Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
W hen we exited the elevator, there were four men, all dressed in black, who immediately snapped to attention but relaxed when Vince shook his head. “We’re going to walk there,” he said, which sounded like all of them knew our destination already.
All of them but me. “I definitely should meet up with Fee and Alex; they’re probably out of their minds worrying about me,” I said.
He smirked at me. “They know you’re with me, and we’ll be meeting up with them anyway.”
He put his arm around my waist and led me outside.
The crisp autumn air caressed my face as we stepped out of Vince’s apartment building directly onto the boardwalk along the Hudson.
I couldn’t help but pause, awestruck by the breathtaking view that unfolded before us. The river glistened under the warm afternoon sunlight. There were many people around, the gentle buzz of conversations a soothing backdrop.
“Where exactly are we?” I asked, my gaze sweeping along the buildings that lined up along the river. “And what did you mean by ‘we’ll walk there?’”
Vince fell into step beside me, Picca trotting happily at his side. “This is the Battery Park City Esplanade,” he replied, his voice low and smooth. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured to the imposing building we’d just exited. “This is where I live.”
My eyes followed his motion, taking in the sleek lines and red facade of the building. It radiated an understated elegance that somehow perfectly suited the man beside me. The building wasn’t flashy or extravagant—more like sturdy, understated, and sophisticated…a perfect facade hiding secrets.
Despite my determination to remain guarded around Vince, I found myself strangely drawn to the unexpected sides of this man. Why would he bring me into his home? Why give me glimpses when I was pretty sure he usually didn’t let people behind his defenses so easily?
It was as if he let me see this part of his world, a part not many people got to see. A part you wouldn’t know was there—if you only looked at the surface or at the information available on him.
With Picca trotting happily beside us, we began our leisurely stroll along the walkway.
The boardwalk was alive with activity, joggers and cyclists passing us by, families strolling leisurely in the sunshine.
It was a weird feeling, but despite the bustle around us, I felt cocooned in a strange tranquility despite being acutely aware of Vince’s presence beside me.
We settled into a comfortable silence, and for once, I didn’t feel the need to fill it with idle chatter…or trade insults, which, apparently, was our version of idle chatter.
I looked at Vince from the corner of my eye. Weirdly enough, he didn’t look out of place at all, which I would’ve expected. Maybe it was the jeans and white button-down and his relaxed features—a far cry from the imposing, intimidating figure he typically projected—that made him seem more human.
At least if you didn’t dig too deep.
Because if you really looked at him…or stared…you could see that his attention was everywhere. He surveyed our surroundings with an unobtrusive vigilance.
But I was pretty sure he could tell me exactly who was walking behind us and where everyone was. For a moment, he focused his attention on Picca, his expression softening as he watched the pup sniff at every pebble and leaf in her path.
It was such a weird dichotomy. This quiet and softer side of him definitely stirred something within me—a curiosity, a desire to unravel the layers that made up this unsettling man.
As if sensing my gaze, Vince glanced over at me, and our eyes met briefly before I quickly averted my own.
Too late because the intensity in his stare sent a shiver coursing through me, reminding me of how dangerous Vince Salvini was exactly.
I stared across the Hudson at the high rises in the distance, at the surface of the water, really anywhere but at this dangerous man next to me.
Dangerous, in more ways than one.
I walked closer to the waterfront, watched the white yachts and the perfect scenery, and increased the distance between us while mentally distancing myself, as well. Something I should’ve done immediately before I surprised him in the shower.
Why did I ever think it was a good idea to go in instead of getting the hell out of there?
I must’ve been insane—at least temporarily—probably because of the shock and the aftermath of my panic attack.
I sighed. I really thought I’d dealt with the whole Italy situation, had become more stable. Of course, I’d never experienced a trigger like that; maybe I just needed more time.
A street performer drew a crowd, narrowing the spacious promenade. But when I inched closer to Vince, a cyclist who weaved with speed through the onlookers headed straight for me.
I froze for a split second, but just as I wanted to jump to the side, Vince’s swift, powerful arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his chest just as the biker sped past, close enough for me to feel the rush of air.
