Chapter 12
TWELVE
DALLEN
I can barely swallow as we take our seats at the round table.
The chatter in the room swells around us while my pulse pounds, as if trying to punch its way out of my throat.
A woman—Lucien Morettis wife, I now realize—steps up to the podium at the front of the ballroom.
She smiles gracefully, welcoming everyone and preparing to kick off the charity auction.
But all I can feel is Stephen beside me.
Not touching me.
Not speaking.
Just…there.
He radiates heat, danger, and disappointment. The feeling prickles along my skin like static, making the hair on the back of my neck stand.
My mother sits ramrod straight to my left. My father is on her other side, tracking the room with the alertness of someone who never lowers his guard. He has probably arrested people less suspicious than Stephen.
“Stop looking at him like that,” my mother murmurs without turning her head.
“I’m not looking at anyone,” I lie. I was looking at Stephen and fighting the urge to reach for him, to touch him.
Damn my inability to not want the bad boy.
Her eyebrow twitches. “You’re transparent, dear. It’s unbecoming.”
I want to roll my eyes. I’m not transparent.
I doubt there’s anyone in the room who’s even noticing me sitting here.
I wasn’t immune to the lustful glances that Stephen and Lucien both received in this room.
There were more brothers—I’d read about them—and no doubt, too, they would turn heads. My mother’s concern was unfounded.
Stephen’s presence seems to strip away every defense I’ve relied on my entire life. I’m exposed. Shaken. Too aware of my own needs, warring against what I know is right—what I should do to protect myself and my family.
“So,” he finally speaks—quiet, smooth, sliding along my spine like silk and flame. Just a single word, but it has weight. Accusation perhaps? Certainly anger and disappointment are mixed within it. “Are you regretting me?”
My breath catches. I keep my eyes forward, pretending to listen to Briar Moretti discuss bid paddles and donation pledges.
“Regretting what?” I don’t want to answer.
I don’t want to admit that a small part of me does regret meeting him.
Not because of what we did. No, it’s because it’ll hurt to walk away.
It would be easier on the heart not to start anything.
What you don’t know can’t hurt you, and all that shit.
“You know what.” His voice is low enough for my parents to miss, but the tone is intimate. Too intimate. My cheeks burn.
I swallow. Even his voice makes me ache for him. All of him. “I’m not having this conversation here,” I whisper back.
“That sounds like a yes.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s not.”
“It feels like it.” He leans back in his chair, but his eyes never leave me. “You won’t look at me. You pulled away. You introduced me like I’m some guy you bumped into at Starbucks.”
“You know why,” I snap, keeping my voice low, controlled. “You could’ve warned me who you were.”
“You could’ve warned me who you were, too.” His knee bumps mine under the table—purposeful. “But you didn’t.”
The worst part? He’s right. I’ve evaded just as much as he has in mentioning my parents, but never telling him who they were or what my father’s occupation was. It seemed both of us were wrong on that score.
I suck in a breath, trying to gather the strands of my composure. That I liked Stephen, desired him too, made breaking off whatever we’d started all the harder. “My father hates everything your family represents.”
“We don’t represent that history any longer. Your father doesn’t know me well enough for him to judge.” His voice is calm, but the tension simmering under it is sharp enough to cut. “He hates my name. Big difference.”
“No,” I whisper. “There isn’t.”
He gives a quiet, humorless laugh. “You think I’m dangerous.”
Isn’t he? He certainly looks like a man I wouldn’t want to cross. “You are dangerous.”
“And you like it.”
I whip my head toward him. “Stop.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting. “Why? Because it’s true?”
My face burns hot enough to light the tablecloth on fire. I check to see if my parents have noticed our hushed conversation, and I’m relieved to see the auction has caught their attention—at least one of the paintings donated has. “This is not the time or place to discuss any of this.”
“It’s exactly the place.”
