23
Luna
I hesitate, my hand hovering over the closet door knob.
Crossing this line feels wrong, but since I doubt Cade will be offering the answers I need anytime soon, I shove my conscience aside and pull the door open.
The walk-in closet stretches deeper than I expected—and it’s almost entirely empty, save for a few plain scarves hanging on the rack.
One wall is dominated by a vanity, its mirror framed by a chaotic constellation of Post-it notes. Wedged into a corner is a squat, overflowing bookshelf.
Jackpot.
Want a glimpse at someone’s demons? Start with their reading material.
I ease the bookshelf out. Psychology textbooks, criminal justice manuals, true crime paperbacks. But it’s what’s inside the books that makes me smile.
Mos t of the margins are crammed with notes and several paragraphs are underlined. A single name seems to recur.
Nico.
Sometimes it’s written with flair, other times violently scratched onto paper.
I flip through a well-used psychology text and see a roadmap of infatuation warring with frustration. And then—there it is, in a cursive hand.
Mrs. Sophie Vitelli.
I stare at the words until they swim.
Three years ago, Don Vitelli shocked the entire Outfit by marrying an American woman. Her initial reception was cold, but as she was found to be the only soft spot the Don possessed, she quickly became the most powerful woman in Chicago.
Could Cade’s sister really be the same Sophie? Or just another of the thousands obsessed with Nico Vitelli?
Driven by desperate curiosity, I move to the vanity and rummage through the drawers. There’s not much: scattered Advil packets, a tangled charger, more dog-eared books . . . and a thick white card half stuck under the drawer joint. I pull it free.
I gasp at the message scrawled across it in bold, masculine strokes.
I want you in red . . . and dripping wet tonight, fiammetta. Nico.
The words pulse with dominance. This isn’t just any note. It’s a glimpse into the mind of Chicago’s most dangerous man.
The rumble of an engine shatters my snoopfest. My pulse spikes and I hastily shove the card back where I found it. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s time to go.
I pair the dark-wash jeans with a soft cashmere top and grab the rest of my things. When I find the living room empty, I move to peek out the window.
Mor ning sunlight gleams off a hulking, black Ford pick-up truck parked in front of the house. Cade leans against the driver’s side, phone pressed to his ear. His posture is stiff, tension radiating off him.
Whoever he’s speaking to is pissing him off. Cracking open the window an inch, I strain to hear.
“Hector is dead, Hawkins. Get over it.” A pause, then his voice rises. “Sucks for you, then. I’ll get Antonov when I’m good and ready. Now fuck off.”
I jerk back from the window, my heart racing. They’re arguing about what happened yesterday.
Between Hector’s death, talks of Antonov, and Cade’s possible connection to the Outfit, everything feels like a puzzle, and I’m trapped in the middle of it with no idea how the pieces connect.
I step onto the porch, my eyes drifting past the truck to where Saint is in the distance, moving like a shadow on the manicured lawn. A surge of impulsive bravery grips me and I wave.
It’s only a small motion, but Saint’s head snaps to me instantly. I freeze, unsure of what’s about to happen. For a moment, he just stands there, muscles taut. His gaze flicks to Cade, seeking permission.
At Cade’s curt nod, Saint bounds toward me. My stomach flips, but I force myself to sit on the porch steps, determined to stay calm.
He reaches me, towering over my seated form.
“I’m sorry about this morning, big guy,” I murmur as I reach out to scratch his head. Then, the impossible happens. Saint not only lays down, he slowly rolls over, his massive paws stretching out as he offers me his belly to scratch.
A startled laugh escapes me. “Oh, my God. Cade’s right. You’re a giant suck under all that menace!”
As my fingers find the sweet spot on his belly, the deadly guardian melts into a puddle of lolling tongue and contented sighs. His tail thumps against the ground in a steady rhythm, like a metronome counting the seconds where I glimpse the soul behind the weapon.
“I hate to break up the bonding session.” Cade jogs up the step bend to pick up my bag and spins back. “But it’s time to go.”
Giving him one final scratch, I stand and brush the dirt off my jeans and watch as Saint leaps into the truck bed like he’s done it hundreds of times before.
