A Sly Fox
Evelyn
Iwas happy, I realized with a jolt, as we drove the few blocks to Valentina Marcelli’s luxury penthouse. For the first time in my life, I was actually happy.
Dante had made that happen.
It was crazy, given there were men after me, my gallery was a disaster waiting to happen, and I was working with an organized crime syndicate, not to mention sleeping with a man who could kill me with his bare hands if the mood struck him.
On paper, it should have been a shitstorm of mammoth proportions, but instead… I had never been happier. Even Chloe had noticed it.
“You haven’t stopped smiling all day,” she’d said before I left work. “Does your dangerously hot new boyfriend have something to do with that?”
He sure did, but I didn’t tell her it was probably due to the multiple orgasms I’d had last night, or the fact that I’d woken up with Dante cupping my breast and spooning me, before giving me one more sleepy, delicious orgasm without having to change position.
I was sexually satisfied beyond my wildest dreams, and while his conversational skills still needed some work, he was slowly opening up and sharing more about his life. Mostly pillow talk, but I’d take what I could get.
I figured it was only fair that I reciprocated, so I confided things I’d never told anybody else. About my parents, my upbringing and how much the gallery meant to me.
When he wasn’t frowning, Dante could be quite amusing. I was discovering he had a dry, wickedly dark sense of humor that often caught me by surprise. He said it was because in the military they’d used humor to cope with the horror of what they saw and did on a daily basis.
I couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, but he’d yet to tell me anything more specific than that. He never spoke about the bullet wound on his forearm, or any particular incidents that had occurred while he’d been a Ranger.
And I hadn’t pushed. I knew some things were just too painful to share.
He’d also surprised me with an impromptu gift. A gold watch. I studied it now, glinting on my wrist. It was delicate, elegant, and unobtrusive. Very classy, and very me.
“Il Lupo is going to be there tonight,” Dante told me as we sat in Manhattan traffic. I’d suggested walking, but Dante wasn’t a fan of us being out in the open. Not right now, with the threat from the cartel still hanging over me.
“Il Lupo?” I arched an eyebrow.
“My grandfather, Leo Marcelli. Il Lupo is what he was called when he was Don. Probably because he was so feared—but also revered,” he added quickly.
“The wolf?” I ventured. My Italian was practically nonexistent.
Dante gave a tight nod. “He’s retired now. Doesn’t often get involved in family business. Prefers to let Valentina handle it.”
“And you four,” I added.
He grunted. “These days, Leo spends his time drawing and painting. Used to be a hobby but has become a bit of an obsession.” He glanced over at me. “He’ll be very interested to talk to you.”
Dante didn’t normally talk this much, and I realized he was nervous. This was the first time I’d be meeting his entire family together.
If I said I wasn’t just a little bit anxious, I’d be lying. But after surviving Dante, then Valentina, and meeting Nico and Izzy—albeit briefly—I was sure I could handle the rest of the family.
Sure, they’d be scrutinizing my every move, wondering if they could really trust me. Looking for flaws in my character, in what I was saying. Testing my alliances. I was prepared for that. It was expected, since I was living with Dante and helping them execute their diabolical revenge scheme.
One thing I’d come to realize was that there wasn’t any love lost between the Marcellis and the Malakovs, so I knew to tread carefully there. I was curious what had brought about the great rivalry, but then maybe just being opposing crime families was enough.
That was another thing Dante didn’t speak about, but to be fair, I’d never asked. Maybe I should, since now I was caught between the two.
“It’ll be fine.” I reached across and squeezed his hand.
He flinched but didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, grasped mine, and lifted it to his lips, where he pressed a warm kiss to my palm.
God help me, the man knew how to get to me.
“I know you can handle it,” he murmured, “but I’ll be right there if it gets heavy.”
“Always my protector,” I whispered, a smile playing on my lips.
His hand felt warm and a little bit rough around mine.
I wanted to stay like that, my hand engulfed by his larger one, but holding hands was not something we’d managed yet.
Nor did it seem we ever would. Not with the way things were.
Although, I had to admit, the lines were becoming increasingly blurred.
“Makes a change from destroyer,” he muttered, but he released my hand and stared stonily ahead as the SUV pulled up outside the luxury apartment block.
I felt the tension radiating off him as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite, but I busied myself checking my reflection in the mirrored interior.
