Craving Danger (Kings Of Mafia)

Ugh, I wish Mr. Vitale would stay out of the office. Last Friday was so peaceful when he didn’t come in.

I roll my shoulders to ease some of the tension while I put together all the documents that will be needed for a meeting on Thursday.

A message from Mr. Vitale pops up on my screen via the internal messaging system, and I give it a disgruntled look.

Keep the schedule clear for the 26th of June and wear something comfortable that day. We’re inspecting a building I’m interested in buying.

Just freaking great. I can’t think of anything worse than spending an entire day alone with Mr. Vitale, and I’ll fall behind with my other work.

Bringing up my emails, I search for the approval from HR for the vacation time I’ve requested. Adding a note to the email, telling him to keep in mind that I’ll be out of the office for the whole week of the Fourth of July,  I forward it to Mr. Vitale.

Within seconds, a reply pops up in my inbox.

Make sure all your work is done before you take the week off. In the future, your requests for time off will come directly to me, not HR.

“Yes, sir,” I mumble. “At least he didn’t cancel my vacation days.”

Opening Mr. Vitale’s electronic diary, I block out June twenty-sixth before continuing prepping for the meeting.

The work is so mundane that my thoughts turn to the date I had at Paradiso. It was so freaking dull but comforting at the same time.

Doyle is definitely not my cup of tea, but just talking to a man made me feel like I’m not a total hopeless case.

I’ve booked another date for tomorrow night, but this time, I’ll be alone in the room with the man they assign to me.

It’s a huge step I’m not sure I’m ready for. It’s one thing having a drink with a man while we’re surrounded by people, and a whole different scenario being alone in a room with a member of the opposite sex.

Maybe this whole thing is stupid, and I should cancel the appointment.

My fingers keep tapping on the keyboard while my thoughts revolve around the impending date.

I have to admit, I felt so much better after the conversation with Doyle. Not once did a feeling of panic and fear overwhelm me, and I almost felt normal.

That’s all I want. I just want to feel normal and in control of my life again. I want to be able to go on dates like any other woman. I want to believe that not all men are out to hurt me.

Jesus, I just want my old life back.

“Miss Blakely!”

Startling at Mr. Vitale’s sudden appearance next to my desk, I let out a shriek. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, and I gasp from being ripped out of my thoughts.

Is the man trying to give me a freaking heart attack?

His intense gaze is locked on my face, and it feels like he’s trying to pry my deepest, darkest secrets from me with a single look.

Lowering my hand, I suck in a deep breath before saying, “Do you need something, sir?”

He stares at me for a moment longer, which makes me feel like squirming.

“It’s lunchtime. Order the chicken sandwich you got last week.”

“Yes, sir.”

I watch as he stalks back into his office before I slump back in my chair.

Jesus. The man is way too intense.

Scooting closer to my desk, I dial the number for the deli and place an order for two sandwiches.

Just as I end the call, the phone rings, and I quickly answer, “Mr. Vitale’s office, Samantha speaking.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Jenny says. “You sound so professional. How are things up there?”

I let out a sigh and relax back in my chair. “Ugh. I miss the admin department.”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you at all.”

I hear voices in the background and ask, “Are you out for lunch?”

“Yes. I’m at our favorite restaurant with a couple of the girls.”

I make a whining sound. “I’m jealous. Bring me a chocolate milkshake, and I’ll love you forever.”

She lets out a chuckle. “Okay, but as soon as Mr. Vitale’s office door opens, I’m gone. I don’t want to be in the line of fire.”

“Some friend you are,” I tease her.

It was nice hanging out with Jenny on Saturday. Instead of going to the movies, we ordered Chinese takeout and stayed in. I got her up to speed on everything she missed while she was on vacation, and she told me how Aiden proposed to her.

When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I almost cried.

“I’m just finishing my meal then I’ll be there with your milkshake.”

“Thank you.” I hear Mr. Vitale’s door open and quickly say, “Talk to you later.”

Ending the call, I turn my attention to my boss as he places a dry cleaning slip on my desk.

“Leave at four to collect my suits. Take them to my house and make sure they’re hung neatly in the walk-in closet,” he orders.

Oooh, I get to see where he lives.

Yeah, I’m nosy like that, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

“Yes, sir.”

He disappears back into the chamber of wrath, and I pick up the slip and tuck it into my handbag.

The rest of the day proceeds at an unbearable fast pace, and I don’t even get time to drink half of the milkshake Jenny brought earlier.

