Chapter 12: Chapter 10

“This is amazing,” I mumble while shoveling a mixture of scrambled eggs, bell peppers, and some sort of green stuff into my mouth. “Seriously, Irma, you should open your own place instead of working for Rafael. Nobody in this house eats here except me anyway, so it’s a total waste of your talent. Truly, you should just quit.”

Irma throws a look at Guido, who’s sipping his coffee on the other side of the dining table, and he translates for her. When he’s done, she just blinks at him in confusion, then throws me a smile and busies herself putting the dishes into the dishwasher.

Male voices drift through the open window—the handymen are still here. They’ve finished painting all the doors and windows, and have now switched to graveling the driveway. For whatever reason, they’re removing the existing cover—which seemed more than decent to me as is and didn’t look like it needed replacing—and spreading new crushed rock.

In the kitchen, the two maids appear to be busy. One is rewashing the pots—by hand—after she wiped (for a second time this week) the inside of the cupboards, while the other is tenderizing meat on the island countertop. Guido’s forehead creases, and he jerks slightly, with every loud strike of the meat mallet. It’s really funny to watch.

I have no problem with household noise. Compared to home, this is almost like being at a library. Still, it’s much better than it was before Rafael ordered the household staff to return.

“Why am I the only one who eats in this house?” I ask Guido between bites. It’s weird, and somehow sad, having all my meals alone. “You normally take your bowl of bird food somewhere else, and I’ve never seen your brother eat anything here at all. Does he even need sustenance, or does he just hunt his prey in the neighborhood and drink their blood?”

“Guido is an introvert who likes to eat his meals in his apartment.” The velvety voice rumbles behind me. “And I usually eat at work.”

My eyes track Rafael as he goes to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup. He’s in a brown three-piece suit today, paired with a black dress shirt. The top two buttons are undone. No tie. Brown and black together don’t sound like a good fashion combination. For him, however, it definitely works. But he looks really tired, and unfortunately, still drop-dead gorgeous, despite the dark circles under his eyes.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know about my habits?” he continues. “Or were you simply interested in inviting me to have lunch with you, Miss Petrova?”

“Having lunch in your company would be the low point of my day,” I say and grab a glass of milk. “You look like crap, by the way.”

Absolute silence descends on the room. The maid who’s been putting the pots back into the cupboards is staring at me open-mouthed. The other one is doing the same, her mallet frozen in midair as if she were struck motionless by lightning. Irma was preoccupied stirring something on the stove, but now she’s just got the spoon in a death grip, and her wide eyes are fused to the nearby wall. Guido’s gaze, on the other hand, darts from me to Rafael and back.

“No better way to start a day than by getting compliments,” Rafael says and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Did you resolve the misunderstanding last night?” I ask.

“Yes. It just took a little longer than expected.” He approaches the table with an unhurried stride and unceremoniously takes a seat beside me. “Love what you did with our website.”

I choke on my milk.

“That was her?” Guido snaps from across the table.

“Do we have another hacker with a grudge against me who also has unbridled access to our systems?”

“Mitch has been trying to fix the issue for the past two hours, but there’s some malicious code implanted into our server-side scripts and any change he makes won’t stick.”

Rafael cocks his head, observing me over the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll fix it.”

“She will?” I raise my eyebrow.

“Yes. And she’ll go to dinner with me as punishment for her misbehavior.”

“Dinners weren’t a part of our agreement.”

“Neither was further fucking with my business. And, I wasn’t asking, vespetta. It’s a perfect opportunity to wear your new earrings.”

“Yeah, too bad I left all of them at home.” I reach for a slice of cherry tart, feeling Rafael’s eyes punching holes into my head the entire time. Feigning innocence, I take a bite and meet his gaze. “Oh, you mean the ones you left on my nightstand mere hours after reminding me that you’re holding the lives of people I love in your hand?”

“Yes.”

“They are in your desk drawer. The second one from the top.”

Rafael’s hand shoots out, seizing my chin between his fingers. The silence in the room becomes so absolute that a feather could drop, and the boom would echo off the walls. With eyes narrowed, Rafael leans forward, drawing level with my face.

“I’ll come get you at six,” he says through his teeth, then releases me and storms out of the kitchen.

I look back at my tart while fuming internally at my own reaction. My problem? I’m actually excited about going to dinner with him. Goddammit.

* * *

“We should have gotten that dress from Albini’s,” Rafael says as he pulls into the parking lot of an upscale restaurant with a terrace perched on the edge of a hillside, overlooking the sea.

“It’s an evening gown meant for wearing to galas or other such suitable events. Not to dinner at a local eatery hot spot.”

“Then, I guess we’d have to find a suitable event,” Rafael says as he reverses and parks.

