Read Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance for Free Online Page A

be a dream that I’m going to wake up from. Any second now my alarm clock will go off and I’ll open my eyes to see my old bedroom back in North Carolina.
    “Wanna go up?” Maggie asks enthusiastically, in a way that suggests there is only one correct answer: yes, yes, yes!
    “Obviously!” I laugh, leaning into her as we both grin and run for the entrance. She pays for our way in, since she’s already got her dollars converted into euro. Maggie’s been paying for me left and right today, and at first I balked, too proud to let her just buy me things. But once she explained, in a surprisingly matter-of-fact manner, that her parents are very wealthy and they’re giving her a hefty monthly stipend — I backed down. In fact, the very first stop on our miniature tour of Paris a couple hours ago was the Triangle d’Or, a fancy boutique spot. I was fully prepared to simply window shop, but Maggie marched straight in and out of Dior, Givenchy, and Chanel like she belonged there. And once I saw her drop several hundred euro on a soft black hat at Hermès on a whim, I realized that she truly did belong there. She wasn’t homeschooled for some religious reason or because her parents were suspicious of the educational system. It was because they spent so much time traveling the world that they required a tutor who could travel with them.
    I’ve landed myself a rich, generous roommate with a bottomless pocketbook and a newfound taste for freedom. But for all her (as the French might say) bourgeois privileges, I have to give it to her; Maggie has none of the snobby condescension I’ve come to expect from what kids back home pejoratively dubbed “city slickers.” So far, she’s been incredibly open and kind to me, treating me like an equal rather than a charity case. Granted, I’ve only known her for a few hours now, but I can already tell she and I are going to become fast friends. It’s a huge relief, knowing that I’ve found at least one friend in the city. Things are definitely looking up for Liv Greenwood.
    Especially now that we’re about to ascend the 704 steps of the Eiffel Tower! Wait… are we really going to walk up 704 steps right now? I know we’re both athletes, but…
    “Where are you going, silly?” Maggie laughs, waving me over away from the entrance to the stairway. “We’re taking the lift!”
    “Oh, thank god,” I gasp in relief. “I was about to say, you must be in way better shape than I am to wanna take the stairs!”
    “No, no, training doesn’t start till tomorrow, remember? Today we’re lazy,” she giggles, pulling me into the lift alongside a group of elderly tourists arguing in Portuguese. I’ve never been around so many different languages and accents, the foreign words colliding with my own English train of thought like a calamitous wreck. But I love it. I love having my entire worldview shaken and crumbled to the ground. I can feel the pieces of my old, sheltered self falling by the wayside, stepping out of the way to make room for a new, worldly Liv. Maggie and I wriggle through the little crowd, muttering excusez-moi as we go.
    Staring down breathlessly at the earth pulling away beneath our feet, I almost feel like I’ve left an old part of myself down there on the ground, the fresh, new version of myself ascending into the Parisian evening sky. When we reach the top, Maggie takes my hand and pulls me out onto the landing. We lean into the railing and gawk open-mouthed at the panoramic view of Paris below us, the old buildings mingling alongside the new, twinkling lights dotting the darkening air all around us in every direction.
    “I can’t believe I’m really here right now,” I murmur, finally permitting the sting of elated tears in my eyes. “This is like a dream.”
    “Yeah, no matter how many times I’ve been here, it always feels the same. Magical,” Maggie agrees, yanking her hair out of its ponytail, shaking it out, and pulling on her new designer hat. I