He shifts closer, barely an inch, but it feels like a gravitational pull I’m helpless against. His hand drifts to my knee under the table, warm and firm and familiar in a way that makes my stomach somersault.
I stiffen immediately. “Don’t.” My denial of him is more like a breathy plea, hardly a warning.
He starts a slow stroke up the inside of my thigh—a gentle, maddening pass of his thumb.
Nothing graphic, nothing overt, but enough to make my lungs seize.
I shove his hand off, quick and sharp. My mother glances at me, curious but polite enough not to ask.
My father doesn’t even turn; he’s too busy lifting the auction paddle to try to win a painting for my mother.
Stephen smiles like I’ve just confirmed some private theory he had about me. “You’re blushing,” he murmurs.
“Because you’re being impossible and trying to embarrass me.” Because I want you, and I’m furious with you at the same time. Why couldn’t you be connected to a typical Connecticut family instead of the mafia? We couldn’t be from more opposing backgrounds if we tried.
I don’t want boring and normal; I want him. His look, the darkness he exudes, is part of his charm and why I pursued him in the first place. I’m sick of being the good girl and he makes me want to be so very bad.
“I’m being honest.”
“You’re being reckless and an ass, and you know it.”
I meet his gaze. He shrugs. Gah, he’s maddening—and why does he have to look so irresistibly sharp in his suit tonight? I want to tear it off him. I want him in my bed. Enough with the car sex—I need all of him.
I close my eyes and fight to control myself. I’m supposed to be breaking it off with this man, not drooling over him.
“You didn’t seem to mind reckless the other night. I like it when you take control.”
My entire body floods with heat. It’s the memory—the grip of his hands on my hips, the soft, shocked sound that escaped my throat when he kissed me, when he thrust deep his very clever cock.
The way I let myself unravel in the front seat of his car like a woman who has no responsibilities or consequences.
“Stop,” I whisper, desperate. “Please.”
He watches me for a long moment. Something cold and wounded flickers across his face. “So you do regret us.”
“I…” My throat tightens. “Stephen, my father is the Chief of Police.”
“I noticed.” His response is dry and dripping with bitterness.
“I’m a lawyer. My whole life, my whole career, everything I’ve worked for—I can’t risk it for—”
“For a Moretti?” he finishes for me, voice flat.
“That’s not what I said.” I keep thinking, if I could just be certain the Morettis were truly clean—if their family ties to the underworld were really severed—maybe things would be different.
But I lost my brother to gang violence. My father serves as a cop.
How could I possibly let myself date a man whose life is still entangled in that world?
“It’s what you meant.”
I shake my head, panicked by how wrong that is—how much I don’t want it to be true. “Stephen—”
“No.” He leans in, jaw tight. “Say it straight. You think I’ll ruin your precious, perfect life. That because I didn’t have it as good as you did as a kid, I’m not worthy of you now.”
“I don’t know what to think.” My voice cracks.
I hate feeling so confused. “I don’t know if you’re still involved in your father’s world.
Or if any of the rumors online are true.
Stories link your brother Lucien to Matteo Romero’s death.
How do I reconcile that when I barely know you?
” I pause, reaching for my wine and taking a sip.
“Right now, I’m not sure if I like you or if I’m letting lust push me to make stupid decisions. ”
His hand clamps around mine under the table—not hard, just enough to stop the shaking I didn’t realize had started.
“You’re not stupid.” His voice is steel-wrapped velvet. “Of course, I protect my family, as anyone does, but I won’t allow anyone to use me either. Not even you.”
“I’m not using you.” At least I don’t think I have been up until tonight. That isn’t who I am, nor who I want to be.
“No? Then what is this?” He nods subtly toward my parents. “You act like you don’t know me. Like what happened between us was some accident you want to pretend never happened.”
I swallow hard. I knew there had been a possibility that Stephen would be here this evening, but the sight of him had thrown me completely off balance.
I would have loved nothing more than to proudly introduce him to my parents, but after my mother met him, her opinion had been set, and my father’s soon after.
