Chapter 9 Liana
I stare at my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the send button as I consider the message I've typed.
Me: We need to talk.
It's been twelve hours since that kiss in the parking lot.
Twelve hours of lying in bed, replaying every detail.
The heat of his mouth against mine. The way his hands felt on my skin, firm and possessive.
How I kissed him back like I'd been starving for it, like I'd forgotten every single reason why this was supposed to be fake.
One kiss. That's all it was. But that one kiss is threatening to derail everything I've worked for.
I hit send before I can overthink it and watch the message deliver. His response comes immediately, as if he'd been waiting: When?
I take a breath and type back: Me: Today. Your choice where.
Santino: My office. Social club. 2pm.
Me: Perfect! Can't wait!!!
I add three exclamation points because I know they annoy him. It's the little things that count in psychological warfare.
"You're up early." Gia's voice comes from my doorway, and I look up to see her already dressed for the day, leaning against the frame. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Not really." I set down my phone and pull my knees to my chest. "I'm escalating the plan."
"Escalating how?" There's wariness in her voice now.
"I'm going to push my way into every part of his life.
" The plan is already forming in my mind, clear and calculated.
"His house. His crew. His work. Everything.
I'm going to be so invasive, so clingy, so absolutely everywhere that he'll desperately want space. He'll have no choice but to walk away."
Gia frowns, concern etching lines on her forehead. "That's risky, Liana. What if it backfires?"
"It won't. It can't." I stand and head for my closet, already mentally cataloging what I need to wear. "The kiss was..." I trail off, unable to find the right words for what that kiss made me feel. "It doesn't matter. I need to speed this up before things get more complicated."
"What if he likes you being involved?" Gia asks quietly. "What if instead of pushing him away, you're pulling him closer?"
"He won't. Men like Santino want their space. Their territory. They want women who stay in their designated boxes and don't ask questions." I pull out a sundress, something casual but pretty. "I'm going to invade all of it, starting today."
Later, I arrive at the address he gave me. It's an old building, near the port, with weathered stone walls and narrow windows. Nondescript from the outside, which makes perfect sense. You don't advertise where you conduct illegal business to anyone passing by.
Two men stand outside the entrance, both built like walls. They straighten when they see me approach, hands moving reflexively toward their jackets.
"Liana Costa," I say with a bright smile. "Santino's expecting me."
One of them speaks into a radio while the other keeps his eyes on me. After a moment, the door clicks open with an electronic buzz.
Inside, the space is nicer than I expected. Rich leather furniture sits arranged around dark wood tables. The smell of espresso and cigarettes hangs in the air. Very masculine, very Italian mafia. The kind of place where deals are made and lives are negotiated.
Santino appears from a back hallway, and my breath catches despite myself. He's in a suit with no tie, the top button of his white shirt undone, looking every inch the underboss. His eyes scan my face like he's trying to read something there, searching for answers to questions he hasn't asked yet.
"Liana." His voice is controlled, careful. "You came."
"Of course." I keep my tone light, innocent.
He gestures down the hallway with one hand. "Come on. We can talk in my office."
I follow him through the building, acutely aware of eyes watching us from the main room. His crew, probably. Judging. Wondering what their boss is doing with a woman who jumped out of his moving car last night. I can feel their stares burning into my back as we walk.
His office is exactly what I expected, large mahogany desk, expensive leather chair, shelves lined with books that look actually read rather than decorative.
There's a gun on the desk, sitting there casual as a paperweight.
Like it's just another office supply. I make note of it but say nothing. Not yet.
"So." He closes the door behind us with a soft click. "You wanted to talk."
"I did." I sit in the chair across from his desk, crossing my legs and arranging my dress carefully. "About last night."
Something flickers in his eyes—heat, maybe, or memory. "You mean the kiss."
"What? No." I wave my hand dismissively, as if the kiss that kept me awake all night meant nothing. "The car thing. That got out of hand. I shouldn't have jumped out like that. It was too dramatic."
His expression shifts to confusion, his brows drawing together. "You want to talk about jumping out of the car."
"Yes. It was dramatic. Unnecessary." I pause, letting a beat of silence sit between us. "But you were driving like you were trying to kill us both."
