24 years old
August 2015
“CAN YOU FEEL IT? THE beat in your chest?”
I gave my head a shake, long curls sticking to my tear-streaked cheeks.
“Here.” Mamma grabbed my hand and pressed it to my chest, over my light pink church dress. “What about now?”
Something pulsed beneath my palm, small but fast, like the flutter of a frightened bird’s wings. I nodded.
“It’s music,” she whispered, like she was telling a big secret.
My eyes filled with awe, but soon, fear crept into the corners of my mind. “But Papà hates music.”
“Some men, Gianna . . . can’t feel their own music, let alone other’s.”
Sadness pulled on my chest.
Mamma’s gaze grew wet, like mine. “Dance to this”—she pressed her hand to my heart—“whenever and however you want.”
“Whenever I want?”
“Yes, stellina.” She pressed a kiss to my forehead and my five-year-old heart warmed. “Whenever you want.”
“I’m scared of the dark.” The whisper invaded the memory, my low, toneless voice sweeping in.
You’re dead to me.
You’re dead to me.
You’re dead to me.
The words came out with the blackness to swallow me whole.
I woke with a start, the sheets stuck to my sweaty skin. Catching my breath, I stared at the ceiling of my apartment. The dream swept me back to the night of my twenty-third birthday.
I sat at the back of an ambulance, the doors open on either side of me. It was hot and humid, though my blood ran cold.
A sheet covered the body, but it couldn’t conceal the long blond hair hanging off the stretcher as they loaded Sydney into the back of an ambulance.
Someone stood in front of me, and I brought a blank stare to his. I’d been sitting on Antonio’s cold office floor in the dark when he’d found me. Allister hadn’t said a word as he picked me up, letting me cry silently on his shoulder while he carried me outside. Before he disappeared back inside, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rested it on my shoulders. It smelled like a man’s. Deep, and rough, and masculine. I tried to drown myself in the scent instead of the numbness.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked.
Home?
It had always been Antonio’s house more than it had ever been mine. After the Sydney fiasco, I stayed at one of his apartments when I could, just to escape his attentions when he was home. I wondered if Sydney had known Antonio was never faithful to her, that he’d tried to seduce me while claiming to love her. She’d died for him, for love. The word left a sour aftertaste in my mouth.
The idea of going home suddenly sounded abhorrent.
I shook my head.
“Where?”
“Ace’s,” I whispered.
A muscle in his jaw tightened, and something bitter passed through his eyes. “Ace won’t be there for a while.”
An ambulance had taken him to the hospital despite his protests. He’d been losing a lot of blood from the two bullet wounds he’d received, one in the side and one in the arm. He’d taken those bullets for me, and I was going to nurse him back to health, whether he liked it or not.
“I know,” I said.
Allister ran his tongue across his teeth as though agitated, but he moved to speak with one of the dozens of agents nearby.
I followed him to his car. I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him without a suit jacket. His white long-sleeve shirt molded his broad shoulders and arms. I’d never noticed just how built the man was until now. Maybe I was losing my mind, but I studied his form the entire walk to the car as I trailed behind him, barefoot.
He drove me to Nico’s home in the Bronx in silence and then followed me to the back door. I knew the code to Ace’s alarm system—not because he trusted me with it, but because I’d secretly watched him type it in once.
Allister stepped inside behind me and shut the door.
“You don’t have to stay,” I told him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re in shock,” was his response.
He looked around the place, his shoulders tense. He didn’t want to leave me here. I thought he even hated the idea. The question was, why?
“Why are you here?” I asked, draping his jacket over an island chair. “Feeling sorry for me?”
“No.” The word was hard, and the glint in his eye conveyed that he did not feel sorry in any way.
God, he was heartless.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Don’t lie to me again, Gianna.”
I was too numb to be annoyed by his lord-and-master tone. In fact, it felt like I was hanging by a thread high in the sky, though I was too indifferent to care if it snapped.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
I headed up the stairs, dropping my blood-stained dress at the top, and took a shower. When I went downstairs twenty minutes later, with wet hair and dressed in only one of Ace’s white t-shirts, Allister was still there, leaning against the counter and talking on the phone. His consuming gaze found me, drifting down my body with a mixture of warmth and agitation.
A tremor started beneath my skin, buzzing stronger like an approaching bee that would surely sting.
“Come here,” he said after he hung up.
When I reached him, he handed me a white pill and a glass of water.
“Take it.”
I didn’t even ask what it was; I took it with a sip of water and went to set my glass on the counter.
“All of it, Gianna.”
My eyes narrowed at the edges, but I drank the rest as I was told.
“There’s more in the cupboard for the next few days.” His voice caught a harsh note. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He thought I would try to OD on them. I’d experienced far worse than tonight and had never even contemplated suicide. I didn’t care enough to try and convince him, though.
As I walked past, he caught me by my t-shirt. I looked up at him. I didn’t know why he was here, why he was helping me. Nonetheless, I was suddenly grateful. I didn’t want to be alone.
The touch of his eyes ran over my face like a caress. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but his closeness, the heat from his body, it was penetrating the numbness and warming me from the inside out. My gaze softened, lips parted, as flames licked at my skin.
His grip tightened on my shirt, and I stumbled a step closer. He was too close, and I had to place a hand on his stomach to catch myself from falling flush against him. His abs tightened beneath my palm, but his expression remained unmoved.
“Regardless of what you might believe, Gianna, I’m a grown man. Dress appropriately in front of me next time.”
His words broke me from the warm spell I’d been under. He wanted me to respond, to say something so he knew I hadn’t fallen off the deep end—the sharp sound of his voice had practically demanded it. It was fake concern, I was sure.
Pushing away from him, I headed to the living room. I lay down and flipped the TV on to a soap opera rerun. I watched it mindlessly while listening to his deep timbre in the background as he talked on the phone.
I fell asleep at some point. And dreamed of a light touch on my face and two rough words in my ear.
After taking a trip down memory lane, I lay in bed until noon. The silence that filled my apartment was so loud it hurt my ears. I liked my freedom, but I hated living alone. I hated being alone. It reminded me of my papà. Of the slam of a door and the lights going out.
