Chapter 4
GAbrIELLA
I fume in the back of the car, staring out the window as New York’s holiday-decorated streets blur past.
I can’t believe I let Marco get to me.
That I was about to let him kiss me.
That I would have kissed him back.
What is wrong with me that I’m still attracted to him?
“Gabriella.” My father breaks the quiet. "I know you mean well, but what you did today, embarrassing me like that in front of La Corona, demanding to enter a meeting that has been men-only for generations, it’s disrespectful to me and the others."
I turn to face him. His complexion is paler than usual, the lines around his eyes deeper. It only strengthens my resolve.
“You agreed with me earlier that I could help,” I remind him.
He looks at me blankly. “I wouldn’t. La Corona is just for the men.”
My heart breaks that he doesn’t remember the discussion we had on the way over to Marco’s home.
But I’m not surprised.
Even as we were discussing my joining the meeting, I sensed he wasn’t all there.
“I just want to protect the family.”
"By making me look weak? By suggesting I need my daughter to fight my battles?"
“If necessary. Marco Calabresi is not the ally you think he is."
Father rubs his temples. "Not this again, Gabriella."
"Yes, this again! They're waiting for you to slip, waiting to take advantage—"
"Enough!" His voice rises. "This behavior stops now." His tone leaves no room for argument. "You're my daughter, not my consigliere."
"I'm also a Monti," I counter, meeting his gaze directly. He knows I’m as strong as any man. "Everything I do, I do out of love for you and our family. If that means making enemies of men like Marco Calabresi, so be it."
Father looks at me, something between frustration and admiration crossing his face. "Your mother was just as stubborn." He sighs. "I suppose that's what worries me most."
I watch the fight drain from my father's face.
He reaches across the seat and takes my hand in his. “This is partly my fault. I indulged your need for independence. Never tried to tame your spirit. And I am proud of you—"
"Then why won't you listen to me about Marco?"
“Because you’re wrong. Marco is a hard man, but he had to be.
He was only twenty-two when he became the head of his family.
Younger than you are now." My father’s voice grows distant with memory.
"His father and brother were killed in the same week.
The other families wanted to carve up the Calabresi territory like vultures. "
"And you stopped them," I finish, knowing this part of the story.
"I reminded them of the vow we took when we joined La Corona. It’s the same vow Marco took. Later, Dominic took it as well when his father passed. We all do, and it’s not just words. The vow means something. We’re not just loyal. We help each other.”
Does that mean Marco is helping him?
I wonder what my father would think of Marco’s vow if he knew Marco had slept with me.
The car pulls into our driveway, and my father suddenly looks very tired.
Inside our home, he heads toward the stairs. "I think I'll rest for a bit.”
I nod. "I'll wake you in an hour."
He studies me, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. "Gabriella, promise me you won't do anything rash."
"I promise to protect our family," I say carefully.
Father sighs, recognizing the distinction. "That's what I'm afraid of," he murmurs, but climbs the stairs without further argument.
I find Frank, my father’s right-hand man, in the kitchen making a sandwich.
He's been with our family since before I was born.
"Frank. Do you have a minute?"
He puts his two pieces of bread together. "Of course, Miss Monti."
I sit across from him at the table, glancing around to make sure the staff aren’t eavesdropping. "I need to talk to you about Marco Calabresi."
Frank's expression doesn't change. "What about him?"
"I don't trust him. I think he's making moves against my father."
"That's a serious accusation. What makes you think so?" He takes a bite of his sandwich.
"I heard him talking to Roman Ginetti—”
“How would you have heard something like that?”
It’s odd that he goes there instead of asking about what was said.
Of course, I can’t tell him I was sleeping with Marco at the time.
I have considered revealing our affair as I know it would cause problems between my father and Marco.
But I went into the affair of my own accord and I worry my father might force me to marry Marco.
So I keep the secret.
“It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that I did. And today, I saw papers in his office. Reports on our operations, our weak points, detailed notes.”
Frank's eyebrows lift slightly. "You were in Marco's office?"
