Hit and Run: A Mafia Hitman Romance Read Online Free

bouquet.” It looks pathetic and wilted in the confines of this expensive kitchen. “I was hoping I’d get lucky that your favorite was somewhere in there.”
    Elizabeth gazes at the flowers. “No. It’s not in there.”
    “Then what is it?”
    She raises her eyebrows challengingly. “I suggest you just keep trying to figure it out.”
    I laugh. “You sure are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”
    “Don’t fetishize my righteous anger,” she spits back at me.
    “What if I like sparring with you? There’s no harm in that, is there? It’s like foreplay. I think you like this.”
    “I like what ?”
    I point at the air between us. “All this built up, unresolved sexual tension. I’m guessing your dad doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”
    She throws the rag at me. “That’s it, I’m cutting your time short.”
    “You’re not even going to put the flowers I bought you in a vase?”
    “They can wither up and die and you’re welcome to join them as far as I’m concerned.”
    I laugh. “You’re quick. I like that.”
    “Get out,” Elizabeth says, pointing at the door.
    “See you later. Wifey .”
    She roars like a lion and I’m out the door.
    I knew she was a firecracker before, but now I really can’t wait to bend her over and fuck her on our wedding night.
    I step out into the streets of New York, my conscience pinging at the back of my skull. I brush it away.
    This is all part of the job. Mr. Romano hired me to work for him, sight unseen. I was the first step in reconciling my family with his. And then he set up this ridiculous game.
    Why shouldn’t I enjoy the perks of that?
    I push my guilt aside and step into the crowds of people pushing through to get their holiday shopping finished.
    Elizabeth will come around.
    No woman can resist this.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    ELIZABETH
    “Ouch, don’t poke me with those,” I whine at the seamstress sitting at the hem of my dress.
    “If you’d stop moving, I wouldn’t be poking you,” she shoots back. She has grey hair pulled up into a harsh bun. My mind needs anything at all to distract me from what’s happening. So I start asking questions in my head to pass the time.
    I wonder how old she is. She looks about ninety years old. I wonder if she likes having this job.
    I can’t imagine fitting dresses for spoiled brats like me is how she would choose to spend her days if she didn’t have to. She has two hearing aids and I wonder if she ever turns down the volume to ignore people. I would if I were her. Taking people’s shit for ninety years? No thanks. If I make it to that age, I’ll have earned some peace and quiet.
    I’m ripped out of my thoughts by the appearance of my older sister. She has her arms crossed and she’s smirking at me. “I’m not wearing the bridesmaid dress you picked out.”
    “Thanks for your never-ending support, Maria,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips. I look at the tulle and lace monstrosity wrapping up my body and feel a surge of nausea.
    “You look like a slice of Italian wedding cake,” Maria says.
    “No cake before the wedding, you’re fat enough,” the seamstress intones.
    “She said I looked like a cake, not that I am eating a cake !” I yell at her.
    “Stand still,” she replies.
    I roll my eyes at Maria. “I don’t understand why you aren’t the one being married off.”
    “Because I already have a lug of a husband.”
    “Oh yeah, him.” I hate Maria’s husband. He works for my father too and he’s not good enough for my sister. “At least you got to choose yours.”
    Maria slides down the wall and pulls out her phone. “Right, okay.”
    “I could use a little support.”
    “I suggest an underwire bra, then,” she says, taking out a piece of gum and smacking on it loudly.
    I stomp my foot and the seamstress stands up. “I’ll be back when you’re done acting like one of my toddler great-grandchildren,” she says.
    I pick up the enormously poofy bottom of my dress and sit down in one of the