I’d dressed carefully in high-waisted black silk trousers and a cream satin blouse tucked neatly into them, the sleeves rolled to my elbows beneath a fitted camel blazer.
Gold hoops glinted beneath my loose coppery waves, while a pair of pointed black heels completed the look.
Sophisticated. Polished. Armor for walking into the Marcelli lion’s den.
I gawked as I stepped out onto the private landing lined with black-and-white marble. Soft golden light spilled from recessed sconces, catching on gilt-framed mirrors and fresh white orchids arranged on a narrow console table.
Dante gave me a gentle nudge, and I stepped forward toward the double doors at the end of the vestibule. A woman in her late fifties greeted us. She wore an elegant black dress with a crisp white collar, her silver-streaked dark hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck.
“Good evening, Dante,” she said warmly, though her sharp gaze immediately flicked to me. “Miss Cruz.”
“This is Teresa,” Dante murmured quietly beside me. “She runs the place.”
Runs the place. Not works here.
I swallowed but gave her a friendly nod. So much for keeping my nerves in check.
Teresa inclined her head politely. “Everyone is waiting for you in the salon.”
We were late, but only by a few minutes.
Teresa led us down a long hallway where dramatic contemporary artwork hung against smooth, cream walls. Unlike Dante’s penthouse, which felt sparse and masculine, this apartment was undeniably feminine, though no less imposing for it.
I admired the tall floral arrangements overflowing from marble pedestals, and the antique furniture strategically placed under works of art worth more than most Manhattan apartments. I was sure I clocked a Modigliani, but I wasn’t about to ask.
As we approached the salon, voices drifted through the partially open doors. Male laughter. The clink of crystal glasses.
Then Teresa pushed the doors fully open and announced smoothly, “Dante and Miss Cruz.”
Every head in the room turned toward us.
I froze, pulse racing.
Valentina sat poised on a cream velvet chaise near the enormous fireplace, a champagne flute between her fingers. Tonight she wore an ivory silk suit and diamond earrings so large they caught the firelight every time her head moved.
Nico lounged nearby on one of the sofas, long legs stretched carelessly in front of him, though his sharp blue eyes flitted to my wrist before he looked away. Nico, I realized, missed absolutely nothing.
Izzy, who I hadn’t seen since the exhibition at the Agora, stood near the bar in dark jeans and a white oversized shirt under a leather trenchcoat, one hip cocked as she surveyed me with open curiosity.
With wine-red nails and dark hair flowing down her back, she looked both edgy and beautiful.
I was momentarily distracted by her gorgeous fur-lined boots.
I wondered if she’d tell me where she bought them.
“Welcome,” a deep voice said, and a man I assumed was Marco rose from an armchair by the window. “You must be Evelyn.”
Older than the others by a few years, his dark hair was turning a distinguished gray at the temples.
He had a tanned, handsome face and the cobalt-blue but totally unnerving Marcelli gaze.
Immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, he looked less like a criminal and more like a man who belonged on the cover of a political magazine.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice somewhere between a strangled rasp and a whisper. For a terrible second, I felt like I’d just walked into the lion’s den. I gave a tense nod. “It’s good to meet you.”
He gave me a once-over in response.
Then Dante’s hand settled against the small of my back and stayed there. It was firm, possessive, and grounding, and I felt myself relax a fraction.
“Sorry we’re late,” he said, shooting Marco a hard look and leading me to a vacant sofa. We sat down next to each other.
“Where’s Leo?” he asked.
“On his way,” Izzy said, unashamedly checking me out with an amused glint. “I must say, I’m surprised you made it this far, Evelyn.”
“Play nice, Izzy,” Nico said.
I forced a smile. “So am I, to be honest.”
Beside me, Dante smirked.
Her smile faded.
“I must admit, I’ve been eager to meet the woman who tamed my brother,” Marco drawled, studying me over his tumbler of whiskey.
“For fuck’s sake,” Dante interjected. “Lay off. Evelyn is part of this now. The least you could do is show her some respect.”
“Respect is earned,” Marco murmured, turning away. I felt the cold dismissal like a personal attack.
“And I haven’t earned it yet?” I asked, anger making my voice clear.
He tilted his head as if to say, exactly.
“Clearly, using my gallery to launder your money, using my containers to ship your drugs, and using me to manipulate your enemy isn’t enough.”
Marco’s mouth formed a straight line, but there was interest in those hard blue eyes.