Vincent pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered in my ear.
I laughed, trying hard to keep an uncomfortable edge from escaping. “You obviously haven’t seen a sunset in the Caribbean.”
“I have, and trust me, it doesn’t compare. Shall I escort you in?”
I nodded.
Vincent placed a hand at the small of my back and guided me into the club.
It was the grand reopening, after the shooting last year. There hadn’t been much damage, and only six casualties—Antonio, his brother, Sydney, John, and two Zanettis. However, Nico had focused his time on revenge and not on opening his club to the public until now.
Vincent’s hand gripped low on my hip, in a possessive hold. I didn’t realize he’d be here tonight, but it seemed wherever I was lately, so was he. I didn’t want to have to turn him down, though I knew it was going to have to happen soon. He was kind-hearted, gentle, and handsome—exactly my type—but I wasn’t the woman for him. I wasn’t the woman for any man.
I didn’t need love in my life.
But I did miss sex.
So desperately that his warm breath in my ear sent a spark between my legs. It’d been six months since I’d pressed my mouth to another’s, felt the heaviness of a man’s body covering mine, lost myself in touch and feeling. The last time had been with a male stripper I’d met at a cantina in Cancún. It’d only taken the brush of his thumb at the hollow behind my ear until I gave in. It didn’t make me feel good emotionally, but physically, it was everything I needed. Hot and sweaty and desperate. I needed human touch like I needed air, and now, I was riding on a thin amount of oxygen.
Vincent led me to a group of our friends at a round booth in a private corner. We joined them with hellos and kisses on the cheeks.
I paused at the man leaning against the booth. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
Sharp features and blue eyes met mine. “I’d say the pleasure is all mine.”
How charming.
The stranger was a few inches taller than me, wearing a charcoal designer suit and tie. He looked like a gentleman, talked like a gentleman . . . but there was something about him I couldn’t put my finger on. Vincent’s possessive squeeze on my hip annoyed me.
“I’m going to fetch a drink.” I pulled away from Vincent’s grasp before he could protest and offer to get me one himself. He would. I thought he might bring me back the moon if I asked for it. He knew who my ex-husband was, the life I was raised in, but, like a true gentleman, he’d never brought it up. If he thought he could survive in my world, he was mistaken. It would chew him up and spit him out before he could even say hello.
I stopped at the bar, realizing Charming had followed me.
“What’s your name?”
I tilted my head, meeting his gaze in the glass behind the bar. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to know the name of the woman I’m fucking tonight.”
The corners of my lips tipped up. I loved straightforward people, however . . . something about Charming rubbed me the wrong way.
“Awfully confident,” I mused, grabbing my drink from the bartender.
My gaze was pulled to the side by some invisible force. I should have known it was him. It was always him. Allister was headed to a table where two other men in black suits stood together, talking. But, as though he’d felt my presence just as I had his, he glanced over and caught my gaze.
I realized what was wrong with Charming. His blue eyes were dull and cloudy.
Not piercing and deep enough to drown in.
Lovely. I’d let the disgustingly handsome fed ruin an entire eye color for me.
Allister’s attention moved to the man beside me. His gaze narrowed and flickered with loathing before he looked away.
My heart rate slowed at his strange reaction, but I quickly pushed the feeling down. I didn’t like to think about the fed. Every time I did, an edginess came over me, leaving a hollow and uncertain sensation in my chest.
I’d seen him a few times since he’d taken me to Ace’s last year. Our relationship had picked up on the same note it’d always been on. However, it was as if he had never taken care of me that night. He was different, radiating a tension that touched my skin each time I stood by him. His responses were dryer, his tone harsher, and he’d often walk off and leave me standing alone, like my mere presence agitated him. It annoyed me.
“So . . . you gonna tell me your name?”
“Guess,” I finally said to Charming, turning my attention to him.
“Hmm.” His gaze lit with the challenge. “It’s elegant and beautiful, just like you.”
I rolled my eyes at his flattery, but I made him guess for another ten minutes until I finished my drink and needed to use the restroom.
Just as I was about to pass the men’s room, the door opened, and I came face-to-face with Allister. Oddly, my heart stalled, stealing some oxygen from my lungs.
“Hello, Officer.”
He didn’t say a word as his gaze bit through my skin.
“Okay then,” I said. “You have a lovely night.”
I tried to pass him, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my path. It’d been a long time since we’d played any game, and anticipation buzzed in my veins.
“What are you doing with Knox?” His voice was low and smooth, and I could feel it in my toes.
I frowned. “Who’s Knox?”
“The man you’ve been flirting with for the last fifteen minutes,” he snapped.
“Well, you’ve just answered your own question, haven’t you, Officer? Flirting.”
My smile faltered as he took a sudden step forward, forcing my back to hit the wall. A breath of air escaped me. His arms came up on either side of me, caging me in. He was so close my entire body hummed beneath the surface.
“I’m sure the Bureau doesn’t approve of this kind of behavior,” I breathed.
He was distracted, his gaze beside my head, where a lock of my hair brushed his hand. He pulled it through his fingers, and the small amount of pressure on my scalp tightened between my legs.
The air sparked in the small space between us, and it made me so uncertain I opened my mouth again. “Or maybe harassing women is on the daily agenda—”
“Shut up.”
I glared at him.
My hair slipped through his fingers, and his gaze focused on my face. Something dark and lazy played in his eyes.
“You’re going to tell Knox it was not nice to meet him and then go join your group of friends.”
I laughed, realizing which game this was. It was the one where he pretended to be my keeper, and it was the most annoying one we’d ever played. “Tempting as that demand is, I’m going to have to pass.”
The intensity in his eyes was like staring directly into the sun, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my gaze to his tie. It was perfect, like always, and while I would usually adjust it anyway, I didn’t reach for it now. His presence radiated tension, and it sent a nervous tremor through me.
“You don’t know a single thing about him, Gianna.”
“You don’t need to know anything about someone to sleep with them.” I wasn’t even planning on having sex with the man with dull eyes, but Allister goaded the words straight from my mouth.