I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door. Leather, musk, and citrus immediately wrap around my senses.
Oh shit.
That’s the scent I was craving this morning. It gets even more intense when Cade climbs in beside me. The truck rumbles to life, doors locking automatically with soft, electronic clicks.
Two days.
Two days of being cooped up in this space with this grumpy jerk who smells divine is going to drive me nuts.
“Your new boots didn’t fit?” Cade asks as he merges into traffic, tension from the earlier phone call still clinging to him.
My gaze drops to my trusty ankle boots with the secret compartment that holds my credit card.
“No, they were the perfect size. It’s just that, with Louboutins, I always have to break them in first otherwise, I get blisters.”
It’s not even been a full minute, and I’ve already told my first lie.
Cade nods tightly while I shake off the guilt and focus on filling the silence.
“So,” I venture. “Was that work? The person you were growling at on the phone?”
“ Yep.” One clipped syllable is all I get.
I study his profile in the morning light. “So you don’t do the rosary thing alone. You’ve got partners. Maybe even a supervisor.”
He gives me a side-to-side nod, which I choose to take as a yes.
“Why were they pissed at you for killing Hector?”
His hands flex on the steering wheel. “Because they think he’s more useful alive. I disagree.”
Surprised he’s answering without hesitation, I glance out the window, gathering my courage as I watch the familiar Chicago skyline retreat, replaced by highways.
Since he’s in a sharing mood, maybe he’ll tell me..
I turn back to Cade. “I’ve been meaning to ask about your sister. What’s her name?”
His eyes flick to me, just for a second, before returning to the road. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrug. “Just curious.” I gesture at my new clothes. “She’s got amazing taste and seems really cool.”
Cade’s fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless rhythm that speaks of barely contained energy. “Sophie.”
My breath leaves me in a rush and my next words burst out of me. “Don Vitelli is your brother-in-law!”
The moment the words leave my mouth, Cade’s face transforms. It’s like watching frost creep across glass. “Unfortunately,” he bites out.
So there’s bad blood there. Can’t say I’m surprised. Two alphas like Cade Quinn and Nico Vitelli are unlikely to get along. Still, desperation makes me reckless.
“Could you introduce us?”
The temperature in the truck plummets. Cade’s jaw locks and his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. His voice, when it com es, drips with derision. “Why, so you can sell your sex toys to him?”
The mockery in his tone ignites something hot in my chest. “Oh, yeah, Cade, I’m sure the Don can’t wait to try Bliss Xtra’s deep prostate stimulation!”
A shadow of a smirk twitches his lips, but I can’t be sure it’s humor.
Instantly regretting my outburst, I take a breath. “You know damn well he’s the reason behind everything I’m doing. I want to offer a clean, profitable business in exchange for a pardon for the Romanos. I just need to know if there’s even the smallest chance that he’d hear me out.”
That makes him pause. His eyes flick to me before returning to the road. “Your family was in open rebellion against the Outfit for many years. Your uncle nearly killed my sister. And now you want to try and crawl back into the fold with what? A rabbit vibrator?”
Heat rises up my neck as he reduces my entire strategy to a joke. The dismissal in his voice makes my teeth grind together.
“You don’t get to make a mockery of my work—” I begin, but Cade interjects.
“Even if Vitelli did agree to give you the time of day, you’re not the head of the Romano family. He’s not going to make deals with you.”
Hearing Cade sound so much like Papa hurts. “I know that,“ I snap, as the spark of hope that I’d been nursing sputters and dies. “But—”
“So there’s no point in meeting him, is there?” Cade’s dismissal feels like a door slamming shut in my face.
“Know what? Forget I asked!” I whip around, frustration clawing at my insides.
The futility of everything presses down on me. It’s like screaming into a void. My worth—my very existence—is being reduced to genetics rather than the solutions I can provide.
“This is all so fucking unfair,” I mutter, half to myself. Then I turn back to him with a glare. “I’ll tell you what else isn’t fair, Cade. Trafficking is a banned business in the Outfit. How can the Don turn a blind eye to what you do?”
“Do I look like one of Vitelli’s circus clowns to you?” Cade’s knuckles blanch on the steering wheel again.
