13. Athena
THIRTEEN
ATHENA
C rossing paths with Manuel Marchetti might have been dangerous, but I wasn’t complaining. He’d inspired my creativity and I planned to milk that for all it was worth.
The conversation I’d overheard between him and my mother had been running on a loop for the past three days. When I’d asked my mother about her morning, she flat-out lied, stating she’d had a spa treatment while I was out on my walk.
So, I took it upon myself to do some research. I looked up the Triads, and what I learned turned my blood cold. They were known as one of the most ruthless mafia organizations in the world. Why would they be looking for my mother? The Google search had only resulted in more questions.
And then I caved and looked up Atticus Popov. A businessman with mile-long allegations of corruption. There were many pictures of him—from the time he was young to what seemed as recent as this year. The man definitely didn’t shy away from the attention. As I flipped through them, I saw similar features, albeit different color eyes. A patrician nose. Arrogant smile. His son, Danil, was handsome, much like his father, but there was something in his icy blue eyes and blank expression that set my teeth on edge.
There were barely any photos of Atticus with his children and his deceased wife, but there were many with models, actresses, and what I imagined were escorts.
I went back to the photograph of Danil and Nicki Popov—my half-siblings , something I was still reeling over —and as I studied them, I felt… nothing. Zip. Nada. Was that normal?
I closed my eyes while invisible cold fingers wrapped around my throat and cut off my breath. The world spun so fast I feared I was going to be sick and a tear escaped my closed lids, running down my cheek.
I couldn’t understand this reaction. Maybe the vault in which I buried a lot of my fears was finally failing. Or maybe I wasn’t as unaffected by the revelation of my newfound siblings as I tried to convince myself.
“That doesn’t change anything,” I muttered under my breath, although I didn’t think I was convincing even myself.
With a shake of my head, I returned to the open file on my laptop and double-clicked. The only way my brain could shut down all the what-if scenarios surrounding recent events was by losing myself to my writing.
I was hours into plotting my next novel when a sharp knock sounded at the door. I ignored it, waiting for one of the girls to answer as I furiously typed on my laptop, words flowing from my fingertips like never before. I was convinced it had everything to do with the man I’d spent the night with several weeks ago.
Another knock on the door and I let out an exasperated breath.
“The door,” I yelled. Nothing, all the girls still hiding in their rooms.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I sighed and sprung to my feet, placing my laptop on the sofa, then padded toward the front door as I muttered under my breath. “It’s like I’m living with?—”
I froze with the door half-opened, coming face-to-face with the man I thought I’d never see again but somehow couldn’t stop running into.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then opened them, hoping I was hallucinating. But there he was. Panic exploded inside my chest while those lips that were capable of doing downright sinful things curved into a smile.
“Athena,” he purred. “How lovely to see you.”
Shit. How did he find me?
When I finally found my voice, it came out in a whisper. “Wh-what… what are you doing here?”
“I came for you, amorina .”
I couldn’t decide whether I should laugh or cry.
“Well, I don’t want to see you,” I snapped, but before I could slam the door in his face, his foot blocked it. My eyes lowered to his expensive Oxfords before returning to his face.
“Now don’t be like that.” Fuck, his accent sent my core throbbing. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I mumbled, glancing over my shoulder, suddenly glad none of the girls had left their rooms. “You have to go.”
Manuel regarded me with his jaw pressed tight, the veins in his neck pulsing rapidly, and he shook his head.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he drawled, his dark eyes gleaming sinfully. Or was it furiously? I couldn’t tell.
“Yes, you are,” I gritted.
“No, I’m not, amorina. Now that I’ve finally found you again, I want a little repeat of our last encounter.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “You’re nuts. Hot as fuck, but crazy.”
“Crazy for something.” His voice was a perfect combination of rough and soft, so composed and accented that it melted the tension from me.
Until I remembered his visit to my mother only a few days ago. I moved to push the door closed again.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Just turn around and go or I’ll scream.”
A smile lifted his lips—plump, glorious, and so smug. He took another step and wrapped a hand around my waist.
“Nothing would make me happier. To hear you scream for me, just like the last time.”
Heat crawled to my cheeks. He pulled me into the hallway and my gaze flicked to him as we stood chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. My shorts and green tank top to his black Brioni suit.
If I was smart, I would have yelled out for my friends, but it would seem I was a glutton for punishment, because I remained silent as a church mouse.
“Are… are you stalking me?” I tried to twist free from his grip and step back.
I’d done research on Manuel Marchetti, learning of his connection to Enrico Marchetti and the Marchetti fashion house, but the speculations of the family’s involvement in the criminal underworld was what worried me. After the recent revelation about my heritage, I thought it best to keep my distance, but it would seem destiny had plans of its own, bringing Manuel Marchetti to my door.
“Not well enough,” he said, his eyes glittering like black diamonds.
We breathed each other’s air before he leaned in and ran his lips down my throat. His scruff tickled my soft skin as he trailed his mouth down my neck and past my collarbone. In the far corner of my mind, I heard a soft click of the door, but I was too far gone to realize he’d led me further down the hallway.
“Manuel, I…” He pressed his face into my breasts, and I sighed. “I only do one-night stands,” I lied.
I felt him smile against my skin. “Then why are you touching me like your life depends on it?”
He was right—my hands were running down his chest, around his back, while he palmed my ass. I didn’t stop. My body was acting of its own volition.
“It’s just—” I moaned as he cupped me between my legs and my body arched into his touch. My breasts tingled as he ran his tongue across my nipple over the fabric of my shirt. “It’s just physical.”
He ran a thumb across the goose bumps on my arm and chuckled. “You can lie to yourself, but not to me.”
His presence cornered me against the wall and his wide shoulders blocked the view of anyone who might potentially stumble upon us. But it was his cologne that was intoxicating, his dark gaze pulling me into oblivion.
I inhaled slowly. Released it.
I couldn’t fall under his spell. I had to keep my wits about me. “How did you find me?”
“You first,” he murmured, resting his thigh between my legs and grinning as my traitorous body ground against it. “Why did you leave my bed?”
Telling him the truth was out of the question.
“I told you,” I breathed, the feel of his leg beneath me making it difficult to form words. “I just wanted you for one night.”
The lie hung thick and heavy in the air.
“You and I both know that wasn’t the last of it.”
He braced a hand on the wall above me, crowding me. I couldn’t think like this.
“My turn,” I said, subtly pressing him away. “How did you find me?”
“I didn’t,” he said softly, his grin turning wolfish. “Turns out, your friend Isla is marrying my nephew. I’m here to fetch her friends.”
And then it clicked—Isla’s hot Italian daddy was Enrico Marchetti.
Oh. My. God.
This world was too fucking small.