A small growl sounded low in his throat, and I stared at him, frozen. Someone was taking this game a little too seriously.
His palm slid from the wall, and his voice was calm and final. “You’re not going home with him.”
I stared at his hand running the length of his tie and knew my libido was completely out of control at the moment, because I imagined his hand on me—in my hair, on my throat, covering my mouth. Heat pulsed between my legs.
“I’ll leave with him if I want,” I finally managed.
“Try it.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I just did.”
This was exactly why I hated this game. A small noise of frustration escaped me, and I ducked underneath his arm and headed toward the ladies’ room.
“You heard me, Gianna.”
I’d heard him, all right.
Didn’t mean I’d listen.
I had always tried not to do things out of spite, because every time, it only led me down a rabbit hole of regret. However, the moments after Allister’s stupid game pushed me straight into the underworld’s own version of Wonderland.
I washed my hands after using the restroom, and then halted at the end of the hall.
A bad taste filled my mouth.
The lighting was dim, but, as though they were the most perfect couple in the room, strobe lights danced across their forms.
A brunette had a hand on Allister’s chest as she stood on her tiptoes to say something in his ear. It wasn’t an odd scene—women were always all over him—but it was rare when he acknowledged them, unless they were one of his socialite dates. The sight that sent an odd sensation tightening in my stomach was his hand coming up to rest on her hip, in the most natural way, like he’d done it before.
He was touching her.
Why wouldn’t he? She was classy, composed, everything I was not. He wouldn’t touch me, not if he were hanging off a cliff and I was the only one who could pull him up.
I couldn’t keep it in—spite grabbed me in its electric embrace and wouldn’t let go.
Allister wasn’t going to win this game.
In the end, however, he won. He won everything.
I strode up to Charming, grabbed his tie, and gave him a tug toward the door. He smirked and followed me.
I turned my head in Allister’s direction. The brunette was still whispering something into his ear and his hand was still on her hip. But his gaze was on me. I swallowed as his eyes drifted to Charming, a lazy flicker passing through the blue before disappearing into vicious depths. Heartless. The look was full of the promise of retaliation. And then he dismissed me, giving all his attention to the brunette, as though I couldn’t be stupid enough not to listen to him.
Anger flared in my chest. I wasn’t going to let him scare me into losing. What could he possibly do, anyway? He was just a lackey of my family’s, and he wouldn’t even touch me.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I told Charming. “I’m merely using you to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.” The truth would have been a little hard to explain.
“Whatever, baby.”
His slimy response grated on my nerves. Now, I could see this man’s charm was dropped in a vat of oil.
My apartment was only a couple blocks from the club, and I continued my trek, hoping Charming would just drift away. Unfortunately, he followed like a lost puppy.
I stopped in front of the lobby doors. “Well, it was lovely to meet you. Thanks for all your help.”
I turned to open the door, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Wait a minute. I think you owe me a drink, at least.” He grinned. “Or maybe a line or two. I’d like to know what kind of stuff the Russos are shipping out.”
A line of blow was like a glass of champagne in my world. Unless we were at a family dinner—then you didn’t even know what the stuff was. But I couldn’t stop an eyeroll. He’d have known what my name was if he was familiar with my family.
But I did upend his night, and he was obviously more interested in getting his hands on my family’s drugs than me, so I opened the door and let him in.
“Gianna,” greeted the concierge. The seventyish Irishman had called me Ms. Russo until I’d nipped that in the bud.
“Hello, Niall,” I responded. “This is Charming.” I patted the man’s chest beside me.
Niall sized him up. “Charming,” he murmured, but I couldn’t tell if he was greeting him or mocking him. I loved Niall.
“He’s not very deferential, is he?” Charming asked, an edge of disgust in his voice.
Charming was a total loser.
“He’s Irish,” I responded, like that explained everything.
I let us into my apartment, leaving the door open a few inches so he wouldn’t get any ideas about staying. Heading to my room, I grabbed a baggie off my dresser. When I returned to the living room, it was to find him touching my things. “Here,” I said, tossing the 8-ball to him. “For all your trouble.”
He practically rubbed his hands together. “Let’s find out if it’s as good as I hear.”
“It is.”
I groaned internally when he dumped some powder on the marble counter.
Under the bright lights in the kitchen, it was clear his suit was worn, his shoes scuffed. He didn’t have any money and was hard-up for blow. Ugh, why had I let this idiot into my apartment?
His eyes were bright when he lifted his head.
“Told you,” I said, slipping my heels off. “Now, take it and go. A rerun of my show is on in five.”
“Where’s the rest?”
“You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”
His eyes narrowed, but I wasn’t too worried. If he touched me, he’d be found skinned alive in an alleyway by six a.m. tomorrow. And he knew it.
“Fine.” He tried to scoop every last fleck of powder off the counter, and I grimaced at the unattractive show.
My gaze caught on someone walking down the hall through the crack of the door. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. My heart cooled before icing over. His gaze was lowered as his hands twisted a silencer onto the barrel of a gun.
My throat tightened, and panic bit at my veins.
He looked up. His eyes were cold enough to give me frostbite.
“No,” I breathed.
But it was too late.
He pushed the door open, and his lazy, heartless gaze found Charming. A muffled pop hit my ears. Blood splattered across the counter and cupboards. White powder dusted into the air as Charming hit the floor, cloudy blue eyes wide open, a bullet hole in his forehead.
Bile rose in my throat, and I hunched over, covering my mouth.
I looked at the door to see a stare of dark indifference as Allister twisted the silencer off and put it in his pocket.
His apathy filled me with an anger so deep I saw red.
“Figlio di puttana!” I spat. You son of a bitch.
As he turned to the door, cold panic flared in my chest.
“Wait,” I pleaded. “Please don’t leave me with this! Allister!”
He didn’t even look back.
“Ace . . . he’s dead.” My hand shook around the burner phone I was supposed to use for issues like this. “Really dead.”
“Who?”
“Charming,” I mumbled, eyeing the body on the floor. I wasn’t making any sense, but the blood was about to soak into my area rug.
“Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “What the fuck did you do?”