My heart raced from the sudden rush of adrenaline, so it took me a couple of seconds before the unexpected, undeniable comfort of Vince’s arm slung around my waist and holding me tight sunk in. The warmth of his body against my back was surprisingly non-threatening and almost nice. “You’re a walking train wreck, aren’t you?” he growled in my ear, the anger in it surprising and absolutely unnecessary.
I turned my head to look at him, but Vince’s face was set in a hard line, his eyes tracking the cyclist as he faded into the distance.
“This was so not my fault.”
Vince turned his head to me, and his eyes met mine, dark, hooded, close, so fucking close.
I swallowed. “Not that I have to defend myself or something.”
He held my gaze, a crackle of something unspoken and undeniable passing between us. Then he gave the teeny-tiniest nod—a silent acknowledgment of me being right? I didn’t think the great Vince Salvini would be self-aware enough to acknowledge when he was talking out of his ass.
“Maybe you’re not a train wreck, but you’re attracting danger like a pile of dog poop attracts flies.”
Or not.
“Excuse me?” I pulled on his arm, and slipped out of his embrace, then turned around to face him fully. “Did you just compare me with a pile of shit?”
He cocked his head. “Wrong comparison?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not if your end goal is a slow and painful death.”
He continued to stare, but I didn’t back down either. “Are you threatening me, little punk?”
I pushed my hands into my waist. “Since you’re insulting me, it only seems fair.” I glared at him. He was an asshole; I’d known he was one, so why was I even surprised?
“I just saved you; does that count for something?” He suddenly gave me a lopsided grin.
Which was so not okay.
“We’re having a fight here; honor the rules, dude.”
It was as if something shifted inside of him. His features tightened, he clenched his jaw, and suddenly, the ruthless, dangerous version of him was back.
He took a step forward, cupped my jaw, and came closer and closer. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, my little punk. I don’t honor the rules; I make them.”
I should’ve head-butted him or something. That was what he deserved; sadly, that would also mean I had to jump to bridge our height difference and then head-butt him, which could potentially go one of two ways. And I really didn’t want to fall on my ass accidentally in front of Vince Salvini.
“Contemplating violence? Is that how you solve your conflicts?”
I stared at him for a good five seconds. “Rich coming from Vince Salvini, Mafia asshole extraordinaire.”
The muscles around his mouth tightened when his lip started to quiver. “You, Jemma Donnelly are really something else,” he said, and there was suddenly so much warmth in his voice, I could only stare at him.
What the hell? He was flipping between emotions faster than a strobe light.
Somehow, for some weird reason, he was more intriguing than any other man I’d ever met. Added to that were those brief, intense moments when he was actually really caring for me. It all spelled disaster with a capital D .
Somehow, the more I knew him, the harder it became to reconcile his actions with my hatred for him.
His eyes moved from my eyes to my lips and back before he let go of my jaw. “How about a truce for the rest of today?”
I stared at him, then nodded before I even realized what I was doing.
A truce? Really? As if that changed anything.
We continued our walk, but the air had shifted between us.
At least, my awareness had shifted.
I exhaled slowly, tried not to focus on the man beside me.
Vince Salvini wasn’t just a danger to my freedom, but he could very well become a danger to my heart.
And that was nothing I had anticipated or taken into consideration.
Vince
“So, where are we actually going?” Jemma asked after a couple of minutes of silent walking.
My gaze lingered on her for a moment too long as she turned those mesmerizing green eyes on me, waiting for my response. “Since your father called earlier to excuse himself from the meeting tonight, we’re meeting up with Fee, Alex, and your future husband,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue with a practiced ease that stood in complete contrast to the sudden tension coiling in my gut.
Despite Connor Donnelly calling earlier and excusing himself from the planned family dinner, my father still insisted on bringing Jemma.
And as if calling Matt her future husband wasn’t enough to leave a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, our destination, once we met up with them, was the Salvini family home on Staten Island—which was a misnomer at best.
Nothing about that estate even whispered home. And with my father residing right there, family was just a set of outdated expectations, a lot of guilting and shaming to fit said expectations, executed along with a lot of violent outbursts in an overall oppressive atmosphere.
