The Proposition

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Chapter Nineteen

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Domenico’s POV.

I wake up early, especially with my body being on Italian time. Italy is only an hour ahead, but I still wake up early whenever I come back from there. Alejandra is still deeply asleep next to me. Her hair is splayed over the pillow, and she has massively encroached onto my side of the bed. I don’t mind. This angel can get away with just about anything with me.

I will be the first to admit that Alejandra Castillo is my biggest weakness. I knew that she was incredible, but this week has only proved me correct and then some. I never considered how perfect she might be for me.

After the last seven days, there is no doubt in my mind that she is going to be my wife. When you know, you know. Unless something changes drastically, we are so compatible that not even I could have predicted it.

I only have to work out how I am going to tell her this. I don’t want to scare her off. I think she likes me; I believe that she must do from the way she talks and acts around me. But she is so hard to read.

She might just be enjoying this for what it is, sex and money for her restaurants. She might want nothing more to do with me after this. I have to play it carefully. I don’t want her panicking or me coming on too strong. I’m going to let her leave today, as I promised I would. I will give her time to adjust to returning to her life, let her miss me (hopefully) and then I will come back the moment she calls.

I rise from the bed slowly, careful not to wake her. I open the curtains and one of the windows for her, wanting her to wake to the sounds of the morning. She shifts away from the light but doesn’t stir further.

Once showered, I check my phone and curse as I see the missed calls. In my office, I return the call. After a heated conversation, I nearly pitch my phone at the wall. I curse in Italian and pace back and forth. I need to get to Italy.

Now.

Shit has hit the fan and I’m needed to sort it. Alejandra is still bordering unconscious when I enter the room. I pack quietly and quickly. Once done, I write a note for her and leave it on her bedside table.

Two hours later, I’m on the plane and heading for my home country. I think of Alejandra on the flight. I don’t want to pressure her; I need to play this right.

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When I land, I call Luca for an update on Alejandra. He dropped her home an hour or so ago. My fingers twitch with the need to text her, but I resist. I’m driven to the compound and let in. It takes three hours to get all of the shit together. One of my allies was attacked and he needed my help sorting shit. We have a common enemy, that makes us allies.

After things are sorted, I take him to his office and bollock him for another hour. We sit and sort out what we are going to do moving forwards. How are we going to stop this from happening again.

After that, I have to lecture his men. I lose five hours of my life with these imbeciles. I get in my car, pissed and wanting my girl. I told Alejandra in the letter that I would visit her tonight if I could. I still intend on doing that.

I return to my villa and change my clothes. Something tells me that my angel would not appreciate me rocking up to her apartment, covered in blood.

Once I’m ready, I’m back on the plane. I land in England at six o’clock in the evening. I get the driver to take me straight to Alejandra’s flat. When I get there, there is no answer at the door, no matter how long I hold the bell. I can see from outside that all of the lights are off. I pull out my phone and call her. It goes straight to voicemail.

What the fuck?

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Alejandra’s POV.

“I’m telling you; it has this curve to it that just makes it feel so much better!” I tell Hanna between giggles.

“He’s got a bent dick?” She replies, snorting unattractively.

“It’s not bent! Just curved...”

We both burst into fits of laughter, holding our stomachs, and rolling around on her fluffy carpet in her living room.

“It’s just a slight curve, but it means it rubs in exactly the right place inside me,” I explain to her when I sober up long enough to get my words out.

“So, it’s like designed to rub your g-spot?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Kinda.”

We look at each other and then burst out laughing again. At ten, we opened the first bottle of wine. Half way through it, we decided to go to the corner shop and get some deep-pan pizzas for lunch. We finished the bottle. We opened another.

This one lasted longer because it was broken up by a twelve inch pizza and a whole tub of Ben and Jerry’s. We’ve watched chick flicks and cried at the Notebook. We’ve danced badly around her apartment to songs from our teenage years.

We’ve trash talked Dom and powered through our headaches with more wine. I’m on my ninth glass, I believe. Tipsy, but surprisingly sober. I blame the twelve inch pizza for that.

A knock on the door makes us both jump.

“Who could that be?” Hanna says aloud.

She gets to her feet and trips over, falling flat on her face. I fall apart, holding my stomach whilst my laughs come out in silent wheezes and tears roll down my face.

“Fuck you,” Hanna mumbles and gets to her feet again. Someone knocks on the door louder this time. “I’m fucking coming! Hold on!”

She looks over her shoulder at me and grins. “Ooh, what if it is Dom come to win you back?”

“Not a chance,” I reply, and she opens the door. “That Italian-stallion can 0-1-2-1-do-one.”

“That’s not very nice, gattina.”

The words make me freeze. My wine glass is half-way to my mouth, suspended mid-air.

Oh.Shit.

Slowly, I lean backwards to look around the corner. Hanna is stood silently laughing next to the open door, where Domenico Lencioni is. He takes up the whole doorway with his broad shoulders. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his dark eyes are locked on me.

“May I come in, Miss March?” He asks, turning his attention to Hanna.

Out of his intense gaze, I feel like I can breathe. I shakily put down the glass and get to my feet.

What the hell is he doing here?

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