Fierce Protector (The Bianchi Chronicles #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

KATERINA

FOUR YEARS AGO…

I t’s criminal how good that man looks in a suit. But in a tux? Stefano Tiero looks like a god. A very forbidden, completely off-limits, god. One with broad shoulders and the perfect amount of grey dusting his temples. I don’t know when exactly I stopped looking at my father’s best friend as ‘Uncle Stefano’, but all I know is every time I bump into him, I contemplate making very questionable life choices. I don’t care that he’s fourteen years my senior, and if I’m being entirely honest, that’s part of his appeal. He’s a man, not a man-child.

I swear, men my age go out of their way to make themselves as unattractive to the opposite sex as possible. I’m thirty years old and I’ve spent the better part of a decade working my ass off to get where I am. I don’t have the time or inclination to waste any more of my life trying to find the exception to the general rule of mediocrity. Especially not when, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve found him already.

Trying not to look obvious, I sip my champagne and glance across the reception room at Stefano. He’s chatting with my father on the other side of the dance floor and every time he takes a sip of his whiskey, and his lips touch the tumbler, I wish I was that glass. It’s ridiculous really. I’ve been harbouring this crush for so long, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t pined after him like some kind of lovesick teenager. Wondering if one day he might see me as the woman I’ve become and not Dante Mancini’s daughter.

I fantasise that he’s the kind of man who’d appreciate me for what I really am; a strong, confident woman who needs a man who can match her, and not just be another insecure asshole intimidated by a woman’s success.

A server cuts a path in front of me, momentarily blocking my view and breaking me out of my daydream. She’s holding a tray full of lethal-looking shots and it only takes me a few seconds to make my first terrible decision of the evening. If I’m going to make it through this wedding reception, I’m going to need to be a hell of a lot more drunk than I am now. The ceremony was a farce of insincere vows and now I’m surrounded by people forced into a truce by marriage.

Half the room is filled with people I’d risk anything for—the Bianchis—and the other half I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw them. The marriage of Aurora Bianchi to Max De Luca might be our only shot at peace between the two Cosa Nostra families, but it feels more like a wake than a wedding reception.

Every time I catch a glimpse of the bride, I see the smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and I hate that she’s the sacrifice for this ceasefire. This wedding is nothing more than a business deal, and Aurora is being used as collateral. I understand that it’s necessary—the Bianchi’s and the De Lucas have been at war for too long—there’s just something about Max De Luca that makes my blood run cold. I catch a flourish of white lace in my peripheral vision and turn to see the groom spinning Aurora around the dancefloor for their first dance. The way he looks at her—dark and menacing—does nothing to assuage my fears for her.

“Do me a favour,” I say, fishing a bundle of notes from my purse to slip the harried server a tip. “Keep these coming.” Glancing down, she gives me a wry smile and a nod. I double-fist two of the shot glasses, downing them one after the other, gasping as the mix of alcohol and lime burns my throat. “Kamikazes? Really? This reception is going to get so messy.”

“You’re not wrong,” she replies with a giggle, before dipping her head and continuing through the swathes of guests.

I turn and make a beeline for the buffet table, keen to line my stomach with something a little more substantial than the canapés I snaffled earlier. I’m distracted by the bruschetta and some delicious-looking arancini when I feel his presence behind me .

“Your father sent me over to find out why you’re avoiding him, Katerina,” Stefano whispers over my shoulder. As the warmth of his breath skips over my cheek, it’s all I can do not to bite my bottom lip and let out a little moan. Instead, I roll back my shoulders and stiffen my spine before turning to face the most attractive man I know.

“I’m not avoiding Dad,” I reply. I’m avoiding you . I’m avoiding that intoxicating smile. Stefano has many smiles, but there’s only one that’s truly genuine. It’s the one where he cocks his head to the side and softens his expression just enough to let it reach his eyes. And don’t get me started on that dimple. “Essentially, everyone we know is here; I’ve been busy catching up.”

“I mean, sure. You looked like you had a lot to say to that wall I’ve watched you hugging for the last half hour,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Since when did the feistiest girl I know become a wallflower?” I wince at his choice of words. They cut me deeper than I expect them to. The idea that he thinks I’m dull is downright hurtful.

“Well, fuck you very much,” I blurt out. His expression morphs into one of complete confusion. Of course, he’s oblivious as to why insinuating I’m in some way plain or unremarkable might be insulting. Jesus, this is unbearable.

Throwing my plate down on the table, I wince at the loud clank of the crockery as it slides into the other platters of food, before I turn and storm off in the opposite direction.

I don’t have a clue where I’m going, but I know I need to be as far away from him as possible. I’m equal parts angry and mortified. I’m sure he was just trying to tease me, but nothing will punch you in the gut like the man you want to climb like a tree thinking you’re a bland version of your former self.

Just fucking great.

“Katerina, wait,” he calls out after me, but I don’t look back. I’m halfway across the dance floor, heading towards the doors to the garden patio when he catches up to me. Stefano grabs my wrist in his palm and spins me to face him, hitting me with a reassuring yet pleading expression. I snake my wrist out of his grasp and continue on my way outside. The heat from his touch sends goosebumps up my arms and a shiver down my spine, but I shake it off, continuing my tantrum, running away from both him and the feelings he stirs within me.

“What’s got into you? Where the fuck are you going?” His tone is laced with frustration, but it doesn’t stop me.

