo. Which is odd because he seems to be on both ends of the spectrum.

Right before we can cross through the threshold, another stocky Italian man pops out of nowhere and plants himself right in our path.

“You’re going to leave without seeing the boss? He won’t like that,” the man says, crossing his arms that are covered in a coarse layer of hair. The cocky smile on his lips deepens as Leo’s fists clench at his sides.

“Five minutes,” Leo grunts, stretching his neck.

“Your girl can wait at the bar,” he sneers, his stare glossing over me. My own hands flinch at my sides, begging to leave a nice indent in his face.

“No,” Leo says, surprising me. “She stays with me.”

The man stares back at Leo, his shoulder half turned in the direction he expects us to follow. His forehead wrinkles as he considers if the fight is worth it. It doesn’t take long for him to shrug and say, “Whatever. Just follow me.”

“I know where to go,” Leo huffs, surprising me again as he slides his fingers between mine and pulls us toward a dark hallway.

I watch in awe as he mindlessly guides me down a path he’s taken multiple times. I assumed he was involved with the Caruso’s somehow, but now I’m wondering at what level.

I take stock of his body language as we walk. His playful smile is gone, and his shoulders are hunched up to his neck. He looks on edge, which is odd for a man who always seems to be floating on air. It should make me happy to see him like this, but it doesn’t.

It makes me nervous.

Right as we walk up to a door guarded by two more large men, Leo stops and pushes my back up against a nearby wall. “What the he—” Before I can say anything else, his lips crash onto mine.

Memories of that night at the gala come back to life, and I get a taste of the lips I’ve been dreaming about and cursing for days.

His soft lips mold perfectly against mine like he can hear my thoughts. He knows what it’s like to want something just as bad as you hate it.

He pries open my mouth with his tongue—assertive and demanding. I don’t fight him. I welcome him in and let his mouth thrash against mine in wild ecstasy.

A bright, hot tingling sensation teases at my lower abdomen, and I want nothing more than to press myself against him.

But then I remember where we are and who he is and I press my palms against his chest, begging him to back up.

Of course he doesn’t.