Chapter One #2
The world around her seems to fade away, the noise and the movement dissolving into a silent appreciation of her beauty. And I'm no different, lost in the moment, completely and utterly captivated.
I start toward her when a thought—a name—slips into my head, and guilt slams into me like a sledgehammer.
Var
We've never met or spoken about our feelings for each other, but they're there.
In the flirting and in all those late-night calls.
Looking at someone else this way, even with casual attraction, feels like a betrayal.
In my defense, I haven't felt attraction to other women from the moment Var came into my life.
I've been tempted many times to suggest a meetup, but I didn't think she'd want to be with me if she found out that I belong to an Italian mob family.
Me being a Rossi would likely send her running for the hills.
Still, it doesn’t make me want her any less. It doesn’t stop me from thinking about meeting her. I’ve considered forging my identity to meet her, but I’d rather not start our relationship with a lie.
I glance toward Fiona, who's now talking to her brother, and shake my head. I can't and won't betray Var for anyone. Not even for a woman as breathtaking as Fiona O'Shea.
I turn away, with every intention of ignoring the beautiful woman, but as one of the only uncoupled people at the party, we find ourselves seated next to each other. It's just my luck that I would be next to a woman who smells like a field of roses and is as pretty as a flower.
As dinner progresses, I realize that Fiona doesn't have much of an opinion of me, which I find surprising. Everyone loves me. I'm the harmless Rossi. The one women tend to feel safe around and the easiest to get along with.
Not to Fiona O'Shea, it seems.
“Hey, Lorenzo, I don't know if you and Fiona have met before tonight,” Elena says at some point when the awkward silence between Fiona and me stretches. “You're both into tech. Isn't that interesting?”
And there's an opening, so I take it. “What do you do, Miss O'Shea?”
“Please, call me Fiona. Miss O'Shea sounds a little…formal,” Fiona says, turning to me. I try not to get lost in those beautiful blue eyes. “I work at my family's firm…in tech, of course. What about you?”
I flash her a charming smile. “I code,” I say casually. “Sometimes, I respond to ransomware attacks, fix a computer or two when someone accidentally clicks on one of those ‘win a free cruise' emails.”
She's not the least bit impressed by my attempt to make a joke, if the way her eyes narrow is anything to go by. “You don't look anything like the guys I've met in tech.”
“I didn't know there was a uniform for us nerds.” And if there were, then I'm certain it's not that sexy number she has on.
Goddamnit. I shouldn't be thinking about Fiona as anything but another guest. I already have a woman I’m falling in love with, and I refuse to be swayed by Fiona's pretty eyes or that stubborn mouth.
I clear my throat, pushing down that little voice at the back of my mind telling me to lean closer for that sweet rosy scent. “So, Fiona, what's your specialty?”
“Cyber security but…” She bites her lower lip, and my eyes follow the movement before I can stop myself. “Sometimes I dabble in full-stack development, but I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty with a bit of DevOps.”
My lips twitch as she speaks. Christ, something about her feels familiar, but I can't put a finger on it. “Impressive,” I say, leaning back in my seat to stare at her, everyone else fading away. “Very impressive for someone as young as you are.”
“I'm not a newbie,” she says defensively. “I'm twenty-two. I've been practicing for years.”
Twenty-two? Jesus Christ. She's more than a fucking decade younger than me. What the fuck am I doing? Thinking of her the way I do. I've never dated anyone more than a year or two younger than me.
But I'm not looking to date Fiona O'Shea, I remind myself. We're just having a conversation. One tech expert to another.
“Tell me, Fiona,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can you build a scalable microservices architecture that can handle millions of requests per second?”
“Are you serious?” Those pretty eyes light up with challenge. “I could build it with my eyes closed. Can you?”
I laugh. “I've been at this for twenty-five years; there's little I can’t do when you hand me a computer.”
“That's pretty arrogant of you.”
I smirk, “You think so?”
She nods, and for the next hour, we volley technical jargon back and forth until the people around us stop paying much attention. That’s when I realize what it is about her that pulls me in.
Fiona reminds me of Var, which is ridiculous.
The way she reasons and how passionate she is.
Perhaps I'm reaching. Var is a voice in my ear late at night, filtered through encryption, talking me through code problems and making me laugh when no one else can. This woman is flesh and blood and looking at me like I’m an idiot—which, to be fair, is exactly how I want her to see me.
The only other thing the two have in common is that they're women in tech.
Fiona doesn't seem like the type who would dabble in hacking.
From what I've heard, the O'Shea protection firm is above board.
They rarely cross the line. I don't doubt they'd have someone on the inside doing their dirty work, but I doubt they'd risk their only daughter for it.
As the evening wears on and Fiona is pulled into another discussion by someone else, I find that I can't take my eyes off her. But this time, it has to do with more than just my attraction.
That familiar feeling I get when I’m talking to her makes me want to dig further until I know what it is.
I consider hacking into her phone. The very device she hasn't put down since she walked in, occasionally glancing at it and smiling.
I push the thought back. I don't violate strangers' privacy without a reason.
It's a promise I made myself years ago. I’ve done what was necessary to protect my family—even some things that are less than above board—but my principles rarely ever tip into the gray let alone the dark corners outside of that responsibility.
Being curious about Fiona O'Shea isn't reason enough to cross that line. I’ll just have to find another way.