"I wasn't—" He stops himself. Takes a visible breath to compose himself. "Fine. I was driving too fast. I'm sorry."
An apology. I wasn't expecting that. It throws me off balance for a moment.
"Oh, well. Good." I shift in my seat, recalibrating. "But that's not really why I wanted to meet."
"Then why did you want to talk?" He leans against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
Here goes nothing.
"I want to meet your crew." I say it casually, like it's the most reasonable request in the world.
"The men you work with. If we're getting married, I should know them, right?
And I want to see your house. Maybe come to one of your poker games.
" I lean forward slightly, injecting enthusiasm into my voice.
"I want to be part of your life, Santo. All of it. "
He blinks once. Then twice. Like he's processing words in a foreign language. "You want to meet my crew?"
"Yes. And see where you live. Where you work." I gesture around the office with an appreciative look. "This place is nice, by the way. Very you."
"Very me," he repeats flatly.
"Dark. Masculine. Intimidating." I stand and walk to his bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines. "Do you actually read them?" I pull one out—The Art of War. "Classic choice. A bit predictable, though."
He's watching me with an alarmed expression. I can practically see the gears turning in his head.
"Why?" he asks finally.
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to meet my crew? See my house? This isn't normal, Liana."
Because I want them to think I'm insane so they'll convince you to dump me. But I can't say that.
"Because I care about you," I lie smoothly, meeting his eyes with what I hope looks like sincerity. "And I want to know the people who are important to you. The places where you spend your time. Is that so strange?"
"A little." He doesn't move from his position against the desk.
"Well, I'm a little strange." I smile, playing the role. "You're figuring that out."
He doesn't smile back. "My crew isn't used to having women around during business. It's not appropriate."
"I won't interrupt business. I'll just observe. Get to know them." I pause, setting the perfect trap. "Unless you don't want me to? Unless you're embarrassed of me?"
It's perfect psychology. If he says no, he looks ashamed. If he says yes, I win.
A muscle twitches in his neck. "I'm not embarrassed of you."
"Then what's the problem?"
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I can see him calculating, weighing options, trying to find a way out of the corner I've backed him into.
"Fine. You can meet them. They're here now, in the main room."
"Perfect!" I inject enthusiasm into my voice, perhaps a bit too much. "Let's go!"
"Liana, wait—" He stands, moving to block my path. "There are rules. Don't ask about specific operations. Don't touch anything. And definitely don't—"
But I'm already opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. I hear him curse behind me.
The main room now has four men in it, and I recognize them from the engagement ceremony.
Bruno, his right-hand man with the sharp eyes.
Paulie, the one who's always smirking like he knows something you don't. Tommy, built like he could break someone in half without breaking a sweat.
And Sal, the older one with calculating eyes that have probably seen everything.
They all look up when I enter, conversation stopping mid-sentence.
"Hello!" I wave enthusiastically, channeling every ounce of overeager bride-to-be I can muster. "I'm Liana! We met briefly at the ceremony, but I wanted to properly introduce myself since we're going to be family soon!"
Santino appears behind me. "Gentlemen. You remember Liana."
"Of course." Bruno stands first, ever the professional, and extends his hand. "Good to see you again."
I shake it firmly. "You're Bruno, right? Santino's right-hand man?"
"That's right."
"How long have you two known each other?" I ask, keeping my voice bright and interested.
"Since we were teenagers. Grew up in the same neighborhood."
"That's so sweet! Like brothers." I turn to Paulie before Bruno can respond. "And you're Paulie! I remember you from the party."
"Yeah." He's grinning, clearly entertained. "Nice to see you again."
"Do you have a last name, or is it just Paulie? Like a rock star?"
The grin falters slightly, replaced by confusion. "Paulie Romano."
"Romano! Are you from Genoa originally?" I'm firing questions like bullets now.
"Naples."
"Oh, I love Naples! The pizza is incredible. Do you miss it? Do you get back often? Does Santino give you enough vacation time to visit family? What's the vacation policy here anyway?"
"Liana—" Santino starts, his voice carrying a warning.