“What’s got into me? Nothing. Nothing’s got into me, and that’s exactly the fucking problem,” I mutter under my breath, being careful to make sure he can’t hear me over the din of the dancefloor. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know exactly how counterproductive my attitude is, but what’s the point if he’s truly never going to see me for the woman I am?

I spot my waitress out of the corner of my eye and make a detour her way, grabbing another shot on my way to the exit. I slam it back in one and place the shot glass back on the tray, never slowing my pace.

The cold night air hits me almost as hard as the additional shot, but I still don’t stop, stomping down the ornate stone staircase to the overly-manicured lawn. I instantly lose my heels into the soft ground, and just as I’m stepping out of them, bare feet on the dewy grass, Stefano’s palms settle on my upper arms. He doesn’t try and turn me, simply stands at my back and rests his hands gently against my skin like he’s trying to settle a skittish animal, holding me gently to his chest.

My body appreciates the gesture, but my mind wants to tell him to go fuck himself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” he asks softly.

“What’s the point?” I reply petulantly, using every bit of willpower in my arsenal not to whimper as my body responds to his closeness. His body heat. His scent. Both conspiring to seduce me.

“Has someone upset you? I swear I’ll have their balls on a platter if they have, Katerina.” There’s genuine concern in his voice, but that only makes it worse. He’s so fucking unaware, he doesn’t even know that it’s him that’s hurting me. Him that has never and will never see me how I want him to. A lone tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I fail miserably to hide the sniffle that accompanies it. Traitorous body.

“Hey now, what’s this?” Stefano says, pulling me tighter against his chest and wrapping me inside a bear hug that only makes it worse. I wriggle out of his grip and move away before turning to face him, losing myself in his midnight-blue eyes. It’s either the worry etched on his face or the third kamikaze that has me opening my mouth and making my next terrible life choice of the evening .

I take the three paces needed to bring us toe to toe and wedge my hands firmly on my hips. “What do I have to do for you to notice me? How long do I have to wait, huh, Stefano?” I force out, my exasperation betraying emotions I’ve buried for years.

It cuts like a knife to my chest when his face morphs into one of complete and utter shock. He takes a step back, trying to put some distance between us, but I’m all out of self-respect, and I’m done pretending I don’t want him. I move with him, matching each one of his retreating strides with an advancing one.

My hands find his cheeks and he freezes, our gazes colliding and a look I can’t discern casting a shadow across his features.

“Don’t,” he commands with a dark tone he’s never used with me before. I know all his tones. They tell me everything I need to know. This one sends a shiver down my spine, but does nothing to dissuade me.

Fuck It.

STEFANO

The second her lips touch mine, something almost primal spurs to life inside me. I’ve known Katerina her whole life. I’ve come to admire and respect the formidable woman she’s grown into, but this feeling coursing through me right now is not that of a doting family friend. It’s possessive, passionate, and undeniable.

She’s a stunning woman who’s as intelligent as she is beautiful. As gracious as she is petulant. She possesses the most unique collection of traits. They’re an exquisite blend and while I’ve always recognised them in her, I’ve never been more tempted by them than I am now.

She’s magnificent.

Her breath is hot against mine, and when her tongue sweeps against the seam of my lips, I have less than half a moment to decide between right and wrong. Do I stop this before it goes too far or do I, for once, listen to the parts of myself I keep buried? Do I ignore my head and obey my heart?

She lets out a tiny whimper and I’m done for.

The second I taste the citrus on her tongue, I know nothing will ever be the same between us again. She tastes like every pleasure I’ve ever denied myself, all wrapped up in a woman I can never have. Our kiss descends into something more desperate, frantic almost.

I want her. I need her, and it’s going to destroy me giving her up. There’s no way I can keep her. Her father would never forgive me.

I register the moment she realises the impact of what we’re doing. She falters for a fraction of a second—her lips stilling against mine—but it’s just long enough for sense and logic to make themselves known, and it steals our moment from us.

We pull back and stare in silence, letting the pregnant pause stretch out until it’s almost unbearable. It doesn’t matter that we’re concealed by the darkness of the grounds, far away from the house. It still feels dangerous. Like we could be exposed at any moment by a stray guest. Both of us hesitant to speak, only able to pant as we steady our breaths. I know the minute I open my mouth, I’ll ruin this moment.

“We can’t.” The words tumble out of my mouth. A twinge of regret lances through my chest, and it only gets worse when Katerina’s expression falls.

She dips her chin, her eyelids shuttering closed, the sweep of her lashes wet with tears. “I know.”

I reach out to brush my hand down her arm and she flinches. Before I can stop her, she’s yanking her shoes out of the grass and running across the lawn. Away from the party; away from me.

It takes everything in me not to chase after her. Not to take her in my arms and finish the kiss we started. Not to pursue her just so that I know she’s safe. I know she’s perfectly capable of looking after herself, but the guest list for this wedding is a veritable den of vipers. I hold my ground, determined to give her space, while also watching to ensure that no one follows her.

I don’t know what to do next. How to go back to how I felt five minutes ago—completely oblivious to how much I want that woman? All my walls have come crashing down, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to build them back up. Not now I know what she tastes like. I’m forty-four years old and no one has ever made me feel like that. She’s stirred a desire that can never become a reality.

I run my hands over my face and stare up at the night sky. I don’t know how long I stand there, but when I see the flicker of a shooting star in the corner of the night sky, I close my eyes and wish.

Wish for what I know I can never have: my best friend’s daughter.