Chapter One
Six Months Later
Matilde
The apartment feels too quiet without Arianna.
My twin left yesterday morning for some adventure travel festival in Colorado—a week-long event she’d been chattering about for months.
She’d been so excited, waving her tickets around and promising to vlog the whole experience for her followers.
“It’s going to be epic, Tilly! Zip-lining, rock climbing, hot air balloons—my subscribers are going to lose their minds! ”
I smiled and packed her a box of pastries for the trip, trying not to let her see how anxious I was about being alone.
Now, as I slide a tray of sugar cookies out of the oven, I can practically hear her teasing voice in my head.
“Aren't you sick and tired of baking sugar cookies every day?”
And why can't I bake sugar cookies? It's my bakery, isn't it?
Sure, they're not the most popular of the pastries I bake as most consider them pretty basic, but who knows?
A customer might come in asking for them.
In fact, just a couple of days ago, a nice little old lady bought a full box for her grandkids.
I'm just making these cookies in case that same old lady comes back again.
Liar!
I can almost hear Ari’s voice again, reminding me of that phrase Mama loved to use when one of us was fixated on one thing. Avere il chiodo fisso in testa, which translates to “having a nail fixed on one’s head.”
I don't have an obsession with making sugar cookies. Although I've been making them a lot lately.
The nail fixed on my head, as Ari would say, isn’t the cookies themselves. It’s a certain hot guy with stunning green eyes and a charming smile…
I spread the cookies over the wire rack to cool, glancing at my phone. No messages from Ari yet, but she’s probably still sleeping off the travel. She’d also snagged two cookies before she left yesterday, grinning at me when I protested.
“He’s not going to eat them all, Tilly. Don’t be stingy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m making these for my customers.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
The last thing she’d said before walking out the door still echoes in my head: “You have the place all to yourself now. Maybe you’ll finally invite your bodyguard to stay the night for some extra protection.”
I sputtered and blushed, and she’d giggled all the way down the stairs.
Without her here, the apartment felt so empty last night that I barely slept. I finally gave in around midnight and took one of the sleep aids the doctor prescribed months ago. It knocked me out cold, but at least I got some rest.
I finish transferring the cookies and start on the next batch of dough, my mind wandering despite my best efforts.
In the last six months, a lot has happened. Two of my cousins, Sofia and Elena, faced terrible ordeals.
It all started after Sofia and Matteo's wedding.
We all thought Uncle Gio would be content with the power he got from being in-laws with a powerful crime family like the Rossis, but that wasn't enough for him.
He had plans for all of us—his daughters, my sister, me.
To him, we were tools. Objects to be traded for alliances and influence. .
But Matteo saw right through Uncle Gio. That's why he hired bodyguards for all of us. And when Uncle Gio tried to seize the assets in our trust, Matteo stepped in and forced him to release it.
After that, Ari and I left. We were called ungrateful brats for not signing off our inheritance to Uncle Gio, but we didn’t care. We were finally free.
Matteo offered to get us a place, but Ari and I chose to move into one of the buildings my mother left us.
A three-story building maintained by a management company that we took control over the second we turned eighteen.
The original plan was to renovate the two top floors into apartments and the first floor into a bakery café.
With Matteo’s help, the transfer of ownership was smooth sailing and starting work on the building was easier than either of us anticipated.
The front counter area of the bakery is finished now—display cases gleaming, tables arranged, the bell above the door working perfectly. But the bakery kitchen is still a work in progress, so I do all my baking up here in the apartment and carry everything down.
One thing we had no choice in was the bodyguards. Matteo insisted on getting every single one of us protection in case of any further threats. My cousins and Ari got hired protection from a private firm, but for some reason, I got...him.
Luca Conti.
I try not to think about him as I work, but it’s impossible. He’ll be here soon—he always is. Patient and present, no matter how cold I’ve been to him.
I try not to think about him as I work, but it’s impossible. He’ll be here soon—he always is. Patient and present, no matter how cold I’ve been to him.
But he's not our friend.
Luca Conti works for the Rossi family. I don’t even want to imagine what he has done to earn the position of a crime family’s lieutenant at just twenty-six.
I mean, sure, Matteo has helped my sister and me tons since we met him but…
I can never seem to make myself forget the kind of people they are.
Mafia groups aren’t exactly known for their love for the community and charitable hearts.
They hurt people.
But he hasn't hurt you now, has he?
"Matilde."
I spin around and fight the urge to blush when I'm met with those stunning pale green eyes and that mouth I kissed six months ago. Christ, I still dream about that night sometimes. And when I do, my stomach flutters, just as it is in this moment.
Luca Conti is God's gift to earth. Breath-taking in a way that knocks into you, enough to forget what he is. The devil. Everyone in the mafia is. And yet, every time I see him, I forget that.
He always has the air of a fallen angel about him and today’s no different.
A simple white T-shirt shouldn’t look that good on someone.
It hugs his sculpted chest and reveals the swirl of dark ink covering his arms. A few strands of raven black hair fall artfully over his forehead, and I just… I can't look away.
Around Luca Conti, I'm a mess of nerves and longing, and I hate myself for it.
"Good morning,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. I hold my breath, afraid that if I breathe too much. then I’ll get intoxicated by his scent and do something stupid like ask him to kiss me.
"Morning," I respond, reaching up to twirl my hair but dammit, it's pulled up in a messy bun. My hands drop awkwardly to my side to try to deal with all the nerves I get when Luca Conti is near. Every sense is heightened, tuned to him. ” You’re here early. I haven’t even brought the pastries down yet. ”
“Thought I’d help you carry them,” he chuckles, walking forward and making me back up a step.