I paced the living room. “I didn’t do anything! Allister shot him and then just left!”
A long pause. “For fuck’s sake.”
“There’s blood all over my kitchen,” I whined. I heard Nico talking to someone, and while he did, the blood reached my vintage area rug. “I’m going to kill him,” I admitted calmly.
“You’re going to tell him thank you, and then shut your damn mouth.”
“I’d rather throw myself from my balcony.”
“If you fuck my relationship with Allister, Gianna . . .”
I frowned. “What do you mean? I thought he was just one of your men?”
He laughed. “He’s his own man. It took my father a long time to convince him to work with us, and if you’ve fucked it up I’m gonna strangle the shit out of you.”
Oh. No wonder Allister always looked at me like I was simple-minded when I’d talk to him like he was the help. I swallowed. “I’m one measly girl. What could I have done to ruin your relations with the dirty fed?”
He grunted. “You’re only ‘measly’ when it’s convenient to you. Do not go anywhere. Do you understand me?”
“But his eyes are open—”
“Nowhere, Gianna.”
“Fine.”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the couch.
Twenty minutes later, Lorenzo and Luca entered the apartment. Lorenzo whistled, giving Charming’s leg a kick. “He’s dead, all right.”
I grimaced. “Could you not kick a dead man?”
Luca dropped to his haunches beside the body. “Gianna, do I want to know why this douchebag was in your apartment?”
I was trying to win a game . . . and lost so hard.
“No,” I sighed.
Lorenzo rubbed some blow from the kitchen island onto his gums. “I know this guy,” he said. “Knox, I think. Real slimy dude, been visited by our enforcers a couple times for gambling debt. Still owes some money.”
“I don’t think you’re going to get it from him now,” I muttered, heading into my room. I took a shower and then blow-dried my hair and pulled it up. I dressed in Daisy Dukes and an off-the-shoulder top that showed a few inches of my midriff. When I came back out, the body was gone but blood still coated every surface of my kitchen. Anger grabbed me by the throat and squeezed.
Lorenzo and Luca walked through the front door, laughing at some joke.
“Where does Allister live?” I asked, not able to control the venom in my voice.
Luca snorted. “What do you think you’re going to do to him?”
Lorenzo shook his head. “He’s not someone you fuck with, Gianna.”
“Where. Does. He. Live?”
Luca shrugged. “Sometimes, little girls need to learn a lesson or two.” I gritted my teeth at his response but forgot the vendetta as soon as he rattled off the name of an apartment building.
“Call a couple men in. I ain’t cleaning up this shit.” Luca’s voice trailed off as I slammed the front door behind me.
Rage vibrated in my veins the entire drive to Allister’s place.
The high-rise was nicer than any special agent could afford. It touched the sky, all sleek lines and dark glass.
Since Allister wasn’t expecting me, I had to charm the woman at the front desk with every ounce of sweetness in me. I might have convinced her I was Allister’s long-distance girlfriend and that I suspected he was cheating on me. A tear made its way down my cheek.
Shaniqua sighed in sympathy. “Oh, honey, you go on up there. And if you don’t beat his ass, I will.”
Allister’s apartment was one of three on the forty-third floor.
My hand shook with anger as I pounded on the door. After the first three knocks came up empty, I raised my hand again, but the door opened before I could make contact.
Without looking at him, I marched past him and into his apartment. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I’d rather not do it in front of the security camera in the hall.
I didn’t take in a single detail of the space because all I could see was red soaking into my vintage rug. I tensed as the door shut with a small click, and then turned to see him leaning against it. His arms were crossed, white dress shirt pulled tight across his biceps. A single light above the kitchen island lit the space, and a shadow caressed the side of his face. Darkness loved him—I knew without a doubt they were on good terms.
I couldn’t help but think this was a man all other men aspired to be. He was the perfect prototype, and everyone else had just gotten the small details wrong.
As he watched me with a dark, half-lidded stare, I became abundantly aware that I stood in his domain. With his large form blocking the door. With the oxygen in the apartment burning up like fuel.
His eyes dropped, almost unwillingly, to coast the length of my bare legs, from the frayed hem of my shorts to my sparkly-painted toes. His attention came back up and, like the glide of a drop of sweat down my back, it brushed the diamond piercing in my navel, over my breasts and my throat, before reaching my eyes.
My heart raced with an edgy beat. I didn’t understand it—not him, or my reaction to him—and that made my blood flow with pure anger and frustration.
I strode toward him, and just as my palm was about to make contact with his face, he caught my wrist, spun me around, and slammed my back against the door. It rattled under the contact, and a breath of air escaped me.
Anger heated my cheeks, and I tried to fight him off, to twist out of his hold, but, calmly, he held my wrists in a vise grip against my chest and I couldn’t escape. The struggle was fruitless, and eventually I went still, my heavy breaths filling the room. And because I could do nothing else, I growled, “I hate you.”
Animosity felt heavy in the air, though I could almost hear the strike of a match as something else sparked to life.
“I warned you, Gianna . . .” It was soft and gentle but underlined with the slightest clench of his teeth. I knew he meant the warning he’d given me about being alone with him.
“You don’t scare me,” I breathed.
He pressed my wrists against the door on either side of me and slowly slid them above my head. I panted, a languid sensation pulling on my muscles. His grip was like fire, though his presence was intimidating and cold to the touch. A shiver rolled through me as his lips pressed against my ear.
“You never were very smart.”
His hands were like shackles holding my wrists above my head as he looked at me—from my eyes, to my lips, to my breasts that moved with each inhale and exhale. I became hyperaware of every breath. The slow, melodic puffs of air. Confusion battled with the warmth making a path beneath the waistband of my shorts.
His gaze met mine. Blue. Cool silk sheets beneath a darkening sky. Although, there was something else. A flicker of something bright and full of life. Like the reflection in a neurotic person’s eyes. It was madness. It was obsession.
A tremble rocked me as he pressed his face into my neck. Inhaled. And then made a low sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat. The deep, rough noise thrummed between my legs, and instinctively, I tilted my head to bare more of my neck. My ponytail skimmed across my bare shoulder as it fell to the other side.