Maybe I should’ve just run away from the family like Dante and Hero did—well, they’d distanced themselves as much as they could—hadn’t run away.
Unlike Gabe Falcone, who’d truly severed all ties. Had lived a whole life according to his own standards before going back.
I shook my head, dislodging the silly thoughts. I was the firstborn. Dante and Hero, and even Matt, could only have the kind of freedom they had because I was holding the fort; because I convinced my father to give them enough leeway to have at least a couple of years to live life away from the family, away from the business, away from the pressure.
At least for now.
I gave Jemma a side glance. The other part that, for some reason, did not sit right with me was taking Jemma there.
Matt’s bride.
An irrational flare of something akin to…what?…washed through me. All I really should be feeling was annoyance. Not this burning sensation, this need to…claim her? Keep her? Not have anyone else, and especially not my father, even look at her?
I pushed those unwelcome emotions aside, refusing to examine them too closely.
This was ridiculous. What a ludicrous notion—this sudden sense of possessiveness over a woman I barely knew. A woman whom I had no business messing around with or even thinking about the way I already did.
Yet there was no denying the magnetic pull she exerted, the inexplicable force that seemed to defy all reason and logic.
Somehow, she’d burrowed herself under my skin. Annoying and persisting as if she was a mosquito bite I couldn’t quite reach but desperately needed to scratch.
I turned sideways and stole another glance at her.
And that’s when I saw him, Ivan Zotov, leaning against the railing as if he’d been there the whole time when I knew for a fact he was not there when we passed just a moment ago.
I glared at him, but there was no visible reaction. I did not like that any more than I liked having him anywhere near Jemma. “Can you take Picca for a sec and wait with her over here?” I said and handed her the leash.
Then I turned and strove toward Ivan Zotov.
For a split second, I clenched my jaw tight before I forced myself to relax. The nerve of that Russian bastard showing up here, trailing me like some pathetic henchman. I wasn’t about to play his games. But I, apparently, didn’t get my message across.
I glanced around, and sure enough, my men were distributed all over the walkway and hung back, just waiting for a sign.
“What the hell are you doing here, Zotov?” I growled as I came to a stop in front of him.
He flashed me an easy smile, not even bothering to straighten from his relaxed stance against the railing. “Why, Salvini, it’s a public place, is it not? I’m simply enjoying the view.”
His nonchalant attitude only served to stoke the anger burning inside of me. What was this bastard’s agenda? I’d talked about it with Alex, but he didn’t have any more answers than I had. I stepped closer, using my height to loom over him. “Cut the bullshit. Didn’t I make myself perfectly clear last time?”
Zotov chuckled, utterly unfazed. “You think too highly of yourself. The world does not revolve around you, my friend.”
The mocking lilt in his tone grated on my nerves. I fought the urge to grab him and shove him over the railing into the river.
“Not your friend,” I bit out. “This is your second strike, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the hell away from me and mine.”
His gaze slid past me, settling on Jemma for a beat too long. A slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face. “Is that a threat, Salvini? And do you claim a woman who will soon be your sister-in-law as yours?”
He tsked. “One wonders what business you even have hanging out with your lovely future sister-in-law…especially without her future husband.”
I stepped right into his space then, our faces mere inches apart. I leveled him with a look that had made lesser men tremble. “What I do, and who I do it with, is none of your fucking business now, is it?”
He shook his head. “So possessive,” he said as if he had to think really hard. “One has to wonder what’s really going on.” He suddenly straightened. “Where are my manners? I should go and introduce myself.”
So that was what he was after—getting a rise out of me? I relaxed, even forced myself to smile. “Yes, where are your manners, interrupting someone else’s life? But there’s really no need for you to even look at her.” I narrowed my eyes and dropped the smile. “Since you will have zero interactions with her in the future, why even bother?” I said, a clear warning in my voice.
Instead of at least an acknowledgment of the threat I’d expected, Zotov simply threw his head back and laughed. “It’s always fun to watch a strong man stumble,” he said after reigning in his laughter.
“It’s even more fun if that man is you.”