A wicked smile settles on his lips as he leans in, and I darn near lose my breath when he cages me against the counter.
So close, I can smell him. That strong masculine scent that always sends my head spinning and heart racing.
He's so close…
“What are you doing?” I breathe, my heart beating frantically when he reaches up. My eyes flutter to a close as I anticipate his touch, but it never comes. When I open them again, it's to see him holding a cookie, a knowing smirk on his lips.
"Just grabbing a cookie is all."
I don't breathe again until he takes a step back. “Hey!” I scold, reaching up to snag the cookie back, but he moves faster, biting into it. “Those are for the customers.”
Damn him and that sexy smirk. “Are they?”
“Yes, if you must know, the sugar cookies are quite the hit with old ladies.”
“And here I thought you were making them just for me.”
I am. But I would first swallow a handful of nails before I admitted that out loud.
“Don't be insane,” I say instead, trying not to watch him chew.
Sweet Jesus, how can someone look so goddamned hot just chewing?
I force my eyes away, turning to the box of pastries on the kitchen counter.
“Since you're here, help me carry these boxes down to the bakery.”
“Sure,” he says, tossing the rest of the cookie into his mouth before approaching the boxes. “How much longer before they're done renovating the bakery kitchen?” he asks as he grabs four boxes. “It can't be easy going back and forth all the time.”
“The guy in charge said they'll be working on it for another couple of weeks before I can use it. Until then, I'll have to make do with this kitchen and do the heavy lifting on my own.”
“You have me, Matilde. Use me when you need help with anything.”
So he's said in the last six months, but I don't respond.
I never do. He's done his best to be there despite my less-than-accommodating attitude.
Patient and present, he's been. It doesn't make sense.
As their capo, I imagine the Rossis have better things for him to do than babysit an eighteen-year-old baker, so why is he still here?
Why did he agree to be my bodyguard after that disastrous night at Sofia’s wedding?
I’m not sure I’m ready for those answers or—even more—to admit just how much I like having him around. Seeing him every day…sees a battle being waged between my mind and my heart.
We take the stairs down to the bakery in silence. He stays by my side as I organize the pastries onto the display counter, protesting half-heartedly when he steals a muffin. Seeing him enjoy my baking is the highlight of my day, but I'd never admit that out loud.
Not to him. Not to myself.
I'm just about finished unpacking the boxes when the front door opens.
I look up, expecting to see my first customer of the day, but I'm met by the steely glare of the lead contractor I hired to work on the renovations.
A short, stout man with a cap of white hair and a sharp mind but an even sharper mouth.
"Good morning, Mr. Davis," I call out when he storms in. My smile dims a little when I notice the vein popping on his forehead and the firm set of his mouth.
He's upset about something.
“I thought we discussed the renovations you wanted made and agreed to stay out of each other's way while I work.”
I notice Luca visibly tense at Mr. Davis’s tone, so I reach out and grab his arm, squeezing it before rounding the counter to stand next to the man I hired to renovate the building.
Mr. Davis is a man with an attitude that could offend others, but I've known him for many years.
Hell, he worked with my parents on my childhood home, and there's no one I'd trust more with restoring this building. He’s an old family friend with a brilliant mind but a foul mouth that I promised myself to overlook.
“What are you talking about, Mr. Davis?” I ask, my voice soothing. Something my mother always used to diffuse tense situations. It doesn't seem to work on Mr. Davis.
“If you wanted the flooring re-done in the third-floor apartment, then you should have brought it up when we spoke a few days ago rather than tear it up yourself,” he says, Voice rising. “Do you have any idea what you've done? You ruined the original hardwood floors by ripping them up.”
“That’s enough.” Luca’s voice is cold steel.
He steps between us, one hand raised to keep Mr. Davis back, his body a wall of barely contained threat. “Lower your voice when you speak to her.”
Mr. Davis blinks, seeming to realize he’s overstepped. He takes a breath and has the grace to look somewhat abashed. “I apologize for my tone, Miss Marino. But this is serious.”
“It’s alright, Mr. Davis,” I say, stepping around Luca to face the contractor. “But what are you saying about the flooring being ripped out? I haven't set foot on the third floor of this building in weeks."
“You didn’t do it?” Mr. Davis says, his brows furrowing as if it hadn't occurred to him.
"My boys and I worked on the drywall in the two bedrooms on that floor, and we were set to work on the common area today.
But when we arrived, someone had torn up the flooring in one of the bedrooms and damaged all that beautiful wood in the process. "
My heart nearly stops at his words. The apartments are both accessed through an enclosed stairwell at the side of the building and only four people have the key. Other than me, Ari, and Mr. Davis, the only other person with a key is Luca. No one else should have been able to get in.
“A-are you sure it wasn't one of your men?” I ask, hoping that maybe Mr. Davis gave his key to someone to lock up before they left yesterday.
“I was the last to leave yesterday,” he says. “Always the first in and last out. None of my boys can get in without me unless they break the lock, and it wasn’t broken.”
“I didn't do it, and Ari left yesterday. So, if you’re sure that none of your men went in after you left, then that would mean…”
“There was an intruder,” Luca speaks the words I was afraid to utter. Words I am afraid to even entertain. My eyes widen at the possibility, and I grab Luca's arm, gripping it tight as chills run down my body.
Christ, the last time there was an intruder at my home, my parents were killed.
My mind races. Someone was in this building last night. One floor above where I slept. Why didn’t I hear anything?
Because of the sleeping pill.
I was completely unconscious. Someone could have been right above me, tearing up the floors, and I wouldn’t have heard a thing.