Chapter 7
SEVEN
STEPHEN
I sit in my car and wait. I have no driver today, having been down in this part of New York for a real estate business meeting, and I thought I’d look in and see if Dallen happened to come and go from her building.
I’ve been here for an hour already. Not that I’ll tell her that—I’m not a stalker…
yet—but I want to see her again. Already, the blood in my veins pumps fast at the thought of having her sweetness in my arms again.
These thoughts went against everything I am, what I was raised to be.
Lucien fought hard to keep us younger siblings out of the life our father lived, but the old man always found a way.
I’d seen things that Lucien didn’t even know of, and I hope never learned about.
I had been my father’s right-hand kid, not man, kid far too often to count.
I frown, hating the memory of what I did.
Of what I’m capable of. When Lucien had killed Matteo Romero, that old surge of hate, of fury had risen within me, and had he asked—had he not been able to rid the world of that disease—I certainly would have. No questions asked. No hesitation.
I hoped that now my father’s ruthlessness only came out in me through business deals. I rarely relented if I wanted something and always got what I wanted in the end. That aggression was the same when it came to women. I always got what I wanted.
Dallen would be no different. I convince myself I want her because I always get what I want, but with her there's a nagging worry—maybe it's more than just wanting. Maybe it's about needing someone to see past what I am.
I see her. Finally. She’s wearing black trousers and a white silk shirt.
She has a bouquet of flowers in her arms. What ass bought her those?
I look around, knowing I didn’t bring anything for her.
I should have. Rookie mistake. She stops walking and looks down at her phone, and smiles at whatever notification she received.
Maybe she was seeing someone? She didn’t mention anyone when I was fucking her in my car.
When she was coming down hard on my cock and driving me insane.
I check my mirrors, step out, and block her path. She doesn’t see me—walks straight into me. A soft “oomph” escapes her lips. She looks up, recognizes me, and the pleasure on her face gives me hope. I glance at the flowers before meeting her eyes.
“Hello, Dallen.” I soak in her presence. She’s even prettier up close in daylight. I want to pull her to me, breathe her in—fruit and summer, tropical. I don’t know why I crave her, it’s not normal for me.
“Stephen.” Her words are breathless, as if the sight of me leaves her stunned, excited. I hope it does.
“I didn’t think to see you again.” A blush steals over her cheeks, and I know she’s remembering our time in the car and what we did. What I want to do to her again.
“Are you free? I want to take you out for dinner if you’re available?”
She looks around, hesitating. Maybe she doesn't want to go out. I could eat her instead if she prefers. “Only if you want to. No pressure. We did meet—and get to know each other—fast, but it was…satisfying and strange.”
Her laugh and genuine smile give me hope. “I don’t have any plans tonight, so of course I’d love to. But I have to go upstairs first and drop off my flowers.” She hesitates. “Would you like to come up?”
“Sure.” I look up at the building, one of the oldest in New York, renovated into apartments and sold off to individuals.
Only those with money lived in them, and although it was several stories high, it was one of the most- sought-after apartment blocks in NY since it allowed each apartment holder private access to the park across the road.
I’d been trying to purchase into the building for years without success.
“Have you lived here long? This building is one I’ve often admired. ”
The building rises from the street like a relic, carved stone and quiet grandeur, as if Manhattan grew up around it. Its facade shows old money—arched sandstone-framed windows, aged wrought-iron balconies, and a broad entrance crowned by an elegant portico. Time has refined it, not diminished it.
She enters her pin and the door unlocks before we enter the foyer, and she presses the elevator button. “A while. This was my mother’s flat before she married my father, but it’s mine now.” She shrugs. “Lucky, I guess.”
I follow Dallen into the elevators, surprised to find the doors open into a private foyer when we reach her floor.
Heavy doors greet us that look like they’ve been opened and closed a thousand times before.
The building has the same bones as mine—solid, old, unapologetic.
None of that glass-and-steel nonsense that makes every apartment feel like a hotel suite you’re only meant to stay in temporarily.
Her place opens into a feeling of warmth.
Dark wood floors stretch out beneath my feet, worn just enough to tell a story.
