28. In Too Deep
In Too Deep
“Your papi will come around. As long as you do.” Santino cut into the delicate scallop, lifted it to his mouth, and closed his eyes, savouring the first taste. He shook his head slightly. “So fucking good.”
“As long as I do?”
He pointed his knife at the divorce papers on the table. “Keep them if it makes you feel better, but give this marriage a chance first. Stay in this with me. Listen to your heart and your needs. Ignore everyone else’s opinions. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“How can I do that when you are at war with my father?”
He took another bite of the scallops, and I tracked the masculine grind of his jaw as he chewed, and the way his tongue darted over his full bottom lip afterward. How the hell did he make eating scallops a sensual experience? Why the hell did I find everything he did so attractive?
It was getting harder and harder to fight this constant yearning that burned, itched, and gnawed at me every second of the day.
If I listened to my needs, I’d be crawling over the table and riding him in front of the entire restaurant.
But as long as my father remained his target, I couldn’t fully trust this man. I needed to know what he planned to do.
He paused, assessing my serious tone and expression.
He set down his knife and fork and gave me his full attention.
“I want you to trust me, Aria. I’m not using you against your father.
I hope tonight proved that. I’ll admit, when I first found out you were his daughter, I thought I might do both: be with you and force Piero to drop his hate campaign.
But when it came down to it, I chose you. ”
When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was being genuine. But if he had any intention of harming my father, I wouldn’t give in to him, no matter how much I wanted to.
“If you want me to give this marriage a chance, I need to know what your plans are for my papi. Will you hurt him? Frame him for something? Ruin his career? What?”
I discreetly fumbled in my bag on my lap, hitting the record button on my phone.
My stomach tightened, and my hands shook as I stared at his face, torn between following Callum’s advice and my own feelings.
But this wasn’t for Callum. It was for me.
For my father. Security, in case I ever needed it.
He sighed, leaned back, and placed his hands on the table, holding my gaze.
“Honestly, your father isn’t my target anymore.
I believe he’s being blackmailed or being used to target me.
No one would declare war on me and think it’s a good idea.
Piero is a face to hide behind. I intend to find out who’s hiding and what they’re holding over him. ”
I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “Santino, do you realise you are actually a criminal? That my father is the Mayor of Rome and wants to help reduce the city’s crime rates and make it a safer place? What makes you think he isn’t doing that because it’s his job?”
He chuckled. “I’m well aware of who I am.
And because of who I am, I know how many players in this city can be bought for the right price.
I own them. They work for me and with me, and in return I give them what they want.
We protect each other, whether it’s money or power.
You just have to know their price. How do you think the most successful mayors and politicians rise to their positions so quickly?
With the backing of someone like me. I’ve offered your father support in the past, and he’s refused, which means he already had someone backing him.
And there is only one other influential man in this city who refuses to touch anything with the name Buccini tied to it. ”
“Callum,” I answered. I already knew he was a major supporter of my father’s campaign.
That wasn’t a secret. It was common knowledge.
“What makes you think his support has any malice behind it? They have a business partnership. Callum supports the campaign financially, and my father supports his development projects in the city. They both want to take you down for the same reasons. You harm Rome and its people.”
“Not true.” He shook his head. “I’m no saint, Aria.
But this city thrives because of me.” He leaned closer to me, our faces inches apart, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Six hotels. Eight restaurants. Three nightclubs. A historic building renovation firm. A recycling company. And then there are the investments in small, family-run businesses. I’m a benefactor of the hospital, multiple charities, and the opera house.
” His gaze dropped to my lips. “Over three thousand employees depend on me signing their paychecks. If I go down, Rome won’t celebrate. It will collapse.”
“This entrepreneurial good-guy act is very convincing.” I leaned in closer, close enough for my words to brush the corner of his mouth. “But what about the things you do in the dark, Santino?”
He licked his lips as the tension crackled between us. “You think you’re ready for that side of me?”
I nodded, hating that I was feeling more desire than fear at that moment.