"That's not the point." I wave away his concern. "The point is he's documenting everything, our security rotations, our distribution networks."
"And you're certain these weren't just standard intelligence reports? Every family keeps tabs on the others. It's prudent."
"This was different." I lean closer. "These weren't just observations. They were strategies. And there were financial projections for our territories."
Frank is quiet for a long moment as he chews another bite of sandwich. "I've known Marco since he was a boy. Antonio is fond of him."
"Which makes this betrayal even worse."
He studies me. "I'll keep my ears open. If Marco is planning something against your father, we'll know."
"Thank you." Relief washes through me.
I also feel vindicated. After all, if Marco was helping my father, Frank would know, and he clearly doesn’t. "I knew I could count on you."
Frank reaches out, patting my hand. "You're doing what any daughter would do, protecting her family. But be careful. If you're right about Marco, he's a dangerous man to cross."
I leave Frank in the kitchen, retreating to my own room.
I’ll spend this time wrapping Christmas presents to settle my nerves.
I pull out the paper, scissors, and tape, setting them on my bed.
Then I retrieve the presents I’ve hidden in my closet.
As I get to work cutting the paper, the memory of Marco's face when he caught me in his office flashes in my mind.
The anger in his eyes, but something else too.
Something that looked almost like hurt.
For a moment, I almost believed him when he denied plotting against my father.
I shake my head as I rip a piece of tape.
Marco Calabresi is a master manipulator.
Of course he'd look wounded when caught.
Of course he'd deny everything.
And yet…
No. I dismiss the doubt.
The evidence was right there in black and white. What more proof do I need?
I thought I knew Marco.
The enigmatic man drew me to him like no man ever had.
I close my eyes as the memory of last Christmas comes back.
The way I could feel him watching me.
The way his normally detached, cool demeanor heated when I’d catch his gaze.
Being daring, I slipped away from the holiday festivities, wondering if he’d come looking for me.
When he found me in his library, I knew without a doubt that he wanted me.
I can’t deny the heady feeling of having a man like Marco—powerful, controlled—give in to his desires.
We exchanged innocent banter that underneath carried the charge of attraction.
"I was curious what the most feared Don in New York reads in his private moments."
"Feared?" He arched a brow. "Is that how you see me?"
“I see many things."
"Such as?"
"That your reputation serves you well, but it's not the whole truth." I stepped closer to him, wondering if he’d retreat or somehow put distance between us. "You maintain distance, but are you conceited or socially awkward? A modern Mr. Darcy.”
“Jane Austen books are over there.”
“Deflecting. You don’t want anyone to know you… the real you.” God, I wanted so badly to discover who Marco really was.
"Dangerous conclusions to draw. Especially alone with me."
"Yet here I stand." I smiled coyly. "Unafraid."
"Perhaps you should be." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers brushed against my cheek and I nearly moaned at his touch.
"Perhaps you should be the one worried," I countered, bringing my hand to rest on his chest. "I'm not easily controlled, Marco."
“Who says I want to control you?”
“All Dons want to control everything around them, even their women. Especially their women. Why is that? Are Dons secretly insecure?”
"You've always been too bold for your own good, Gabriella," he said, stepping closer to me. The air zapped with energy radiating between us. All I could think was kiss me, touch me.
"And you've always been too controlled for yours," I replied. "Always observing, never participating. Don't you ever tire of standing apart? Don’t you ever want to be a part of life? Of living?"
He took my wrist, and I thought he was going to remove my hand, but instead he held it there. "There are advantages to observation. I see things others miss."
"What do you see when you look at me?"
"Trouble. Beautiful trouble."
I laugh. "At least you admit I'm beautiful."
"That was never in question.”
"You know, my father thinks I should be afraid of you."
"Your father is a wise man."
I moved even closer. "I feel many things here with you, Marco Calabresi, but fear isn't one of them."
He traced my jaw with his thumb, tilting my face up to his. "What do you feel, then?"
"Curiosity. Anticipation." I paused, wondering if he was toying with me. "Heat."
"You’re playing with fire, Gabriella Monti," he warned me, his hand cupping my cheek.
