Mafia's Reborn Obsession

I died in Vincent Corleone’s arms—the ruthless mafia don—watching him break down before taking his own life to follow me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back three years earlier, on the day I was sent to him as a pawn. He lounged by the window, two buttons of his black shirt undone, cigar in hand. His gaze swept over me. “I hear you can cure my insomnia?” I stepped closer, letting my skirt brush his knee, my fingers tracing his open collar. “Not just that,” I murmured. “I can make you let go of every defense… and never want to leave my bed.” His eyes darkened. He pulled me hard against him, cedar and whiskey wrapping around me. “Ambitious,” he said, his lips hovering near mine. “Let’s see if you’ll use your mouth… or your body.”