A plush lounge sits opposite a low table layered with books and throw rugs in muted colors, the kind that invite you to sit, sink, stay awhile.
Framed paintings line the walls—landscapes, abstracts, something that looks like it might’ve been done by a family member rather than a gallery. It feels lived in. Loved.
“This is me,” Dallen says, slipping off her shoes.
Before I can respond, a blur of fur launches itself from the back of the sofa.
“Well, hello,” I mutter as a black cat trots over like it owns the place.
“This is Puss Puss,” Dallen says fondly. She drops to her knees without hesitation, kisses the top of her cat’s head, and scratches behind her ears. “She thinks she’s in charge.”
Puss Puss blinks at me, unimpressed.
“Fair,” I say.
Dallen laughs, rising. “I’m just going to change. Make yourself comfortable.”
She disappears down the hall, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and something else—home.
I watch her walk away, wanting her more with every second I’m in her presence.
I shouldn’t want her as much as I do. She’s sweet and seems far too intelligent to date a Moretti, but still, I can’t shift my feet to leave.
To let her go and not take a chance on a man who could possibly never give her the safety she deserves.
Not with our history and enemies. There was always a risk.
I wander into the lounge, hands in my pockets, taking in the space slowly.
A bookshelf filled with dog-eared novels and framed photos catches my attention.
Her family. Smiling faces. Holiday snapshots.
A younger Dallen and an older boy between two people I assume are her parents, her grin wide and unguarded.
There’s love there. Stability. The kind of roots I’ve never had.
I’m studying a beach photo of her when footsteps sound. I turn, taking a steadying breath.
Dallen stands, transformed yet still herself. A soft floral dress flatters her; a light jacket over her shoulders adds elegance. Hair, loose and framing her face, makes my chest tighten. Flat shoes—sensible. Perfect.
She shifts, suddenly shy under my stare. “Too much or not enough?”
I cross the distance between us in two strides, stopping just short of touching her. “No,” I say quietly. “You look…beautiful.”
Color blooms in her cheeks, her smile slow and genuine. “Ready for dinner?” she asks.
I nod, offering my arm. “Very.”
We head back out together, the door closing softly behind us, and for the first time in a long while, I find myself looking forward to what comes next.
The restaurant Delizioso is the kind of place that makes you feel like you should lower your voice the second you step inside—but as the owner, I know it’s the perfect location for a first date.
I have my own table, always available, no matter when I turn up.
Dark wood. White tablecloths. Low, golden light that catches on the rim of wine glasses and turns everything a little softer.
The host greets me by name, which is always a convenient perk of being one of the bosses.
The soft clatter of cutlery blends with low conversation. Dallen walks in beside me, and I keep my hand at the small of her back as we’re led through the dining room. I take in who’s dining already, not seeing anyone of interest or anyone who shouldn’t be here.
“Is it terrible that I’m impressed?” she murmurs, looking about, pleasure on her features as she takes in the restaurant. “I’ve wanted to eat here for some time, but the place is booked out like a year in advance.”
I glance at her, amused. “I aim to please.”
“Clearly,” she says, like it’s the most obvious statement in the world.
A smile tugs at my mouth. “You don’t know me well enough to be impressed yet.”
Her eyes flick up at me, daring. “I know enough.”
That hits lower than it should. Does she mean from our one-night stand, or has she tried to find more about me?
I didn’t give her my surname. A Google search for the Moretti name yields far too much information for any potential partner to absorb after a first meeting.
My family needed to be introduced gradually, over time… not right away.
We sit. A waiter glides over like he’s got a stick along his spine and sets water down, offers the menu, and goes through the suggestions for this evening’s meals before giving us some privacy to decide.
Dallen opens her menu, brows lifting as she reads what’s available. “Okay, I officially feel like I should’ve worn something fancier.”
“You look perfect,” I say without thinking.
And she does—good enough for this restaurant or any other.
I drink in the sight of her, wanting her with a need that’s foreign to me.
I ache to kiss her, to lean across the small distance that separates us and merely kiss her sweet lips.
The thought sweeps through me, and I don’t know who the fuck I am when I’m around her.