His grip on my wrists tightened, and my eyes grew half-lidded from the pressure.
So, this was what it felt like to be touched by him . . .
Addictive.
He held my wrists with one hand as the other slid down to my throat. Stepping closer, he pressed his front to mine. Until we were flush with one another. Until my breasts burned under the heat of his chest. Sparks lit beneath my skin, sizzling every time he shifted enough to brush my nipples.
His heart, it was beating so hard. And it wasn’t from exertion. I wasn’t fighting him. I didn’t know what this was, but I didn’t have a single thought in me to analyze it. I’d never felt more alive.
He stepped away from me so suddenly my entire body screamed in protest. A draft hit my skin, but it couldn’t cool the fire in my blood. It was so quiet I could hear the thrum of my heart and the ticking of a distant clock.
His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, as though the black of his pupil was bleeding into the blue. He blinked like he was trying to clear his head.
It hit me in a rush.
This man was hot for me—the proof had been pressed against me a moment ago—but now I knew he hated it. He ran his tongue across his teeth, turned, and moved away from me, tension radiating from every inch of him.
I wasn’t like any of the women I’d seen him with. He preferred classy, composed, and docile. I was the opposite. He wanted me, and he hated it.
I was his own little game.
If he touched me, he’d lose.
I suddenly knew, this was a game I wanted to play with everything in me.
He moved into the kitchen. With white cabinets and gun-metal countertops, the area was cool and sophisticated, just like its owner. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from a cupboard and, in my humble opinion, poured a little too much into his glass.
The anger from earlier had drifted away under the heat of his hands on me, and while I wanted it back, I wanted to play with him more.
I pushed off the front door. “Why, yes. I’d love one, thank you.”
His shoulders tensed the slightest bit before easing into indifference. “I don’t remember offering.”
“I know,” I said, slipping my sandals off and making myself comfortable. “Which was rude, by the way, but I’m gracious enough to forgive you.”
He turned to lean against the counter. “I’m relieved to hear it. Now, get out.”
I strode toward him, and his gaze watched every step I made. It sent the fire in my blood sparking with electricity.
I ran my finger along the smooth marble counter as I walked around it. “Where are you from, Officer?”
“Iowa.”
I pulled myself onto the kitchen island to face him, and a small smile touched my lips. “Not this again. Iowa has never seen your pretty face.”
He stared. Drew his teeth across his bottom lip. Took a sip.
I leaned back on my hands. “Such a secretive man,” I mused. “Don’t you know, sharing is caring?”
“If that’s your new motto, then you’ll tell me if you’ve let that prick Vincent touch you.”
My smile faltered at the animosity in his voice.
What would he do if I said yes? With the reminder of the blood that surely still dripped down my kitchen cupboards, I was going to let that curiosity go.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell you, and then you can tell me how many women you’ve screwed. It’ll be like show and tell”—I feigned a pout—“without the showing, sadly.”
He wasn’t amused in the slightest.
I tried to imagine him with other women, what it would look like. I couldn’t picture him making out on a couch. That was my favorite: kissing, rubbing, grinding. Getting so worked up there was no return.
My next words were soft and sensual. I wished I could say it was all for the game, but even the thought of pressing my mouth to this man’s sent a shiver through me.
“Do you kiss, Officer?”
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t respond. He only watched me with a dry, half-lidded stare that conveyed I wasn’t worthy of a single word from him.
My heart pattered to an awkward beat.
I never had preferred large men . . . but, God, I wanted a taste of this one.
His eyes narrowed as I slid from the island and walked toward him. Stepping close enough to feel his heat, I grabbed his glass and took a sip.
I suddenly wanted to know how this man fucked—if his OCD tendencies came to the bedroom, or if it made him even dirtier.
I stepped on each of his shoes and then rose to my tiptoes. With a shot of vodka on my tongue, my lips hovered close to his. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite and lick. My breasts brushed his chest and heat shot straight to my core. When his lips parted, I let the liquor trickle from my mouth to his. Pure lust erupted inside me so violently I grew dizzy. I ran my hands up his abs, curled my fingers into his chest, as if I could claw my way through his shirt. He was so hard and warm, and smelled so good I could get lost in him.
Sliding a hand up his neck and grabbing a fistful of hair, I pushed the rest of the liquid into his mouth with my tongue.
Hot. Wet. Exhilarating. My stomach swooped and dived, stealing my breath. I knew without a doubt that sharing a sip of vodka with this dirty fed was the most thrilling thing I had ever done.
Butterflies on fire fluttered through my veins as his tongue slid across mine. With a rough sound from deep in his chest, he sucked the alcohol from it. And then he bit my lip hard enough I yelped and fell back a step.
My lips tingled.
My heart pounded in my ears.
I couldn’t catch my breath.
“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.” His voice was black velvet set out to freeze.
I secretly loved it when he called me sweetheart. It was rare, but every time he did, there was this rough lilt to it I couldn’t place. And it always rolled down my spine in the same way: electric.
His gaze was so cold it gave me chills, and in some careless, terrifying manner I’d never seen from the strait-laced fed, he dropped his tumbler to the floor. It shattered across the tile, sending a tremor through me.
I eyed the shards of glass and muttered, “That’s going to be a mess to clean up.”
“You couldn’t survive me, Gianna.” It was just a statement of fact. “Nothing fragile ever does.”
Staring at a piece of glass that was so close to my feet it reflected my sparkly nail polish, the broken tumbler took on another meaning.
It was me, after this man was done with me.
The panic attack he’d witnessed two years ago was suddenly loud between us. And, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last he’d ever see.
My mind was spinning, and I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You killed Charming.”
He didn’t blink at the nickname. “He’s not the first.”
“And won’t be the last?” I mused. “What about me, Officer? Would you kill me?”
I held my breath as he stepped forward, lightly grasping my throat.
“It would make my life a lot easier,” he drawled, caressing my fluttering pulse with a thumb before pressing down on it slightly. His hand on me, rough, and covered in the blood of all his enemies—and most likely innocents—shouldn’t affect me the way it did. But I was burning up, and I needed more. So much more.
