Chapter 3
Tony
It's been three days since the coffee shop incident, and Isabella hasn't left my thoughts. Not that I have much time to dwell on it – we've been busy sending our "message" to the Vitale family. But even in the middle of orchestrating their downfall, all I can think about is the way she smiles when she's plotting something particularly devious.
I'm sitting in my office at the Downtown Social Club, nursing a glass of whiskey and reviewing the day's reports when my phone buzzes. Isabella's name lights up the screen, and my heart does something ridiculous in my chest.
"Meet me at Vincenzo's. 20 minutes."
I smirk at the text. Ordering me around like she owns me. The funny thing is, I'm already grabbing my jacket, already moving before my brain can remind me of all the reasons why I shouldn't.
Because there are reasons. So many fucking reasons.
She's Dominic's sister. She's young, brilliant, and could do a hell of a lot better than a grumpy bastard with blood on his hands and too many ghosts in his closet.
But I'm still getting in my car. Still driving to Vincenzo's like she's got me on a leash.
The restaurant is one of the city’s finest Italian establishments, the kind of place where deals are made and broken over plates of handmade pasta. When I walk in, Mario, the ma?tre d', practically trips over himself to greet me.
"Mr. Rivera, Miss Esposito is waiting in the private room."
The private room. Of course. Because this woman is trying to kill me.
I find her sitting at the head of the table, and Christ almighty, she's wearing a black dress that should be illegal in at least forty states. It hugs every curve like a lover's hands, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. She's studying a tablet, a glass of red wine at her elbow, looking for all the world like a queen on her throne.
"The Vitales lost three of their major shipping contracts this morning," she says without looking up. "Apparently, their new partners received some interesting information about their business practices."
I slide into the chair next to her, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume – something expensive and subtle that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. Bad idea. Very bad idea.
"Interesting how?" I manage to ask, trying to focus on business instead of the way her dress rides up slightly when she crosses her legs.
Now she looks up, a wicked gleam in her eye that does things to my insides. "Let's just say the evidence I planted about their involvement in human trafficking was very convincing. Those companies couldn't distance themselves fast enough."
"Christ," I mutter, impressed despite myself. "You've been busy."
"Oh, that's not all." She takes a sip of wine, her red lips leaving a perfect imprint on the glass. I track the movement, mesmerized. "Remember those two brothers from the coffee shop?"
"Salvatore and Marco?" As if I could forget the way they looked at her, the way my blood boiled seeing their eyes on her.
"They had an unfortunate accident at their gym this morning. Someone tampered with their weight equipment." She shrugs delicately, the movement making the thin strap of her dress slip slightly. "Nothing fatal, but they'll be eating through straws for a while."
I lean back, studying her. This woman is lethal – beautiful and brutal in equal measure. Everything I should stay away from, everything I want to get closer to.
"Your brother taught you well."
"Actually," she sets down her wine glass, tracing its rim with one perfectly manicured finger, "Dominic doesn't know about half the things I can do. He's always been..." she pauses, choosing her words carefully, "protective."
"And now here you are, running the family business like a natural-born queen." The words come out before I can stop them, rough with admiration and something else I don't want to name.
Her eyes lock with mine, and the air between us crackles with tension. "Is that what I am, Tony? A queen?"
"You tell me, princess." My voice is rough. We're sitting too close now, the space between us charged with something dangerous.
The waiter arrives with wine and menus, and I've never wanted to shoot someone more in my life. Isabella orders in perfect Italian, her accent flawless, and fuck if that isn't another thing to add to the list of why I'm completely screwed.
Throughout dinner, I watch her. The way she gestures when she talks about her plans for the family business. The way she laughs at her own jokes, unashamed and full of life. The way she looks at me sometimes, like she can see right through all my carefully constructed walls.
"You're quiet tonight," she observes, taking another sip of wine.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
About how I shouldn't want you this much. About how every smile you give me feels like a bullet to the chest. About how I'm going to hell for all the things I want to do to you.
"About how dangerous this is," I say instead.
She leans in, close enough that I can feel her breath on my cheek. "I didn't ask you here just to discuss business."
My heart pounds against my ribs. "No?"
"No." She reaches out, her fingers trailing along my jaw. Her touch burns like holy water on a sinner's skin. "I wanted to thank you for having my back these past few days. Not many men would let a woman take the lead like you have."
I catch her wrist, my thumb pressed against her racing pulse. "I'm not most men."
"No," she whispers, "you're not."
The door opens, and we spring apart as a waiter enters to clear our plates. The meal passes in a blur of tension and loaded glances. We discuss business – the legitimate kind – but underneath every word is something else. Something that makes my skin burn and my control fray.
After dinner, I walk her to her car, my hand resting on the small of her back. The street is quiet, most businesses closed for the night. She feels small next to me, but I know better than to think she's fragile. This woman could probably kill me with her heel and make it look graceful.
"I should get home," she says, but makes no move to leave.
"You should." I step closer, backing her against her car. Every instinct I have is screaming that this is a mistake, that I should walk away now before I cross a line I can't uncross. Instead, I place my hand on the car beside her head, caging her in. "It's not safe out here at night."
She tilts her head back, looking up at me with those dark eyes that have haunted me for days. "Is that right? And here I thought I was with the most dangerous man in Little Italy."
"That's your first mistake," I growl, fighting every urge to close the distance between us. "Thinking I'm safe."
"Who said anything about safe?" Her hands slide up my chest, and my control snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight.
I kiss her like I've been drowning and she's air. She tastes like wine and danger, her mouth hot and demanding against mine. She matches my intensity, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I press her harder against the car. One of my hands tangles in her hair while the other grips her hip, and she makes a sound that nearly breaks me.
A car horn blares in the distance, breaking the moment. I pull back, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers. She's wrecked – lips swollen, hair messed up, chest heaving. I did that. I marked up the princess, and God help me, I want to do it again.
"This is a bad idea," I say, even as my body screams for more.
"The worst." She nips at my bottom lip, and I barely suppress a groan. "Want to come up to my place and make some more bad decisions?"
Every instinct I have tells me to say no. This could complicate everything. Put both our families at risk. Destroy the delicate balance we've built. Dominic would probably kill me, and he'd have every right to.
"Lead the way," I say instead.