I had hoped he’d ignore my presence, saving me from having to distance myself in front of my family, if only to save them the worry, but in turn, and by doing so, I’d hurt Stephen.
“I don’t want to pretend. I just—Stephen, I’m trying to protect myself and my family just as you do.”
“From me.”
“From everything,” I whisper. “From what this could do to my family, to my job, to my reputation—”
“And what about what it does to you?” he asks quietly. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”
“Stephen—” It’s pointless arguing. I do look at him. I want him every second of every hour, and that no doubt was conveyed on my face. Hell, even my mother noticed this evening…
“The way you fall apart when I kiss you. That has to be worth fighting for.”
I feel like the air has been vacuumed out of the room. Beside me, my mother lifts her wineglass, oblivious. “You’re being cruel,” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “I’m being fair. I’m asking you to own it. Own what you want.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. Not because he’s wrong. But because he’s too close to being right. I pull my hand out of his slowly and sit up straighter. “This isn’t a fair conversation.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
“Not like this.” My voice shakes. “Not with my parents right here. Not with everything at stake. You can’t corner me like this.” I wanted out of the conversation and, at this point, I’d say anything for it to end—for us to just sit quietly and ignore everything that sits between us.
He watches me, eyes dark and unreadable. “Then tell me not to try.”
I stare at him. I can’t say that. I need to—I know I do—but to form those words…impossible.
Something shifts between us. Something heavy and inevitable. Briar’s voice rings out over the speakers as another auction item appears on the screen, but I hear none of it. Not a word. I’m too busy drowning in the look Stephen gives me—hungry, angry, wounded, determined.
I can’t sit here another second.
“I need air,” I murmur abruptly, pushing my chair back and fleeing as if the hounds of hell are on my heels.
My mother glances over, surprised. “Are you all right, darling? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
Stephen rises with me instantly, ignoring my silent plea for him to stay seated.
“Where are you going?” my father asks, suspicion slicing into his voice.
“Restroom,” I say, not wanting my father to follow me—not if Stephen seems determined to also.
Stephen adds, “I’ll show you where they are.”
My father’s jaw clenches, but he can’t object without causing a scene—and my family never causes scenes.
I turn sharply, not trusting myself to breathe if I stay another second. “Fine,” I hiss.
Stephen follows, his steps unhurried, confident. Infuriating.
When we’re far enough from the dining room, I grab his hand—not because I want to, but because if I don’t drag him, he’ll take his merry time on purpose. His palm is warm, solid, too familiar.
We step out of the room and into a long, softly lit hallway, lined with framed posters of past charity events. The door closes behind us with a soft thud.
Silence.
Heavy.
Loaded.
I drop his hand immediately and whirl toward him. “What was that? Back there?”
He watches me with a slow, predatory calm that makes my pulse trip. Damn him for making me want him without even trying. I don’t know what pull he has over me, but this can’t end well.
“Me trying to figure out if you’re running from yourself or from me.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it. We hardly suit; our families couldn’t be more opposite. If we end it now, no one gets hurt.”
“So we’re pleasing everyone else but ourselves,” he counters, voice low. “Sounds pretty shit to me.”
“No, it’s for the best.” I know I’m trying to convince myself, but all I want is him. The war within me is nothing I’ve ever known, nor do I know how to navigate my conflicted thoughts.
“Maybe it is.” He steps closer. “Or maybe I’m just not letting our families decide what happens between us.”
“Stephen—”
He stops right in front of me. Too close. Too much. “I’m not walking away from you,” he says quietly. “Even if you think you should walk away from me.”
I inhale sharply, my chest tight with panic and longing. I don’t know how to separate. “Stephen…” My voice trembles. “Don’t do this.”
He sinks slowly—deliberately—down onto his knees.
Right here.
In front of me.
In the quiet, empty hall.
My breath shatters, and the world tilts. “Get up,” I order.
He shakes his head. “No.”