Chapter 15 #2
“You should have come to me with your missing mole the second you became aware he was unresponsive,” I point out the obvious.
“I never minded you holding this one tight to the vest, but losing our intel source and the crowning of a new Pakhan who’s breathing down our neck and threatening our own…
that’s not the kind of shit I should find out on the fly. ”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” I down the rest of my coffee, feeling the jolt of caffeine finally powering up my blood. “Where’s Lucky? You heard from him today? He was supposed to be here for this morning’s meeting.”
I’ve been so caught up in all the unexpected Russian news that I forgot my youngest sibling is conspicuously absent.
Something else flashes over Scorpion’s face.
“What is it now?” I ask, dread tightening in my gut.
“He’s a little preoccupied at the moment.”
I pitch my empty coffee cup into the waste bin. “With what? Explain.”
Lucky oversees the more dangerous part of our family empire—the drugs. With the pressure the Feds are putting on supply lines these days, if Lucky is busy, it sounds like I could have another problem on my hands, above and beyond the Russians.
“You really want to know?” Scorpion asks.
I can tell it’s a loaded question. I probably don’t want to know, but I need to know.
“Tell me,” I command him.
“Apparently, Antonella Rossi has decided to grace us with her presence.”
Everything inside me freezes. Because I know that name, even if it’s one I never expected to hear again.
It belongs to our mother.
Isla
Life is weird, my book is riveting, and somehow, I still can’t concentrate.
I’m curled up on Alessio’s sleek leather couch under a cozy velvet throw.
It’s the same couch he sat on last night when he arrogantly—and correctly—stated that I want him.
But this time, he’s not here with his sexy self, his burning-hot ocean stare, and his tatted hands I so desperately long to feel working their magic on me again.
It’s dark, well past dinnertime, and I’m still alone in the apartment with Cid.
With the help of Vincenzo, one of the guards stationed at the door, I had dinner for one delivered, a spicy sack of Indian takeout with paneer and garlic naan that were both to die for.
I ate halfheartedly, despite the deliciousness, expecting Alessio to burst into the apartment at any second and disturb my hard-fought peace of the day.
I’ve been bored here alone, nothing but my e-reader, Cid, and a TV signed into Netflix to entertain me.
Turns out Alessio is a fan of true crime.
Who would have guessed, right? It felt wrong tuning into shows and messing up his algorithm.
I’m a historical fiction drama kind of girl myself, and I doubt he’d appreciate being shown my favorite version of Pride and Prejudice as a recommended option, even if he does get a lot of evil enjoyment out of calling me Jane Austen.
I tried to tidy up, but nothing was readily available that needed cleaning, and I was hesitant to go into any room that had a closed door. Especially not his bedroom. Too dangerous.
So, I did yoga. I surfed the internet. I sent Luna a few candid snaps of Cid in my lap only, careful to keep any suspicious background from the picture.
I also turned off the Live so she wouldn’t know we’d moved to a new location.
She hearted them all at once and responded with a kiss emoji about half an hour ago, which let me know that she’s way too busy honeymooning to suspect shit has hit the fan here.
Which is exactly how I want it. She’s enjoying herself, I haven’t had any clashes with creepy Russian mobsters today, Cid is safe, and Alessio is out doing whatever mobster things mobsters do.
I don’t want to know. I like staying on this side of the law, thank you very much.
And besides, the less of him I see, the better.
I nearly spontaneously combusted after the way he challenged me. Then I had to spend all night long tossing and turning, Cid hogging the bed, knowing Alessio was just a few doors down, probably sleeping naked in all his glorious, tattooed Mafia hotness.
What’s wrong with me? Am I ovulating? That has to be it. I’m not usually this controlled by my libido.
The door to the apartment clicks open, and I jolt out of my seat on the couch, instantly on guard.
Tentatively, I peek around the corner to see who is here, half afraid I’ll find a Russian mobster staring me down from the other end of a gun.
It’s not a Bratva kidnapper, but it’s arguably every bit as frightening.
Alessio is stalking toward me, and he looks furious.
He stops when he catches sight of me, some of the tension draining from his face. “Isla.”
He didn’t call me Jane in that flippant way that never fails to annoy me. I’ll take it as a victory, however small.
