14. Ella
14
ella
I clamped my lips shut. I didn’t know why I’d said that. My problems were just that—mine. Created by me. To be dealt with by me. I hadn’t told anyone my secrets, both for my protection and theirs. Deep down, I’d always known my past would catch up to me. I didn’t want anyone caught in the cross fire.
So, why was I even considering saying anything to Dom now?
I wrapped my arms around my torso, my mind scrambling. It wasn’t too late. I hadn’t actually said anything. I could just shake my head and smile and say something like, Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just having a moment , then rattle off any number of perfectly believable concerns—from a shortage of funds to lack of space. No harm, no foul.
“Ella, talk to me.”
I nearly shivered at the deep timbre of his voice, closer now. I looked into his eyes—his beautiful, deep eyes—and felt the knot in my chest loosen. In that moment, I saw what Pia had seen in that image. Dom was looking at me like he would burn down the world for me if I asked him to.
And, dammit, some needy, greedy part of me wanted him to. I wanted to be important to someone, not because of how they could use me like a bargaining chip or a commodity, but because they cared about me .
Wasn’t that why I’d risked my life to escape? To find someone who would look at me the way Dom was looking at me right now? To feel that way in return? Not that I’d fully acknowledged that yet.
Down the hall, the muffled voices of the staff and volunteers mingled with the sound of hammers and drills, friendly shouts and laughter, and the occasional bark. But here in my office, it was just the two of us. The rest of the world felt so far away.
I wanted to tell him everything.
Seeing Pia this morning must have opened the floodgates. I’d told her everything—well, almost everything—about that night. She listened, and while she was obviously hurt that I hadn’t let her in on my plans, I thought she had understood. But understanding and forgiving were two very different things, especially when it came to family loyalty and betrayal.
Would Dom understand what I’d done and why? Something told me he might, even though he was also part of a big Italian family. The difference between mine and his was that the Cerasinos cared more about each other than they did about business, image, and reputation.
Dom’s eyes softened, as if he could sense my inner conflict. “There’s a great coffee shop in town. Best sfogliatella you’ve ever had. Want to check it out?”
I glanced at my desk. There was no way I was going to get anything done here. And it had been ages since I’d had good sfogliatella .
Then I took in Dom’s jeans, T-shirt, and dusty steel-toed boots. “Don’t you have stuff you need to do here?”
“It’s not like I’m on the clock,” he said with a shrug and an endearing half smile. “And the work will still be here when we get back.”
“Then I accept.”
His eyes widened, and surprise flickered in the gorgeous, dark depths before it was replaced with approval. He stepped back and extended his arm in invitation. “Ladies first.”
We took the back way out to the lot where his SUV was parked. As before, he opened the door in a gentlemanly gesture and waited until I was seated before jogging around to the other side. I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
The ride was smooth. The interior smelled like Dom—a combination of cedar and sandalwood and clean, masculine spice. We didn’t talk much, but the silence was a comfortable one, as if he enjoyed being with me, regardless of whether I chose to confide in him.
We could have driven around for hours, and I would have been content. Things didn’t seem as bleak when I was with him.
Before too long, we pulled in front of a quaint-looking bookshop. “I thought you said we were going to a coffee shop.”
“Trust me.”
Oddly enough, I did trust him. That might not sound like a big deal to most people, but to me, it was huge.
His hand rested lightly on the small of my back as he opened the door and ushered me inside, just as he had at the restaurant. The moment we stepped over the threshold, I was hit with the most incredible smells. Leather. Wood polish. Old books. Espresso. Pastries. I took a moment to inhale deeply.
The interior was dark, but not oppressively so, and it was much bigger than it appeared on the outside. There were lots of shelves and table displays with artfully arranged books, and a reading room was off to the right with open seating and cozy alcoves. Toward the back was a coffee bar with gleaming machines and displays of mouthwatering pastries under domes of thick glass. An old man looked up from behind the register with a smile and a wave, which Dom returned.
“Come on,” Dom said, gently guiding me toward the back, where a cheerful woman greeted us.
Her smile widened when she looked at Dom, right about the same time an unpleasant pang squeezed my chest. Was I jealous?
“Hey, Dom,” she greeted, only then turning her eyes to me.
“Hey, Haven,” Dom said easily. “Ella, this is Vinnie’s wife, Haven. Haven, this is Ella.”
That ache faded instantly. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said politely.
