The De Marco Trilogy Box Set

Chapter One

Ella

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. If I’d known where this trip would lead, I might have turned around and run.

Instead, I watch a large, jet-black raven circling in the blue sky like he owns it.

“Have a guess what Sicily’s national animal is?” I ask my best friend Rhia as we stroll down a quiet street in Taormina, on the island’s sun-drenched east coast.

This place is amazing.

The whole city clings to a cliff, spilling toward the sea. Bougainvillea tumbles down balconies, and flowering oleander trees explode in color, turning every corner into a postcard.

Rhia puffs her cheeks and squints at the sky, her eyes landing on the raven still flying above us. “Some type of bird?”

“Nope. A lion rules Sicily.”

I like random facts. Over the years, Rhia’s learned to humor me.

She laughs. “Fascinating.” Then she adds with a sideways glance, “Speaking of lions, I had a dream last night that one was courting you.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Courting me? How very Bridgerton.”

“No, seriously. He was just hanging around you, like a giant house cat. He looked cuddly but I knew he was dangerous.”

I hum in response and tip my face to the sun, letting the warmth soak into my skin. The salty air and the sparkle on the sea wrap the moment in something golden.

“You know how much I love the mountains?” I say after a beat, watching a yacht glide across the horizon.

“Yeah, you drag me there every chance you get,” she groans. “But I guess that’s to be expected, given you’re half Austrian. Thank god your father moved you guys back to Dublin,” she teases. “Or we wouldn’t be friends now.”

I desperately missed the mountains after we left Austria when I was eight, but moving next door to Rhia’s family was the silver lining. We quickly became inseparable.

“True, but why couldn’t it have been you moving to Austria?” I challenge.

“We don’t speak German,” she counters.

“There is that,” I laugh. “Now what I was trying to say is I love this island just as much. I never want to leave.”

Rhia’s grin grows. “Me too. I’m so glad we finally made this trip happen. Took us long enough.”

Two years, to be precise. In the end, it happened so spontaneously it felt as if fate had a hand in it.

“Too bad our time here is almost halfway over,” I sigh.

It’s day five of our two-week Sicily adventure. Not that I’m counting.

Zoe, Rhia’s younger sister, came too, but she mostly does her own thing. Which is fine with me. It gives me more time with my bestie.

We leave the panoramic views behind and turn onto a busier street filled with shops and cafés, the air buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses.

Rhia beelines toward a souvenir shop. “I’m getting a few postcards.”

“Who still writes postcards?” I ask, my tone teasing.

Rhia grins at me. “I do. Be right back.”

Unlikely. Knowing her, she’ll come out with half the shop stuffed in her tote.

I spot a stone bench nearby and head toward it, but something overhead catches my eye.

That raven again. It’s larger than any I’ve ever seen.

Mesmerized, I follow its path as it circles once, then lands on the bench in front of me. Its obsidian feathers gleam and shimmer in the sun like polished coal.

It’s beautiful. Strange. And watching me.

The raven tilts its head, and our eyes lock. A shiver creeps down my spine.

Then it shrieks.

The sound is sharp, echoing through me like a ripple in still water. For a split second, it feels like the world is holding its breath.

I freeze. A sudden coldness prickles my skin, despite the heat of the day.

I try to shake off the sudden sense of foreboding, but it won’t budge.

Get a grip, Ella.

It’s just a bird. It means nothing.

Still, the unease doesn’t lift.

I turn on my heel and head back to the shop, my pulse tapping a strange rhythm.

That was weird.

Outside the shop, I inhale deeply to calm my nerves.

And then something divine hits my nose.

Sweet. Warm. Like heaven dipped in sugar.

More than happy to be distracted, I lift my face, tracking the scent like a bloodhound on a pastry mission.

I spot the source of the delicious scent almost immediately. A café across the street with a few tables tucked into a courtyard. Potted plants surround the space, and colorful fairy lights dangle above like stars waiting for nightfall.

An older man at one of the tables is devouring a cannoli. My stomach growls in response, my mouth watering.

That’s it. I need a taste of that sweet bliss.

On my new mission of indulgence, I step off the curb and slam straight into someone’s back.

“Scusi,” I mumble, proud I remembered some Italian.

The man turns, phone pressed to his ear. His hair is slicked back into a low man bun, too shiny and too precise, like it’s trying to impress someone or hide something. His eyes are like icy polished stone, and I instinctively take a step back.

He doesn’t speak or nod. Just shoos me away with a flick of his hand, as if I’m a stray dog that got too close.

Rude.

Happy to get away from him, I scurry across the cobblestones without looking back.

Then it hits me.

Not the man. Not the smell.

Something else entirely.

A jolt, like lightning in my bloodstream. Heat rushes through me, followed by a tingle at the base of my spine.

What is it with my body today? Am I coming down with something?

And that’s when I see him.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.

Holy hell.

My feet stop moving. My eyes lock onto him like he’s the only man alive.

He’s standing just outside the café, talking on the phone, his body angled away from the street.

His suit is dark and perfectly tailored.

His hair, thick and just long enough to rake your fingers through, catches the sunlight.

There’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw, a hint of brooding in his brow, and his lips…

I bite mine to keep from grinning like a lovestruck fool.

If sin wore a suit, it would look like him.

Dangerous in that ruin-you-for-other-men way.

I try to look away, but my gaze stays put.

And then my mind, traitor that it is, starts imagining what’s beneath that suit.

Defined abs. Strong arms. A V that makes good girls forget their morals.

Down, girl.

Still, I feel awake. Every cell buzzing. My neglected hormones throw a confetti party.

He paces slowly. Every movement exudes power and command. It’s clear he’s not someone you’d want to cross.

He’s focused on his call, oblivious to the fact that I’m staring like a schoolgirl crushing on her hot teacher.

I blush and force my eyes away.

Okay. Focus. Cannoli.

I reach for my phone to text Rhia where I’m going, but something in the street draws my attention.

A black SUV.

It’s moving fast.

Too fast.

My stomach knots.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome is still on his call, his back to the road. He listens, focused and still, as if the world answers to him.

I take a step toward the café, chewing my lip as the car draws closer.

Then time fractures, and everything seems to unfold in slow motion.

The driver of the SUV hits the accelerator and swerves onto the sidewalk.

Without thinking, I sprint towards the stranger, yelling, “Watch out!”

He looks up, startled.

I grab his arm and yank him toward me.

The car narrowly misses his body.

Tires screech. People scream.

As I pull him, he stumbles against me, and we both fall, hitting the ground.

Or rather, he hits the ground, and I land on top of him. His shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, my hands clinging to his jacket as we skid against the cobblestone.

His breath rushes out in a grunt beneath me.

I’m stunned.

My heart is in my throat.

What the hell just happened?