As I leave the office at four, I feel victorious because not once did Mr. Vitale reprimand me for anything.

I’m totally taking it as a win that he’s asked me to pick up his laundry. It means he’s learning to trust me.

It takes me an hour to collect his suits, and when I take the stairs up to the front door, I realize I don’t have a key to get into the house.

“Shit.” My teeth tug at my bottom lip, and hoping he has a housekeeper, I knock.

When the door opens, I’m met by a burly looking man. “Yes?”

“I’m Mr. Vitale’s assistant.” I nod at the garment bags that are draped over my arm. “He asked me to collect his dry cleaning.”

“Right.” The man steps to the side, and when his phone rings, he gestures for me to enter the house before taking the call.

I walk into a massive open space that’s all gleaming white tiles and luxurious.

Holy shit.

My mouth drops open as I glance at the impressive chandelier, the marble statues of women, and a lounge chair I wouldn’t mind stealing.

I’m still staring at the foyer bathed in expensive décor when the man who opened the door says, “The main bedroom is on the third floor.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.”

When I walk toward a grand staircase, I notice the man doesn’t follow me.

Yay! Maybe I can explore a little.

I take the stairs to the second floor and quickly peek up and down the hallway. The walls are covered with beautiful black and gold wallpaper.

Not wanting to push my luck, I head up to the third floor and as I approach an open door, I feel like I’m intruding on forbidden ground.

The moment I walk into the main bedroom, my mouth drops open again and I gape at Mr. Vitale’s personal space.

The bedroom is easily three times the size of mine.

Wow. The man has good taste.

A king-size bed is positioned by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. Where the walls are black, the bed covers are a soft cream color. I move closer and trail my fingers over the silk, thinking this is where Mr. Vitale sleeps.

To the left of the bed is a lounge chair covered with black velvet and a small coffee table. A neatly folded newspaper lies on the table, and an image of Mr. Vitale reading the paper while sipping his morning coffee flashes through my mind.

Lucky bastard.

I glance into the bathroom, and my eyebrows fly up when I see stairs leading down to a sunken tub that can rival the best of jacuzzies.

I’d give one of my kidneys for a chance to soak in that baby.

There’s a huge shower that can easily fit five people. The thing even has a bench and a fern in it.

The twin basins are made of black marble, and the round mirrors make me green with envy.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I head to the walk-in closet, and I let out a jealous huff when I see all the space the man has for his clothes.

“God, it’s unfair that someone as grumpy as him gets to live in this beautiful house,” I mutter as I unzip the garment bags. Hanging the suits and making sure nothing is out of place, I continue to rant, “Jesus, he has more shoes than I do.”

Which is saying a lot, as I have an out-of-control shoe addiction.

When I’m done, and every suit is neatly in the closet, I glance at all the sweatpants and T-shirts but don’t notice any jeans.

There’s a display case in the middle of the walk-in closet, and I take a moment to look at Mr. Vitale’s cufflinks, wristwatches, and ties.

Not wanting to be caught snooping, I let my eyes feast on all the beauty as I make my way back to the stairs.

I expected Mr. Vitale’s house to be cold and soulless, but instead, I’m pleasantly surprised.

When I reach the first floor, there’s no sign of the man who opened the door, and unable to suppress my curious nature, I walk toward a living room that’s made up of my wildest fantasies.

The TV takes up an entire wall, and black velvet couches furnish the room. It doesn’t look like they’ve been sat on.

There are ferns that remind me of the plants I saw in Paradiso and a glass table that holds a crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid, which I assume is some kind of expensive whiskey.

Movement draws my attention to the expansive windows and sliding doors, and I see a group of men out on the patio.

Instantly, my curiosity is doused, and fear creeps into my bones.

I turn around and rush out of the living room, only to bump into a chest that might as well have been made from steel. As I bounce backward, my hand flies up to rub my bruised nose, and my eyes lock on Mr. Vitale’s narrowed gaze.

Shit.

“Sorry. I was just leaving.”

It’s only then I notice the two men on either side of Mr. Vitale, and forgetting that I was just caught snooping by my boss, my fear of men makes my body tremble.

At the best of times, I can handle dealing one-on-one with a man, but knowing there’s a whole group outside on the patio and three more right in front of me, I panic.

Before Mr. Vitale can comment on why I’m still in his house, I dart around them and run to the front door.

As the solid piece of wood closes behind me, I think I hear Mr. Vitale call my name, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back in there.