“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Have you?” I tensed, only realizing I must have done so when Dom’s fingers, still on my lower back, flexed and moved in subtle, soothing strokes. Amazingly, it helped.
Haven shot a knowing look at Dom. I swore her eyes were twinkling. “Well, Dom brought you to Mama C’s, so … yeah. What can I get you?”
I wondered at the significance of Dom taking me to his family restaurant. I assumed he’d taken a lot of women there over the years, but maybe not.
I picked a cappuccino and a sfogliatella while Dom selected espresso.
Haven waved us away. “Go on, sit down. I’ll bring it out to you.”
We went back to the sitting area and chose one of the comfy alcoves. The quiet hum of muted conversations drifted around me, layered atop the whirring of the espresso machine in the background. I felt instantly at home, which probably should have concerned me more than it did. This wasn’t my home, and now that Pia knew my location, I should be planning my next move, not sinking into a comfortable chair and thinking how awesome it would be to curl up with a good book and cup of coffee.
“This is really nice.”
“It’s my nonno’s,” Dom said with pride.
I flicked my eyes over to the old man pretending not to be watching us. “Of course it is.”
He lifted a perfect brow in a questioning arch.
“Your family seems to have a lock on this town,” I said by way of explanation. “Cerasinos everywhere.”
Rather than be offended, he laughed. “What can I say? Cecilton is our home, and we’re very community-oriented.”
Haven brought over our drinks and pastries and went right back to the bar.
Dom leaned forward and waved at the sfogliatella . “May I?”
Assuming he was asking my permission to dig in, I nodded. When he picked up the pastry, however, he held it not to his lips, but mine.
I could have told him that I was perfectly capable of feeding myself or that such a gesture was inappropriate, but I didn’t. I leaned forward, opened my mouth, and took a small bite of what he offered. His eyes gleamed with triumph.
“Well?”
I chewed slowly, trying to focus on the fresh deliciousness of the decadent bite instead of the way my heart was racing.
“This is”—I searched for the right word—“phenomenal.”
“Told you,” he said smugly.
We stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “Aren’t you going to have any?”
Without breaking eye contact, he took a bite. I stared at his lips, at the dusting of powdered sugar left behind before his tongue licked it away. I’d never thought a man eating a pastry could be arousing, but Dom had a way of making even the most mundane things sensual.
“Excellent, as always,” he said with a knowing smile.
We traded bites until the sfogliatella was gone, then sat back and sipped our drinks. Like the pastry, the cappuccino was stellar.
“So,” Dom finally said, “tell me what’s going on.”
I inhaled. Exhaled. Tried to shore up the mental walls I’d built around myself—walls that this man had a way of effortlessly penetrating. Granted, I wasn’t feeling as strong as I usually did. This morning’s breakfast with Pia had shaken me more than I cared to admit. My cover was blown, which meant things couldn’t remain as they were. But the thought of leaving gutted me. I liked Cecilton. I liked working at the shelter. I’d even made a friend in Ben—not a close friend, but that was on me, not him.
And then there was the man sitting across from me with genuine concern in his eyes. Could I live with myself if I brought danger into this close-knit, caring community?
I did not believe that Pia would betray me, not under normal circumstances. She’d grown up in the same world I had. She understood the pressure and what was demanded of us as daughters of powerful men, just as she understood, as a twenty-first-century woman, that we could be more than the objectified pawns traditional roles dictated.
In spirit, she was with me one thousand percent.
In reality, righteous ideology only went so far.
We all had our weaknesses. I was pretty sure Pia’s weakness was Tullio.
I hadn’t missed the way they looked at each other. He was more than just Pia’s bodyguard. If Pia’s father found out or if he tried to marry Pia off the way my father had me, things could get very ugly, very fast. When it came right down to it, Pia now had some extremely valuable information she could leverage if necessary. If it came down to me or the man she loved, I knew what her choice would be.
It was all what-ifs and maybes, I knew, but every possibility had to be considered. In my world, suspicion of a maybe could get someone killed—or worse. Even if I left tonight, there was no guarantee that my father’s men wouldn’t show up, asking questions and demanding answers.
That was what finally loosened my tongue.
Just as I opened my mouth, Dom held up his hand. “Listen, no pressure. Just know that if you want to talk to me, I’m here.”
“What if telling you puts you and your family in danger?” I said quietly.
“What kind of danger?”
I took a deep breath. This was it. Once spoken, there was no going back. “The ‘Ndrangheta kind.”