Nonetheless, he stepped away from me.
I turned to follow him with my eyes as he walked around the island. “I know you probably already feel awful about it, but you missed my birthday this year.”
“Awful,” he agreed, his voice dry.
“See, I knew it. But that’s okay, because you can make it up to me now.”
“Ah.” A small smile pulled on a corner of his lips. “You want your present.”
Of the physical sort, yes. I wanted my clothes off. I wanted to drop to my knees and make this man feel good. I wanted his hands on me, his head between my legs. And if I survived all of that, I wanted him inside me. I knew it would be the best sex I’d ever had.
My eyes must have conveyed my thoughts, because his gaze darkened. “I’m not one of your admirers. I’m not going to hold my dick and pine over you, just waiting for the day you might choose me. If I fuck you, Gianna, nobody else ever will.”
My stomach dropped, and I almost choked on my next breath.
“If you don’t get your ass out of my apartment while you still can”—his voice drifted to a dark rasp—“there’s no going back from this.”
A shiver rolled down my spine.
He would tie himself to a relationship with me just because we’d had sex? Why? I was sure he didn’t apply the same stipulations to his other women, or surely, they’d all agree animatedly. Maybe he was just trying to scare me, but regardless, I wasn’t going to underestimate him this time, not now that I knew he was his own man and that he could easily hold my future in his palm if he wanted to.
I didn’t want another man controlling my life, especially one who hated that he was even attracted to me.
A piece of glass cut into my foot, and I winced but quietly made my way to the door. “This has been riveting, but, honestly, it’s a little intense for a first date. I’m going to have to be more particular about who I swipe right on from now on.”
His narrowed gaze fell to my feet. “You’re bleeding.”
I laughed with an angry edge. “Don’t get me started on blood, Allister. You’re buying me a new rug.”
“Stop.”
I ignored him. “By the way, I had to convince Shaniqua I was your girlfriend and that I thought you were a cheating bastard. Hope that’s okay.”
Before I realized he was so close, he grabbed me by the waist from behind and picked me up. It felt like I was a Pollyanna doll being tugged around. “Put me down, Allister. I don’t sleep with feds.”
“If I decided I wanted you, sleep is not the word I would use.”
He set me on the bathroom counter, and for some reason, a rush of nerves shot through me.
“Why don’t you want me?” I asked. “Is it because your good looks would pale beside mine?”
His eyes were lazy and unamused as he reached behind me and opened a cabinet. His arm singed as it brushed mine. His body heat overwhelmed me. And his deep, masculine scent made my head dizzy. My limbs felt heavy and light all at once, my skin buzzing like a live wire.
Out of breath, I watched him set a bottle of peroxide, a cotton ball, and a Band-Aid next to me.
He lifted my foot and began to gently clean the cut himself. I swallowed, stunned quiet. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever done something like this for me. Not since Mamma. How could a man be so cold, and yet so warm all at once?
My heart tripped over its next beat.
I ached. For human contact. For, unexpectedly, him.
I had always been impulsive, never thinking things through. I lived for the moment, for the high and the feeling, and right now, I would do anything to have this man’s hands on me.
With a shaky pulse, I slipped my shirt off and dropped it next to his feet. He went so still even the air quieted, but he took his time putting the Band-Aid on before he let himself look up. Bottomless. Mesmerizing. And hotter than fire. I unclipped my bra while he watched, letting it drop to the floor.
My breasts felt tight and heavy, and the satisfaction from him just looking at my body was nearly overwhelming. My voice came out on a breath.
“You never answered my question, Officer.”
Do you kiss? The silent words floated in the air between us.
He stepped between my legs, and his eyes on my breasts were so hot it sent a flush up my neck. He circled a thumb over the button of my shorts, and my nipples tightened.
“Who am I kissing?”
My heart was racing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath.
He popped the button through the hole.
“One of your women,” I breathed.
I leaned back on my hands to lift my hips as he pulled my shorts and thong down my legs. He threw them to the side and focused his gaze between my spread thighs. His eyes darkened, and he ran a hand across his mouth.
I couldn’t say I was a very modest woman, but I’d never thought I’d be naked, spread-eagled for this man I hated on his bathroom counter. A shiver rolled through me, and he ran a finger down the goosebumps on my arm.
“What do you think?” he said.
He didn’t kiss. And for some reason, I didn’t know if I should feel pleased or disappointed. What I did know was that I wanted to press my lips to this man’s for hours, until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.
His thumb traced my well-maintained landing strip. My stomach tightened. My blood was on fire. He’d never looked at me this way, with such a soft, consuming desire in his eyes, like he’d never seen a woman before. Like I was everything.
It terrified me.
I gasped as he pulled my head back by my hair, pressed his lips to my neck, and made a wild, rough sound of anger, like he’d just been forced to surrender a hard-fought fight. “Play with fire, sweetheart,” he rasped, “you’re gonna get burned.”
He lifted me off the counter, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Walking me down the hall, he held me tightly, as if I was precious, or as if he couldn’t figure out how to hurt me first.
He dropped me on the bed. My breasts bounced from the impact, and his heavy gaze caressed me there. Slipping a hand up my stomach, he cupped one, squeezed. Rubbed a thumb across my nipple.
I exhaled, pleasure blazing a path to my core.
“Should have known you would be this perfect,” he murmured.
My heart warmed but the feeling was interrupted as he flipped me onto my stomach. His hands caressed my ass, each grabbing a handful.
“Wait . . .” I breathed. “Are we going back to the chalkboard? Before you said all that weird stuff?” A shiver shot up my spine as he nipped my ass cheek.
“Drawing board,” he corrected, before kissing and lightly sucking on my inner thigh.
“Yeah, that—” I moaned, digging my fingers into the sheets as the wet heat of his tongue swept between my legs. “Oh, God . . .”
He groaned low in his throat, and then he flipped me onto my back, his body covering mine, his hard-on settling between my legs. Placing a hand on either side of me, he leaned in and nipped my breast before sucking the nipple deep. Heat erupted inside of me, liquefying in my veins. I grabbed his biceps, only able to get my hands around a quarter of them. Antonio was tall and strong, but he wasn’t this thick. A wave of nervousness rushed in. I preferred normal-sized men because they were more on my level; I didn’t fear they could crush my windpipe with a single squeeze.
