“If You’re Ashamed of Me, Don’t Touch Me,” the Hairdresser Told the Mafia Boss Before His Entire Family—Then Vincent Moretti Stopped Reaching for Her, Let Her Choose the Next Touch, and Made Everyone Understand Which of Them Had Actually Been Doing the Pursuing
Emma stared at Vincent’s open hand.
Then she looked at Sabrina.
The satisfaction in Sabrina’s face was beginning to crack.
Emma could have walked away.
That mattered.
Vincent had enough authority in this room to make people obey with a glance. Yet he stood completely still, waiting while the woman Sabrina considered beneath him decided whether he was allowed to touch her.
Emma placed her hand in his.
Vincent’s fingers closed carefully around hers.
He did not pull her against him.
Instead he turned toward the room.
“I went back to her salon ten days after my first appointment.”
Marco, standing near the bar, cleared his throat.
“Your hair was fine.”
Vincent looked at him.
Marco raised his glass.
“Historical accuracy.”
A few people almost laughed.
Vincent continued.
“I returned again after that.”
Emma felt heat reach her cheeks.
This was not the defense she expected.
Sabrina folded her arms.
“Vincent, nobody cares how often you get your hair cut.”
“I wasn’t getting my hair cut.”
Silence returned.
Marco murmured, “Finally.”
“Marco.”
“I’m quiet.”
Vincent looked at Emma.
“I was finding reasons to see her.”
Something inside Emma shifted.
Sabrina had tried to frame Emma as a woman lucky enough to receive a powerful man’s private attention.
Vincent was dismantling that assumption himself.
“She did not pursue me,” he said. “She did not ask for access to this family. She did not ask for favors. The first time I invited her to dinner, she refused.”
Someone near the fireplace looked genuinely surprised.
Emma almost smiled.
Vincent noticed.
“She had no difficulty with the word.”
“Still don’t,” Emma said.
“I’m aware.”
That drew the smallest ripple of laughter.
Then Sabrina’s voice sharpened.
“She cuts hair, Vincent.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“Yes.”
Nothing more.
No attempt to make Emma’s profession sound grander.
No invented title.
No apology.
Just yes.
Emma felt that answer more deeply than any compliment.
Vincent continued.
“She is also exceptionally good at it.”
Sabrina rolled her eyes.
“She protects the people who work for her even when it costs her customers. She refuses to sell things people do not need. She remembers when someone is frightened and never uses it against them.”
His gaze returned to Emma.
“And before she knew my name, she spoke to me exactly as she speaks to me now.”
“Usually with concern for your hair.”
“Frequently with disrespect.”
“Professional honesty.”
His mouth moved.
Then Sabrina said, “This is ridiculous.”
Emma finally released Vincent’s hand.
Not because she was retreating.
Because this part belonged to her.
She stepped toward Sabrina.
“What’s ridiculous is how badly you need me embarrassed.”
Sabrina’s face changed.
Emma continued.
“My job bothers you. My dress bothers you. My body apparently bothers you. None of those things bother me.”
The room was silent again.
“I like my work. I’m good at it. I pay my bills with it. People trust me with something personal and leave my chair feeling more like themselves.”
She glanced once at Vincent.
“I never asked him to make that sound impressive enough for you.”
Sabrina opened her mouth.
Emma stopped her with one look.
“And I never asked to become acceptable to this room.”
Then Emma turned toward Vincent.
“But I meant what I said.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“I won’t be hidden.”
“You won’t.”
“And I don’t want you kissing me every time somebody insults me just to prove a point.”
Marco muttered, “That was apparently the original plan.”
Vincent gave him a murderous look.
Emma almost laughed.
Almost.
Vincent faced her again.
“You’re right.”
The admission came without performance.
Then he did something Emma would remember longer than any public kiss.
He stepped back.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to return space to her.
“I should have asked what you needed before deciding how to answer for you.”
Emma’s anger loosened.
Not vanished.
Changed.
Vincent had wanted to defend her publicly.
But defense could become another form of speaking over her if he was not careful.
He understood that now.
Emma looked at his hand hanging at his side.
Then deliberately reached for it herself.
Vincent looked down at their joined hands.
When he raised his eyes again, something vulnerable had entered them.
No command.
No victory.
Emma stepped closer.
This time she kissed him.
Briefly.
Entirely because she chose to.
When she pulled away, Marco looked toward the ceiling.
“I saw nothing.”
Emma finally laughed.
Vincent’s hand tightened around hers.
Sabrina had gone pale.
Not because Vincent had publicly claimed Emma.
Because the opposite had happened.
Everyone in the room had watched him give her room to choose, and watched Emma choose him anyway.
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