Sold To Mr. Giordano novel Chapter 8

Arielle

I turn up the volume on the radio blaring some new song I heard last month through the penthouse. Arabella left before it got too late last night, Angelo left this morning to do whatever business the Capo has planned for him. Carmelo is sitting on the couch reading a magazine pretending he doesn't notice me dancing and singing at the top of my lungs.

Jumping from couch to couch, my hair left long as I whip it around. My arms are in the air waving, I shut my eyes and belt out a note. I sing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and do a little spin.

I crash into something fearing I knocked into the lamp or the television, but it's infinitely worse. Antonio is standing like a statue gripping my shoulders which prevented me from falling.

"Jesus Christ! How long were you standing here!" I put my hand over my erratic heartbeat. I walk over and turn the volume all the way down on the radio.

"Since the song began."

"Why did you stop me!"

"Because you seemed like you were enjoying yourself," he shrugs.

I fix my shirt and pull the hem down. I tie my hair back and fan my overheated, red face. "What do you want?"

"I was just checking in."

"Why?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Because you are my fiancée."

"Your Russian enemies didn't get me, yet. I'm fine. You can attend to your business," I don't know where the bitterness is coming out of me from.

"You are my business too, you know." He crosses his arms over his tailored navy suit. I watch as the suit strains against his bulging biceps.

Get his naked body out of your head.

"Yes of course I'm business, wouldn't want to ruin your little business deal with my daddy, and heaven forbid if your baby making machine dies!"

He jerks his head back. Out of the corner of my eyes Carmelo stands looking like he's ready to intervene.

"You feel that way?"

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