"Perhaps." I brushed my fingers along the back of his neck. "But some flames are worth the burn."
The next moment, my body was flush against his and his lips were claiming mine.
He tasted like darkness and danger, but I wasn’t afraid. No, I wanted more.
My fingers threaded through his hair as I pressed myself closer.
The kiss deepened, turning from exploration to demand.
I knew this was a bad idea, but I didn’t care as he pressed me against the bookshelf, his hand sliding into the slit of my dress, sending a surge of white-hot need through me as he caressed the skin of my thigh.
"I've wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit.” His confession made me feel triumphant.
"I know. I've seen the way you watch me when you think no one's looking."
"And what else do you think you know about what I want?"
I laugh. "That you want to discover every inch of me. That you want to know if I'm as fearless in bed as I am facing down the most dangerous Don in New York." I’d always been outspoken, but even in that moment, I’d surprised myself by how daring I was.
He cupped my cheek again. "You understand that I'm not looking for a wife. I don't do fairy tales or happy endings."
"Who said anything about marriage?” I wasn’t totally against marriage in theory, but I understood that by getting married, especially in this life, I’d have to give up my independence.
I wasn’t interested in that. “Perhaps I just want to know if the great Marco Calabresi lives up to his reputation."
"Careful, Gabriella. You might get more than you bargained for."
I leaned forward, my lips brushing his ear. "Or you might." My teeth grazed his earlobe. “Live a little, Don Calabresi.”
The next instant, he backed me against his desk. “Is that what you do? Live a little?”
“Oh, no. I live a lot. Usually, it’s hot air ballooning in New Mexico or skiing in the Alps or looking for faeries in Scotland.”
“So you don’t fuck random men for adventure.” He lifted me onto the desk, his hands sliding up my thighs. My breath caught as his fingers grazed the lace edge of my underwear.
“No. Although you’ll be disappointed if you’re expecting a virgin. Truth be told, I’ve never tried to seduce a man before.”
“I don’t imagine you have to.” He sucked on my lower lip. “Why do I have the honor?”
“You intrigue me. You have for years.” I worked to undo his belt, eager to see all of him. "Wondered what it would take to crack that famous control of yours."
His kiss was bruising as his hand tangled in my hair, forcing a long, feral moan from me.
"Quiet," he commanded, "Unless you want everyone to hear what I'm doing to Antonio Monti's daughter."
The danger of discovery excited me more.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer as I pushed his jacket from his shoulders.
He unzipped my dress and sucked my nipples ravenously.
I could feel it down to my core.
His fingers found my folds, my body rocking as he brought me closer and closer to bliss.
He pulled his finger away, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it.
“So fucking good.” He grabbed a condom, ripping it open and rolling it on. He tore away my panties. “Tell me you want this.”
“Are you hesitating, Don Calabresi?” God, I was dying for want of him, wanting to see him lose control.
He plunged into me so hard, I gasped and gripped his shoulders to keep from flying away.
The desk creaked beneath us as he drove into me.
The controlled Don Calabresi was lost to me.
At my mercy. I’d never felt so feminine and powerful in my life.
I matched the intensity of his movements with my own. My head fell back, lips parted as he brought me higher and higher, promising me exquisite pleasure.
"Look at me," he demanded.
I lifted my gaze to his.
He plunged in, ground against me, and the sweetest pleasure rushed through me.
I cried out and when I did, he let go, his own release consuming him.
It was supposed to be just that one time, but somehow, it wasn’t. Not until I learned that Marco wasn’t the man I thought he was.
I let out a frustrated growl, feeling so stupid for letting myself get taken in by him.
For thinking there was more to him than just a callous Don.
I want to hate him, but in moments like this, alone, I grieve the loss of him.
Or the loss of who I thought he was. Of what I thought we’d been building together.
“Idiot,” I mutter to myself. I might have let myself be taken in, but I won’t let my father.
I’m not in La Corona. I never took a vow.
I have no duty to be loyal to Marco.
If he thinks he can take advantage of my father, he’ll discover just how wrong he is.
He’ll rue the day he crossed me.