“I own the night, too.” My stomach fluttered, and I pressed my legs together under the table when his fingers glided down the column of my throat.
“Drugs. Weaponry. Hits. Retribution. If someone betrays me, I decide what they lose.” I swallowed, and his eyes flicked back to mine.
“And when someone forgets who runs things in my city, I remind them that I decide who keeps breathing.”
My palms started sweating as I gripped my phone tighter in my lap. “So you will kill my father if he keeps going against you?”
He brushed the pad of his thumb along my jawline, then sat back. All the oxygen rushed into my lungs at the sudden distance it created.
“No,” he said sternly. “I don’t plan to hurt your father, Aria. I want to work with him, not against him. He’s as stubborn as you, it seems.” He glanced down at the broken watch on his wrist. “But I would never take your father away from you. I know how that feels.”
The way he said it, with a softness he rarely used, made me believe him. I had planned to ask him about that watch at breakfast tomorrow, but it was clearly relevant to this conversation. “Why do you wear a broken watch?”
He lowered his wrist to the table, placing it between us. “You noticed.”
“You wear it all the time even though the screen’s cracked, and it’s always ten twenty-five.”
“It was my father’s. Vincenzo Buccini.” He paused, as if the name deserved a moment’s silence, and brushed his thumb over the cracked glass. “He was wearing it the night he died. That’s when it stopped. Ten twenty-five.”
He looked back up at me, and I reached for his wrist to get a better look.
“I wear it as a reminder that time doesn’t warn you.
One second you’re here, and the next—” He shrugged.
“So I don’t waste moments. I take them. I make bold choices.
I wear my heart on my wrist.” He tapped the watch.
“And I never have regrets. I chase what makes me happy. You never know when your time is up. I guess we both have our own sentiments?”
He nodded towards the necklace hanging around my neck, and on instinct, my fingers caught hold of it, playing with the sapphire. It felt as if his words had just loosened a lock inside my soul. His father’s death had taught him to live fiercely, whereas my mum’s had the opposite effect.
Before her death, I used to be brave and adventurous. I took risks, loved openly, and lived as if I were invincible. But afterward, I became guarded. I forced my world to shrink so it felt controllable. I mistook my caution for coping and my solitude for independence.
I told myself I’d moved to Italy to start over and find adventure, but the truth was much sadder.
I had no one left except an estranged father who I’d only seen in person a handful of times since their separation.
I craved comfort and structure. I needed family.
So I moved to Rome and spent all my time building a closer relationship with him and working brutal hours at the hospital, which gave me purpose and distraction.
I slept in the day so that I didn’t have to face the fact that I still felt just as alone here as I had the day she died. I never opened up to people willingly; that’s probably why most of my past relationships failed from the start.
Until Santino.
Somehow, he reminded me of who I used to be and made me want to be that person again, to live life for the moment. And the oddest thing of all? I felt safe with him. Not just physically but emotionally, like I could tell him anything.
I was about to admit that, but his phone started ringing. He apologised, pulled it out of his pocket, and answered it quickly.
“Si? Okay. Come to mine tomorrow, ten AM. Ciao.”
He hung up, but as soon as he did, it started again. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. I quickly ended the recording on my phone while he was distracted, then put it back in my bag.
“Raya?” His expression shifted to concern, and he sat up straighter. “Okay, okay. Where are Gio and Liv?” He groaned at her answer. “It’s alright. Put her on the phone.” There was a pause. “Mamma? It’s Sani. Calm down. You have to calm down because I can’t understand you.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked. He shook his head.
My heart thundered at the deep lines of anguish on his face. He dropped his head into his other hand as he listened to his mother’s hysterical voice on the other end of the phone.
“Mamma, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. I need you to take a deep breath. And another. You’re fine.” He closed his eyes and clenched his fist to his mouth as if fighting back his own emotions.
I reached for him before I could stop myself; the need to comfort him was almost instinctive. It was so unsettling to see him visibly upset. I wrapped my hands around his forearm to let him know I was there.