“Hey.” I feel suddenly awkward and nervous, greeting him in his own apartment. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. I was just hoping it wasn’t a Russian mobster at the door.”
He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “Different kind of mobster.”
For a heartbeat, I wonder what had his expression so strained when he first showed up, but then I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He’s not my problem to worry about.
“Right. Well, I’ll just get back to reading with Cid.”
“How was today?” he asks, taking me by surprise.
“It was fine. Uneventful.” I make a face at him. “I stayed inside like a good girl.”
The minute the words leave me, I realize they were a mistake.
I intended them to be sassy and sarcastic.
I didn’t mean for them to take on a sexual undertone, but they so clearly have.
Now they’re hanging between us. They’re the same words he said to me before, taunting me, but they have a new life after last night.
The air turns heavy and thick.
“Did you?”
He takes his phone out of his pocket, along with his keys and wallet, and lays them slowly on the marble kitchen counter. Then he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it over a stool. All the while, he never takes his eyes from mine.
Alessio tugs at his tie, loosening it.
And damn. New kink unlocked. The way his eyes devour me, the intensity, the energy rolling off him in palpable waves, is unbelievably hot. The contrast between his inked fingers and the bespoke business suit turns me on in a way that feels wrong but oh-so right.
“Yes,” I manage to say in a somewhat collected voice, which is a small miracle in itself.
I’m anything but collected right now.
He tugs harder and shrugs out of his suit jacket too, until he’s down to crisp white shirt sleeves that cling to his muscled biceps. “Did you eat dinner?”
He’s asking me more than whether I ate dinner. It’s like he’s slowly, methodically undressing in front of me. Daring me to say something. To stop him. But I’m hypnotized by his gaze, his every action, his deep voice.
“I did,” I confirm. “Did you?”
“No.”
He toes off his Italian leather loafers next, leaving them neatly lined up by the edge of the kitchen. He has a gorgeous closet with custom built-ins for all his shoes near the door. I know because I may have drooled over it when I arrived yesterday. But he’s not bothering with it now.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him.
He plucks out gold cuff links and plinks them onto the marble counter, one by one. “It’s been a day, and I’m in a mood.”
“I can see that.”
He cocks his head at me, his eyes searching. “Can you?”
I don’t know what he’s asking me. I mean, I think I know what he’s asking me. And I think I know my answer to his question. All my ability to resist Alessio Andriani is about to go right out the damn window.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
He bites his lower lip and saunters toward me slowly, bridging the gap between us.
My inner instincts for self-preservation scream at me to back up a few steps.
To retreat into the living room. To head back to my guest room and lock the door for the rest of the night.
Because nothing good can possibly come from what’s about to happen.
But I don’t move. I stay right where I am as he stops close enough to me that I can feel the heat emanating off him. His cologne hits me, and with it comes a tidal wave of desire.
“I’m not going to be good company tonight,” he says, his voice low with a combined threat and silken promise. “You should probably go to your room and lock the door until morning.”
I just had the same thought, but I’m not any more motivated to move at his warning than I was at the one I issued to myself.
I have to tilt my head back because he’s towering over me. “Or what?”
“You really want to know, tesoro?”
“Yeah, I do.”
His eyes glitter into mine, filled with danger and blatant, white-hot sex. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting me to ever since that night in St. Thomas.”
Pound, pound, pound goes my heart. Pulse, pulse, pulse goes my clit. I swear he can hear them both. That he knows everything racing through my mind. That with one touch from him, I’ll go up in flames.
I can barely breathe. Or think. Somehow, I summon words.
“I think we both know that would be a very bad idea.”
“It’s a terrible fucking idea,” he agrees, his head dipping toward mine. “Tell me no.”
I settle my hands on his hard chest like they have the right to be there.
I’m not pushing him away either. I’m caressing.
Absorbing his strength, remembering what it was like to touch him this way that night.
Before I found out who he was and everything fell apart and I had to tamp down all the pent-up lust roaring inside me.
“What if I don’t want to tell you no?” I ask, afraid of his answer.
Yet needing it more than anything.
“Then don’t say it.” His hands go to my hips, holding me gently, bringing me closer so that I can feel the rigid length of his cock straining against his slacks.
My panties are soaked, and he’s barely even touched me. I’m so done.