Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (lightweight ebook reader txt) 📗

coldness nor too much emotion. It’s the nod of a man who is accustomed to dealing with the darker parts of life, and able to protect me and our children from them.

“My mother died in childbirth,” he says. “My father raised me alone. He raised me in this life. He didn’t trust anybody apart from family, and I was his only family. We worked together for a few years, but then he became ill.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, thinking about mom, my chest getting so tight it’s like it’s squeezing my heart.

“It was over a decade ago,” he says with a shrug. “But…”

“But what?” I urge, staring into the cool blueness of his eyes to detect the fire of emotion beneath.

“I don’t want to raise our children the way he raised me,” he says passionately. “I respected him, but I don’t want that. Our children, Rosie, will grow up like regular, happy kids. We’ll let them pursue anything they want, whatever they’re passionate about. We’ll support them. We won’t turn them into monsters.”

“Hey,” I say softly, moving my hand up to his chest, between his tight pecs, to his chin. “You’re not a monster.”

“There are a few people who’d disagree with you,” he says. “I’m a killer.”

“Unless you lied to me…”

“I didn’t. I never would,” he growls.

“Then those men deserved to die,” I cry. “Do you know how much evil stuff I witnessed growing up in bad neighborhoods? It’s ridiculous. Men beating their wives, selling drugs to kids, getting away with it because nobody wants to talk to the cops. I don’t judge you.”

I love you, a voice cries inside of me, but I pull the fated words back.

“That means the world to me, Rosie,” he growls. “In this life, a man can second-guess himself. If I’ve got your support, maybe I don’t have to do that as much.”

“You have,” I say. “You always will.”

“Good,” he smirks. “Because I’m having you either way. Now tell me more about this publishing idea.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Details. Budgets. Plans.”

I giggle. “I have all of that in PDF files. Can I just email them to you?”

“Goddamn, Rosie,” he says. “That’s impressive. Yes, email them to me and we’ll get that started.”

“But Ryland,” I sigh, turning my gaze down.

I don’t want to ruin this moment, but there is the reality to think of, and all the problems it brings.

In here, in Ryland’s protective arms, it’s easy to forget the outside world even exists.

“What?” he urges

“I’m supposed to be dead,” I say. “As far as Vito and his whole family are concerned, my Mom and I are gone. I can’t start a publishing project. I can’t even leave this estate. I have to lie low for the rest of my life.”

“No,” he growls. “I won’t let you live like that. I won’t let our children live like that. You’re going to live how you want to live, pursue the dreams you want to pursue. I’m with you every step of the way.”

“But what are we going to do about Vito?” I ask.

“I have an idea,” he says. “It’ll mean bringing down Vito without making his dad – the real boss – want to kill me.”

“How?” I ask.

“His father signed the contract,” Ryland says, in a musing, rumbling tone to his voice. “He agreed never to make a play against me. He is a man of his word. If Vito were caught and arrested doing just that, it would seem like Vito’s an idiot who overstepped. Which he is.”

I pause, thinking for a moment, my mind whirring.

He’s looking at me expectantly.

“They own the police,” I say.

His eyes light up, pride flickering across his expression.

“Exactly,” he says. “So it would need to be in a different county, maybe even a different State. I have a safe house in Maine. If he’s stupid enough to follow me there, he deserves to get grabbed. The FBI is desperate to get their hands on him, but he’s untouchable in the city. He’s got so many people on his payroll. By the time the agents roll up, he’s been tipped off twenty-five times and he’s long gone.”

“That’s crazy,” I say, shaking my head.

“That’s fear. That’s money.”

“We need to do this, Ryland,” I say passionately.

“It’s more dangerous than staying here,” he tells me, sliding his fingers tantalizingly through my hair.

Whenever we’re close, we can’t help but move our hands across each other, touching each other continuously, as though we’re both terrified of breaking the contact.

“I’ll keep us safe,” he says. “But there are more variables. There’s a bunker in the safe house too. You’ll have to live in there.”

“Whatever it takes,” I declare, digging my fingernails into the solidity of his chest. “If we can be together, I don’t care what I have to do. I want this craziness to be over.”

“Not our craziness, though,” he smirks.

“No, never that,” I say quickly.

“We’re always going to be crazy about each other.”

“Forever,” I sigh, laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes.

His heartbeat hammers against my ear, moving through my head in a heavy drum-like beat, quivering through my body as though to let me know how strong and full of vital energy he is.

My womb quivers in return, answering his call, crying out in belonging.

“How many?” he asks.

“Four,” I say, knowing that he means children.

“So specific,” he says, a smirk in his voice.

“Two boys and two girls. Don’t you think that would be just perfect?”

“It would be amazing,” he says, squeezing my shoulder with barely-withheld passion. “Have you thought about this before?”

“A little,” I admit. “I used to daydream about having a family one day. But before we met, I never took it seriously. It was more like I was torturing myself with thoughts of a life I could never have, I guess.”

“But now you can have it. You will have it.”

I kiss his sweaty chest, savoring the feel of his hot skin.

“What about you?”

“Four sounds great to me,” he growls. “As long as they’re happy. As long as