I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, but I held myself back. Barely. Starting a brawl in public, with Jemma watching, would only make me look like an unsophisticated thug. And having him killed or taken by my men right here wouldn’t look good, as well.
But the blatant disrespect was like a slap in the face. “If you’re done trying to get a rise out of me, can we go back to the question? Why are you here? What do you want?”
He looked at me, the skin around his eyes tensing for a split second before he relaxed his features. “You’re still not ready to hear what I have to say.”
And what the fuck did that mean? “I will never be ready or willing to play your games. So you better fuck off now. You’re just wasting your time.”
He nodded. “We’ll see. Say hi for me to your newest obsession.”
My newest obsession? Jemma? Was he implying that my interest in her went beyond mere brotherly protectiveness? And what did he base his assumptions on? Watching us walk side by side? I should really end this fucker. “Say hi from me to your therapist. You’re seeing one, right? Because obsessive tendencies like inserting yourself in situations you don’t belong and becoming obsessed with other people’s lives should be dealt with sooner rather than later.”
He raised one corner of his mouth. “Maybe couple’s therapy would help us overcome this animosity between us.”
“Even if there were an us—which there clearly isn’t and never will be—I think therapy wouldn’t help. Just keep your distance if you value your life, and we’re golden.”
He grinned again and nodded once.
So I settled for one last glower before turning on my heel and stalking back towards Jemma, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.
What the hell did he want? And why was he so fixated on me, or was it Jemma? A surge of protectiveness washed over me at the thought of him anywhere near her.
Jemma looked up as I approached, her brow furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay?”
I forced a tight smile, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily. “Everything’s fine,” I lied smoothly. “Just an unwanted guest.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as if she could sense the tension radiating off me. “That’s Ivan Zotov, right?”
I nodded. Of course, she knew. She’d met the bastard in Ireland when all the shit between Alex and Fee’s father went down.
She turned back, and I followed her gaze, but Ivan Zotov was already gone.
“What did he want?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. He was just here by chance.”
She held my gaze, and I could see in her eyes she didn’t believe a single word, but for some completely out-of-character reason, she didn’t press further; instead, she simply handed Picca’s leash back to me.
Our fingers brushed in the exchange, sending an unexpected jolt through me.
Damn it, I needed to get a grip. This inexplicable chemistry was becoming a problem. Especially when even a bastard like Zotov was insinuating there was more going on between us than there was.
We resumed our walk in silence, the earlier lightness and peace now weighed down by the sudden appearance of Ivan fucking Zotov.
My gaze kept flickering to Jemma, studying her features as if searching for answers to questions I couldn’t even formulate.
She was not the person I thought she was; that much was certain. And for some unfathomable reason, I found myself utterly fascinated by her.
When I really shouldn’t.
Maybe it was the way she carried herself with such sassiness and strength when there was clearly trauma she was hiding.
Or the fierce determination burning in those piercing green eyes whenever she went toe-to-toe with me. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that she was the first woman in a long time who didn’t immediately fall at my feet, fawning and simpering for my attention.
Whatever the reason, she had well and truly gotten under my skin. And I had the sinking suspicion that was exactly what Zotov had been implying with his parting words.
The thought made my jaw clench. I was not obsessed. I was…intrigued, sure. Drawn to the mystery that surrounded her, absolutely. But obsession? That was taking it too far.
Wasn’t it?
I risked another sidelong glance at her, taking in the sharp angles of her face, the full curve of her lips. The punk-rock hairdo she hid under her cap—which was another mystery to unravel—accentuated the defiant tilt of her chin—it was as if she was daring the world to underestimate her, to dismiss her as just another pretty face. When she was anything but.
She caught me looking and arched a questioning brow.
I held her gaze and forced myself not to visibly react. Get a fucking grip, Salvini. Defiant tilt of her chin? Really?
By the time we reached the marina, I had managed to get my running thoughts back under control. At least, I thought I had.
But then, Jemma flashed Fee a smile—a real one—not the guarded looks or sarcastic smirks she usually aimed my way—and my breath caught in my throat.
And I was pretty positive I’d never had my breath catch in my throat. Ever.