Maybe I was getting over my head.
But then he switched breasts, pinching one nipple and sucking the other.
Oh, well.
“Take off your shirt,” I begged.
I wanted to feel him—the muscle beneath his skin, the heat of his body, the heavy beat of his heart against mine.
I stilled in anticipation when he lifted his head because I thought he was going to kiss me, but he only pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’ll let you know when I start taking orders from little Italian girls.” It was a harsh and arrogant statement, but his voice was so full of lust it only drove me crazier. I rolled my hips, rubbing myself up and down his erection as he kissed a hot, wet line down my neck.
I moaned, scraping my nails down his arms, trying to crawl into his skin.
He dropped back between my legs, not hesitating before dipping his head and licking me from entrance to clit. The growl of satisfaction that escaped him vibrated against me, and I already fought the imminent orgasm. He ran a rough hand down my leg, pulling my thigh over his shoulder. It was almost tender, the soft sweep of his palm against my skin, and a beat skipped in my chest.
I ran my fingers through his hair, but he shook my hand off, so I grabbed two fistfuls of the comforter instead, while spewing unintelligible English and Italian as he pushed his tongue inside me. In and out. In and out. My eyes rolled back in my head, my spine arching off the bed. A drop of sweat ran between my breasts. He worked me like he’d been there before, knowing just how much to give before pulling back.
In a mindless state, I ran a hand into his hair again, grabbing a handful and moving my hips at the same time, trying to keep his attention where I needed it. He let me control the movement for only a second. He nipped at my clit and I yelped, trying to jump back and out of his hold. Pain pulsed in that spot.
His narrowed gaze found mine. “You take what I give you.”
I glared, barely biting back the retort on my tongue.
“Go ahead and say it,” he warned.
I did say it, because one, he’d goaded it from me, and two, I was a glutton for punishment.
“You’re an asshole.”
I was expecting it, but I still had to hold in a gasp when he smacked me between the legs. Dark satisfaction crawled up from where I’d hidden her deep inside, fiery-red hair and all.
“Anything else?”
Defiance ignited inside me, but I bit my tongue and shook my head.
“Good,” he murmured, his gaze lazy, before sucking at my clit.
It still throbbed with pain, but the wet heat of his mouth was electrifying, setting my entire body on fire. The pressure built and built as he continued to draw out my release for as long as he could. I cried out, squirming against his immovable hold.
I wanted to run my hands all over him, but I knew, if I touched his precious hair he’d stop. So, I rested a hand over his on my thigh, locking my fingers with his, and in pure, mindless lust, tugged at my hair with the other.
Sparks burned hotter, and then, suddenly, the pressure exploded. I came so hard my ears rang, pulling all sounds underwater. I closed my eyes and struggled to catch my breath. A languid sensation pulled on my muscles, and I’d never felt such peace come over me. He said something, but I couldn’t hear a word of it.
My eyes fluttered open to see his on me. His breathing was uneven, and his gaze was filled with something soft and dark that I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand.
He was much different than a man I would choose in a crowd, but maybe that was why I found him so appealing. He terrified me a little bit, and I always did like to live on the edge.
Crawling to my knees, I knelt in front of him, rested my hands on his chest, and pressed my lips to his neck. The small taste made me feel dizzy. I kissed him from his ear down to his collar, and he inhaled a heavy breath. I tried to undo his tie, but he stopped me by grabbing my wrist. He held onto it as I went lower, running my face down his stomach, kissing his abs through his shirt. His hand settled in my hair, running through my locks.
The ringing of a phone cut through the air. He stilled, and I knew—call it intuition—that if he got up, this was over. I wasn’t ready. Rrring, rrring, rrring. With my eyes on him, I licked his erection through his pants. He let out a rough noise of frustration. When I reached for his belt buckle, he grabbed my wrist again.
I moaned in protest as he pulled away from me and walked to his jacket, which hung on the back of a chair in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window. I lay on my stomach and watched him answer the call.
“Allister.”
His eyes didn’t stray from me as he spoke on the phone.
I thought I could hear a man on the other line, and it didn’t sound like he was speaking any language I understood.
“When did you last see him?” Allister was quiet for a while before a spark of frustration lit in his eyes. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” He hung up.
Silence swept into the room.
This was over.
Disappointment . . . and something heavier flooded me.
But then he dropped to his haunches in front of me, ran a hand across my cheek, and kissed me. Shock and warmth erupted in my chest. I moaned, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and climbed onto him until I sat on his thighs. He tasted so good, so addictive. And I savored every lick and dip, every press of our lips. He kissed me without any reservation, like he had a right to, like I was his.
The kiss became different than any I’d ever experienced. More gentle . . . more momentous, and I didn’t like that. I reached for his belt, but he stopped me with a vise grip on my wrist.
“Allister,” I begged.
“I just had my tongue inside you,” he said, annoyed. “You can start calling me by my first name.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
His eyes darkened as he took in my expression. “You forgot my name.”
When I didn’t deny it, he shook his head and then dropped me on my ass on the bed. Oh, God, what was it? I’d been tipsy when I’d asked him a while ago, and it hadn’t helped that I only ever referred to him as Allister or Officer.
“I have to go away for a while,” he said, slipping his suit jacket on. “You can stay here tonight, or I’ll take you home.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Do your goddamn homework before getting in someone’s bed, Gianna.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know the name of every woman you sleep with?”
“Yes.”
I sighed, suddenly feeling very naked. And tired. I didn’t want to go to my apartment, not tonight. Magdalena only came by a few times a week, and it was lonely there.
“I’d like to stay here,” I murmured.
He stopped in front of me. “We’ll talk about this when I get back.”
“This?”
“Us.”
Oh. A myriad of confusing feelings rushed me at once, so I decided to avoid all of them.
“Do you have a decent cereal selection?”
