Chapter 7
ISLA
The sound of clinking glasses rings through the reception area. I obligingly pick up my fork and give my untouched wineglass a few taps. Good sports, Luna and Priest share another lingering kiss, smiling at each other from the sweetheart table they occupy.
They’re absolutely adorable. I don’t think Priest has stopped looking at Luna like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen all day.
And Luna gazes back at him the same way.
I’m over the moon for them. Everything has gone smoothly, from the photo session to the announcements of the bridal party, to the delicious, decadent dinner.
But I can’t relax.
Not only have I hooked up with a man who’s in the Mafia, I’ve also pissed him off. Alessio has been watching me throughout the dinner. He’s seated opposite me at the round table the wedding party’s been assigned. I felt his ocean-blue eyes off and on, like a brand burning hot into my skin.
To compensate, I’ve been chattering with Carina and Francesca and avoiding looking at him.
That dangerous aura he wears like an expensive cologne?
It makes sense now. Priest may seem like a puppy dog happy to follow at Luna’s heels and worship the ground she walks on, but the truth is that he’s also a dangerous man.
He’s a Mafia don, for fuck’s sake. And Alessio is a part of that nebulous world.
The reminder of the quiet menace in his voice earlier sends a chill down my spine as I set my fork back on the immaculate tablecloth.
“So, Luna tells us you’re a creative writing professor,” Francesca is saying to me, diverting my attention back to where it belongs—which is anywhere that’s not in a certain sexy mobster’s direction.
Even if my former position isn’t exactly what I want to talk about.
I force a polite smile. “I am, yes.”
Or at least, I was, until I quit. But I will be again.
I just need to gather my bearings and decide where I want to move next.
In a way, it’s freeing, knowing that the future is a blank slate.
I’m no longer tied down to Christian, who wanted to stay in the Midwest because that’s where his family is.
“Creative writing, like books?” Carina asks, cutting her filet mignon.
“Not novels exactly. More like poetry and short prose.”
“Do you write yourself?” Francesca asks me.
“I do. I’m not a poet like Luna. I prefer longer fiction.”
“Nice. Do you have anything published that we can read?”
Lucky snorts before I can answer. “As if you read, Carina.”
She glares at her cousin. “I read all the time, which is more than I can say for you. The only thing you read these days is the bar menu at clubs.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize your smut books counted.” He grins, unrepentant.
Carina is equally unashamed as she shrugs. “Hey, I love smut. Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“Romance is the top-selling fiction genre,” I point out in defense of my favorite type of book.
As part of academia, I’m not technically supposed to enjoy commercial fiction.
But the truth is, there’s nothing I love more than indulging in a delicious historical romance.
There’s something about dukes and rogues that I can’t get enough of, but I’m not about to announce my guilty pleasure to the whole table with Alessio listening.
And judging.
“Throbbing members and billionaires,” he quips, as if on cue.
I turn to him. “It’s actually about so much more than that.”
His eyes drop to my lips. “Selling the false promise of happily ever after.”
“Why is a happily ever after a false promise?” I demand, trying to ignore the incredibly annoying attraction I have for this man.
He does have a point, though. Happily ever after has been a false promise for me so far.
A few years ago, I lost my entire family in the span of less than a minute.
Their plane went down, and that was it. Then the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with cheated on me with his student.
But look at Luna. She’s a shining example of what real love and happiness can look like.
It’s out there. I have to believe it, and that’s what I adore about turning the pages of a romance.
I know what I’m going to get. Sure, it may be hell to get there, but by the end, I’m sighing and content and so are the main characters.
“Because most people aren’t happy,” Alessio drawls.
I wonder if he’s talking about himself.
And then I tell myself it doesn’t matter who he’s talking about. Nothing he does or says matters. He’s not my hot bartender. He’s not an investor. He’s part of a criminal empire.
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Speak for yourself.”
“Have you two met before today?” Francesca asks, looking from me to Alessio and then back again.
“No,” I snap.
“You could say so,” he says at the same time.
I shoot him a glare.
He gazes back at me, smug, arrogant, and infuriatingly handsome.
“We don’t know each other,” I say firmly, glancing back at Francesca.
That much is true. Alessio and I don’t know each other. We hooked up. I had no idea who he was, or I never would have invited him back to my room. I’d have run screaming in the opposite direction. I have enough on my plate without adding a mobster boyfriend to it.
Not that he’d want to be my boyfriend.
Or that I would want him to.
“She certainly seems to think she knows me,” Alessio says, his voice cold.
I could have held my tongue earlier. I should have held my tongue. But I was still in shock over seeing him and realizing who he was. I’d been angry with myself and with him, and I’d blurted the first thing that came to my mind.
I avoid looking at him and turn back to my food, pretending like he didn’t say anything at all.
An awkward silence descends on the table, and I know it’s my fault but I also don’t have a clue what to say next.
I’m seated at a table with three mobsters and two women who are in the Mafia world, and I’m at my bestie’s wedding reception.
I don’t want to do so much as blink wrong.
Scorpion starts clinking his wineglass.
Yes, his name is Scorpion. I don’t know what his real name is. These guys seem to all have nicknames. Alessio’s is Saint. I don’t want to ask how these names came to be. Especially not Priest’s, whose real name was revealed in the ceremony—Matteo.
The whole table takes up their forks and joins in, so I do too, looking to the bridal table, relieved by the distraction. Luna and Priest laugh and then kiss again. I get out my iPhone and snap a series of pictures that I’ll send to Luna later.
Dinner is finishing up, and servers start making the rounds to whisk away emptied plates.
I decide to head to the restroom to escape the tension at the table before the happy couple cuts the cake.
Tucking my phone into the little blue clutch I bought to match my dress, I stand up and excuse myself from Francesca and Carina.