I’m actually tempted to say we should. That dress was the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. But, the last time I chanced going out in something similar, I regretted it right away.

On that occasion, I attended a charity fundraiser with a guy I was sort of seeing at the time. He was the son of a Chicago politician, several years older than me, and I thought he would be more mature than my previous dates. I asked about the work his father was doing, but the guy completely ignored my questions, too focused on my cleavage. He also kept insinuating that his apartment was only a block away. The entire fucking evening.

Is a normal, meaningful conversation too much to expect from a date? It must be, because when I mentioned that I agreed to go out so I could get to know him a little better, he looked at me all confused and asked: Why would you dress like that if you don’t want to be fucked? I stopped dressing up at that point. Stopped going out, too. It simply wasn’t worth it.

Agreeing to try on that gorgeous gown at Albini’s was a moment of weakness. I missed wearing pretty things, and that dress was beyond stunning and impossible to resist. When Rafael barged into the dressing room, I momentarily worried what his reaction to seeing me in it would be.

He didn’t even bat an eye.

My gaze flits toward Rafael as he turns off the ignition. He must be the first man who hasn’t tried persuading me into his bed within an hour of meeting me. Going by the looks he’s been giving me, I’m fairly certain he finds me . . . intriguing? Probably in the same way a lab worker is fascinated with a new strain of bacteria, though. He might enjoy observing it, but isn’t actually tempted to kiss the thing.

It bothers me a bit. His apparent immunity to me. And the fact that it does, bothers me quite a lot. I’m so fucking confused about everything. Why am I so drawn to Rafael? Why does my heart skip a beat every time he comes near? Is it just some kind of wacky curiosity? I’m not certain that it is.

Tonight, I picked a revealing, open-backed sparkly silver halter top that ties around the neck. Along with it, I’ve put on super-tight black pants and metallic gray six-inch heels. I was one hundred percent sure Rafael’s jaw would drop when I stepped through the mansion’s front entrance to where he was waiting by the car. The only thing he said? You may get chilly in that top, vespetta. And then, he opened the passenger door for me.

Is he even attracted to me?

Sometimes I think he is, but other times, like tonight, I think he’s just amused by me.

I watch Rafael as he exits the vehicle, his three-piece graphite suit fitting his large frame just as it should—tailored specifically for him. He checks all my boxes. Tall. Dark-haired. Heavily muscled. Stylish. Doesn’t turn into a dickheaded teenage boy when he happens to be in my company. I don’t care that his face is so scarred that it’s basically misshapen. Rafael is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He’s also a mean asshole who kidnapped me and threatened my family. That gets him instantly disqualified from my list.

But I want him to kiss me anyway.

The valet opens my door, offering me his hand. “Buonasera, signorina—”

Strong fingers wrap around the man’s wrist, cutting off the rest of the guy’s sentence.

“Non toccarla,” Rafael says through his teeth, glaring at the young man who looks like he’s a second away from pissing himself. “Lei è mia. Capito?”

“SÌ. Ho capito, Signor De Santi. Mi dispiace molto,” the man chokes out and quickly steps away.

“What happened?” I ask as I take Rafael’s extended hand.

“He wanted to repark my car,” he says, helping me out. “I thanked him and said no.”

“That didn’t sound like a thank you to me. And he is the valet. It’s his job to park cars. Why wouldn’t you let him?”

Our gazes collide. We’re standing face to face now. Okay, more like face to chest. Even with sky-high heels on, I have to crane my neck quite a bit to be able to meet Rafael’s eyes.

He dips his head, and one of the strands of his slicked-back hair falls forward, tickling my forehead. With my hand still in his, he gently strokes my knuckles with his thumb.

“I don’t allow other people to touch what’s mine, Vasilisa.”

A shiver runs down my spine from the way he pronounces my name, with a hint of an Italian lilt. It feels like the softest caress.

“It’s just a car,” I whisper.

His eyes crease at the corners, and then he moves his hand to the small of my back, urging me toward the restaurant entrance.

There are around twenty tables inside, and half that many on the cliffside terrace. Grapevines have climbed and twisted around the pillars and along the banister edging the vista and up across the white overhead arbor, creating a beautiful canopy that must shelter the outdoor tables from the midday heat. Right now, though, as we cross the veranda, bits of the nighttime sky and brilliant stars play peekaboo through the gaps in the greenery.

Whimsical is the only way I can describe the sight around me, and I feel as if I’ve entered another dimension. One that promises romance and an enchanted evening.

If only it were true.

But the ambience in this restaurant is breathtaking. When we pass through the interior, I notice a girl in a pretty, long dress playing the harp in the corner, close to the bar. The subtle tones of the strings mix with the quiet chatter from the people seated nearby.