“You might as well slap on the red nose and grease paint,” I sneer. “Your sister is married to him. There’s no way in hell you’re peddling flesh without the Don’s blessing.”
I let my voice drop. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
He rolls his shoulders as if trying to get comfortable and somehow not managing it.
“Go ahead, Cade,” I taunt, leaning closer. Daring him. “Lie to my face.”
Finally, he snaps in a tone that could freeze hell. “Drop it, princess.”
Anger crawls up my throat like acid. I glare out the window, my nails digging crescents into my palms. The fury boiling inside me begs to be unleashed, and Cade’s dismissal only fuels the flames.
Nico Vitelli spent the last three years destro ying my family for daring to cling to trafficking, yet he turns around and lets his brother-in-law run the exact same racket?
“Actually, you know what, I’m not dropping it.” I spin back to him, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I think it’s fucking rich how Nico makes everyone else play by his precious rules while he monopolizes the arms trade. And now, it seems he’s got his lapdog brother-in-law running his trafficking for him—”
The look Cade turns on me stops my heart and my mouth slams shut, survival instinct kicking in too late. Fury blazes in his green eyes and for a moment, it feels like I’ve just stepped in front of a speeding train.
Okay, maybe that was too far.
Forget that Cade is dangerous. The man is Nico Vitelli’s brother-in-law. He might be the only bridge to the lifeline my family needs.
“So . . .” I venture, forcing my voice into something approaching diplomatic, “I’m guessing you and Nico aren’t exactly . . . close?”
Cade’s gaze whips to mine, and if looks could incinerate, I’d be a smoking pile of ashes by now. “I won’t say it again. Drop it.”
Frustration surges inside me. I need to fix this.
Saying sorry flickers in my mind—a ridiculous thought I immediately kick in the teeth. Knowing Cade, he’d throw that apology right back in my face, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Okay! Fine.” I mutter, eyeing his death grip on the steering wheel. “You can stop grinding your teeth to powder now. I’ll change the subject.”
Cade lets out a low growl. “Or you could try shutting up.”
My lips curl into a smile that ’s more weapon than warmth. “Too bad. You don’t get the luxury. Not when there are so many other fascinating topics we could explore.”
Something reckless sparks in me. “Like Delilah Sinclair. Or is she another forbidden topic?”
The change in him is subtle but unmistakable—like ice thawing at the edges. His grip on the wheel eases, shoulders relaxing. When his lips twitch into that infuriating smirk, I realize this subject—Delilah—somehow pleases him.
“No, actually,” he says. “We can talk about her.”
The transformation sends something hot and ugly coiling in my gut. Jealousy, I realize with a jolt. I’m actually jealous of how her name alone can defang him.
“How do you know her?” I try to keep my voice neutral.
He shrugs. “Same circles. I told you she worked with Hector.”
There’s a familiarity in his tone that raises my hackles.
“Have you slept with her?” The question explodes from me before I can swallow it back.
Cade’s lips curl into a maddening smirk. “Not yet.”
I stare at him. “You plan to?”
“At some point, I suppose,” he says, all cold indifference. “She sells it, right? Sex?”
My chest tightens, and an uncomfortable heat rises inside me. “Just because something’s for sale doesn’t mean it’s worth buying.”
“And you’ve spoken like a true marketer.” His sarcasm has me wishing for that pointy object again, especially when his smirk deepens.
Cade is just messing with me. Or maybe that’s me stupidly hoping he is. I make myself shrug like I couldn’t care less and press on with the answers I need .
“Delilah said you’re into men.”
“Did she now?”
“Any idea why she would say that?” I ask, not really expecting an answer but too curious not to ask.
Cade shrugs, his gaze fixed on the road. “She must have seen me working a scene in a club.”
I’m taken aback first, because he responded without hesitation. Then, my stomach knots with dread. “Like a . . . BDSM club?”
Cade gives his signature slow and lazy sideways nod, and I get a distinct feeling he’s leading me down a pitch-dark alley, enticing me with every step by dropping irresistible morsels of himself. “What kind of . . . scene?”
“Two men. Naked. On their knees for me.”