There’s still a bit of sand stuck to my feet, rubbing my soles as my strappy sandals move over the polished marble floor.
The second I’m out of the reception venue, I take a deep breath.
I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to find myself seated at the same table as Alessio for dinner, his eyes burning intensely into me.
The ladies’ room is empty, so I stop at the mirror to fix my lip gloss.
A few seconds later, the door opens, and a six-foot-two wall of tatted Mafia muscle steps in, closing it behind him and locking it. Alessio’s gaze meets mine in the mirror.
“You’re in the wrong room,” I tell him coldly.
He shakes his head, stalking toward me slowly. “No, I’m not.”
This is a whole different Alessio than the man who sweetly charmed me over dinner the other night. He’s dark. He’s dangerous. He’s forbidden.
He’s so sexy, it ought to be illegal.
I close my lip gloss, staring at him in the mirror, refusing to back down.
“What do you want?”
“I want to make sure we’re clear about a few things.”
“I’m clear on everything.”
He gives me a faint smile, looming over me from behind. “I’m not so sure about that, Jane Austen.”
I drop my lip gloss into my clutch and snap it shut. “Look, what happened was a mistake.”
“Damn right it was,” he snarls.
I don’t like how quickly he responds, but my pussy doesn’t care. His proximity, the heat from him, and the divine scent of his cologne are ruining my panties. I’m embarrassingly wet.
“If I had any idea who you were, I never would have hooked up with you,” I continue like he didn’t say anything.
“You’re the last woman on earth I would have fucked.”
I blow out a breath. “Gee, thanks. The feeling’s mutual, mobster. We’re in agreement. So if that’s it, I’d like to get back to the reception before Luna and your brother cut the cake.”
“Not yet.” He plants his tattooed hands on the white-and-gray marble counter on either side of me, caging me in.
The action makes every hard inch of his body press against me from behind. And I do mean hard. Alessio is as turned on as I am. Which is all kinds of fucked up, because we can’t act on the lust we obviously haven’t gotten out of our systems yet.
My heart pounds and my pussy clenches. “What do you want?”
He leans in, his lips almost grazing my ear as he speaks. “You on your knees would be a good start.”
Goose bumps break out on my forearms. It takes all the self-control I have not to grind into his massive cock. Somehow, I manage to keep my face expressionless, my voice cool. Ice princess is a whole vibe for me right now.
“Not happening. Now that I know who you really are, I wouldn’t touch your dick even if you offered me a million bucks.”
“I think we both know I wouldn’t have to offer you a fucking nickel.”
I glare at him in the mirror. “Hope springs eternal.”
“What I want more than you on your knees is to be on the same page. You don’t tell Luna about what happened. I won’t tell Priest. No one ever needs to know but the two of us, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”
“Trust me, the last thing I want is for anyone to find out. It was a huge mistake, one that won’t be repeated.”
“Good. Glad we agree, Jane. When we’re back in the States, I doubt I’ll ever see you again, but I don’t need this to cause any problems between my brother and me. You understand?”
The lethal menace is back, underscoring his silken words.
I shouldn’t want to tangle with Alessio, and yet, I do.
“I don’t see why what happened would matter to anyone else.”
“Priest is protective when it comes to what’s his.
If Luna finds out and it upsets her in any way, there will be hell to pay, and I’ve got much more important things to do than worry about a one-night stand making trouble.
” He nuzzles my temple, and the gesture is so strangely tender, so at odds with his ice-cold demeanor and the threat lurking in his voice that it throws me off guard. “Nice bruise, by the way.”
He’s talking about the hickey he gave me.
The makeup definitely didn’t do the job.
“Thanks.” I toss back my head, and I don’t know why I say what I say next. “Maybe I’ll get a matching one tonight from someone else.”
For a few beats, he says nothing. I can feel his hot breath on my neck. I remember what it felt like, the nip of his teeth, the suction of his mouth, as his cock was deep inside me. I came harder than I ever have.
“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, and then he lifts a hand, gently trailing the backs of his fingers over the hidden bruise. “I guess you could, if you don’t mind being disappointed.”
The balls on this man.
“I’m sure I’ll find the will to persevere.”
“Do whatever you want. Just keep this shit—” he lightly taps my throat with the tip of one tatted forefinger “—to yourself like a good girl. Because if you don’t, you’re not going to like the consequences.”
Something is seriously wrong with me, because hearing Alessio say good girl is enough to make my clit throb.
“What consequences?” I demand.
Yeah, I guess I have a death wish.
He meets my gaze in the mirror. “I’ll make sure you can’t make any trouble for me ever again.”
My God. He’s threatening to end me. To my face.
I choke out a laugh that’s almost hysterical. “If you think my telling Luna about an accidental hookup with you is going to stir shit between you and Priest, but killing me won’t, you don’t know her at all.”
“Who said anything about offing you, Jane?” He tsks. “Do all writing professors have such wild imaginations, or is it just you?”
Before I can answer, he straightens and steps away.
I’m so shaken by his presence, the raw, animal magnetism he exudes like a pheromone, that I barely register the fact that he’s either insinuating he’ll torture me, or he’s flat-out telling me he’ll have me killed.
I can’t tell if he’s bluffing or if he’s serious, but I don’t want to find out the answer.
Also, he called me by the wrong name.
Again.
I glare at the psycho, sexy bastard as he stalks toward the door. His trousers hug his tight ass to perfection.
He stops, and to my abject mortification, looks over his shoulder and catches me eye-fucking him.
Alessio gives me a cocky grin. “Oh and, sweetheart? Sorry for ruining you for every other dick.”
Then he flicks open the lock and breezes out the door like the Mafia sex god he is.
Damn him.