He ran a thumb across my cheek. “You won’t forget me.” It was an order, but a tiny amount of vulnerability showed through. It warmed my chest. My hair was a mess, the hair tie slipping halfway down my ponytail. He pulled it from the messy locks and then put it in his pocket.
“How could someone ever forget your face?” I said.
For some reason, he thought that was funny. A smile touched the corner of his lips, and it was so sexy I stood up and kissed him. He made a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat, but he let me have that kiss. Soft, wet, and sweet.
He slipped a business card into my hand. “Call this number if you need anything.”
“Sure thing, Officer.”
He smacked me lightly on the ass and walked out of the room.
I later did my homework. His name was Christian.
But it didn’t matter.
It would be three more years before I’d ever see him again.
I walked down 7th Avenue, struggling to balance my phone, latte, yoga mat, and purse.
“I mean, what kind of guy goes down on a girl and then doesn’t even call her back so she can reciprocate?” Those were the first words out of Valentina’s mouth after I’d had to juggle my things to get my phone to my ear.
“Why did I tell you about this again?” I asked.
“Because I’m an expert of men, and you wanted me to dissect your pretty fed’s brain.”
True. “And?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, honey, I don’t think he’s into you.”
I mulled that around. I couldn’t say her words felt right—he kissed me—but why else wouldn’t he have even called after two weeks? A vulnerability had followed me around since that night. He’d seen me naked, had made me come apart under his hands. I’d begged him for more. And I’d gotten nothing from him. He hadn’t even taken off his stupid tie. Maybe it was all part of his game. Or maybe he was already bored of me. Frustration heated my cheeks.
“He only had Raisin Bran,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I took a sip of my latte, then said, “He gave me his number.”
“Really? Why haven’t you called him?”
“Because I don’t want to call him. I just want to know why he hasn’t called me.” Perfectly logical.
Valentina laughed. “Listen, your fed is a total hottie—God knows, I wouldn’t tell him no if he’d like to go downtown—but he’s dirty. And I mean, really dirty.”
“Trust me, I already know. He killed Prince Charming.”
“What? Oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. Ricardo told me nobody knows where the fed’s from, that he sort of just popped up in the underworld one day with connections from La Eme to the Bratva.”
I dodged a cyclist at the last second. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s this super-important guy with super-important connections . . .” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
“Apparently, he’s good with computers, like some kind of genius or something. Like Einstein, just without a conscience. Guess that’s why the Bureau picked him up. You can’t trust anyone who works for the government, Gianna. He’d probably knock up another woman with twins the second you two became steady.”
“Your imagination is extraordinary.”
“Thanks.”
A beep told me I had another call, and when I saw it was from Chicago a zip of anticipation shot through me.
“I have to go, Valentina. I’ll chat with you later.”
“Toodles.”
I answered the other call. “Hello?”
“Gianna.”
The sorrow in her voice cooled my veins.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my pulse fluttering in my throat. “Tara . . . how is she?”
A long pause, and I knew.
I knew my mamma was dead.
“No . . .” I stood still, but the ground moved, threatening to crumble and swallow me whole. My throat felt thick, and my words were nearly inaudible. “I’m supposed to see her tomorrow.” The plane ticket to Chicago suddenly weighed twenty pounds in my purse.
“Gianna . . . I’m so sorry, but she’s gone. She was strong for so long . . .”
My latte slipped from my fingers, splattering on the pavement. The sun warmed my skin, but inside, I was nothing but ice. My ears rang, and the bustle of this New York City street was shrouded by the hands of grief.
“I’ll come see her tomorrow,” I said mindlessly.
“She loved you so very much.” Tears and a smile touched the nurse’s voice. “You were everything to her.”
Pink church dress. Her smile. A hand on my heart. “Dance to this . . . whenever and however you want.”
Pain, raw and angry, escaped from its cage deep inside and grabbed me by the throat.
“Why?” I sobbed. Why her? Why was this world so unfair? So bitter? Why did love hurt worse than pain?
“The fact she survived such an aggressive cancer for so long was a miracle, Gianna. You were blessed with more time with her.”
The only blessing was Tara. She was the only reason I could see my mamma in the hospice center she’d resided in for the last two years. My papà forbade me from visiting—from breathing, if he could.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, my heart, my soul. “Thank you, Tara, for everything you did for her . . . for me.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t live with myself if I kept a mother from her daughter.”
As I stared blankly ahead of me, the world felt so big, so heavy, its weight too painful to bear.
Someone bumped into my shoulder, knocking my phone from my hand.
It cracked on the sidewalk.
I didn’t remember how I made it home. But sometime later, I stood on my terrace as rain spilled from the sky. Cold. Lonely. High. I cried, sobs that rocked my shoulders. I cried twenty-four years’ worth of pain. I cried until my stomach ached and I could cry no more.
It was the last thing I remembered as I woke on a hard jail cell floor.
One count of drug possession and driving under the influence.
Numbness had spread through my veins and settled in my heart. I sat with my arms around my knees, staring ahead. I somehow knew Allister wouldn’t come, but I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want anyone to save me. Maybe this was where I needed to be. Nonetheless, I was escorted out of the precinct thirty minutes later and straight to Ace’s club.
He glanced at me, shook his head, and looked back at the papers on his desk. “Do you understand the shit it takes to get you out of jail? I have enough on my plate without having to look out for you.”
I understood the significance of what he’d said, but still, I felt nothing. Someone’s suit jacket rested on my shoulders. It was heavy, and for a second, I thought it was guilt.
“I’d fucking leave you there if I didn’t think you’d crack like an egg the first time someone interrogates you. You need a damn therapist, Gianna,” he bit out, running a hand through his hair. “The shit you went through . . . Your papà makes me fucking sick. I wanted to end him when I was ten years old.”
Our fathers had been family friends. I’d known Nico since I was five, and he six. Maybe it was the perfect romantic story—Nico had seen most of my twisted little pieces. But I could never love Nico. He hadn’t saved me.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I have to ask it: Would you like to go home to Chicago?”
I shook my head.
“Then your single life is over.” His gaze met mine. “Pick one of my men, Gianna, or I will do it for you.”
One week later, I became Mrs. Richard Marino.