The hostess leads us to the one unoccupied table at the far side of the terrace, and by the time we reach our destination, the voices of other patrons gradually die down, only the distinctive melody from the harp remains. Every person—both inside and dining alfresco—seems to be intently focused on their meal, their eyes glued to the plates set before them.

“Looks like you’re quite popular around here,” I comment as I take a seat on the chair Rafael has slid out for me. “Are they expecting you to pull out your Remington and off them all before the appetizers arrive?” I look around the place, where people are slowly resuming their hushed conversations.

“I was born here. This is a locals-only restaurant, and everyone in Taormina knows me,” he says. “When I returned to Sicily and took control of the east coast, the people living here became mine. They are under my protection.”

“Their faces don’t give off that ‘oh, I feel so protected’ vibe. Scared shitless would be a much more accurate description.”

“That’s because they know what I did in order to take over.”

“Let me guess. You ‘retired’ your predecessor? I didn’t think that’s how Cosa Nostra worked.”

Rafael sits across from me and leans back in his seat. “I’m not a member of Cosa Nostra. And I did ‘retire’ my predecessor and every one of his followers who didn’t flee to Palermo when I moved back home.”

“Well, no wonder the atmosphere here feels weird.”

A waiter brings a bottle of wine, presenting it to Rafael, who nods his approval without even glancing at the label. His eyes are solely focused on me.

“You don’t seem bothered by uncomfortable social situations.”

“Please.” I snort. “After spending over twenty years with a family like mine, anyone could handle whatever the universe decides to throw up. Especially during social gatherings.”

“Care to elaborate?”

I pick up the glass of wine the waiter has poured for me and take a long sip. This is not how I thought this evening would go. I don’t know what I actually expected, but it certainly wasn’t this pleasant feeling due to just being in Rafael De Santi’s company.

“Well, a few months ago, my dad threw a surprise party for my mom’s birthday. There were around forty people at the table, and we were in the middle of a toast when my uncle barged in, fully armed and covered in blood.”

“That must have been uncomfortable.”

“Not really.” I shrug. “The problem was, he left bloody stains on Mom’s favorite carpet, so my dad started yelling and then shot him.”

“Roman killed him?”

“Of course not. Uncle Sergei arrived straight from work and was wearing Kevlar, so he just sprawled on the floor and stayed there until he caught his breath. Some of the guests got a little nervous, though.”

“Remarkable. ” He leans forward and props his elbow on the armrest, dropping his chin onto his palm. “I still find it hard to believe that Roman accepted your ‘I needed a break’ excuse for going missing.”

“As I said, it’s not the first time I’ve disappeared. And I wouldn’t go so far as to say he ‘accepted’ it, considering the amount of yelling he does every time I call. Maybe I should have told him that I was caught hacking NASA and was recruited to work for the government instead of getting put behind bars.”

“You hacked NASA?”

“Once or twice.” I lift my glass to hide my grin and empty its contents. “I could have complained how the supervisor I was assigned is one mean bastard.”

A deep laugh rumbles out of him. Dear God, even his chuckles are sexy. I’m so absorbed in watching him that it takes me a couple of moments to register the absolute silence that once again descends around us. It’s just like this morning in the kitchen. Everyone has stopped what they were doing, even the waiter who just finished refilling my glass, and is staring at Rafael’s back.

“I’m sure you’re giving him hell.” He leans across the table and takes my chin between his fingers, stroking my skin with his thumb while his eyes bore into mine. “Can you hack into any system?”

Our faces are barely inches apart, but I find myself leaning further into his touch.

“Depends on the system,” I whisper. “And its security, of course. But in theory, yes.”

His thumb drifts to stroke my lower lip, and my breathing ratchets up. The swarm of butterflies nestled in my stomach from the moment I slipped into his car, takes flight. I can feel their fluttering wings as the excitement overwhelms me. Rafael draws nearer, his eyes gleaming. Is he going to kiss me? My lips part in expectation of that first contact.

“Would you hack a certain freight company for me, vespetta?”

My excitement plummets. “What?”

“I’d like you to change the shipping details of a certain container. It’s supposed to be delivered to Genoa next week. I would prefer for it to end up somewhere else. Maybe Shanghai.”

His thumb still stroking my lips is epically fucking with my brain. I can feel his touch all the way to my core, and it’s evoking images of much more than kissing. So, while I’m ready to combust on the spot, he wants to discuss some goddamned shipping details?

I reach for my glass and take a large sip of the robust wine. The server approaches, filling it up again. Good.

“Nope. Why would I do anything for you outside of our agreement?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“And do you always get what you want?”

“Usually, yes. Even if it means trashing your baggy clothes to force you to accept your beauty.”

I suck in a breath, then grab the wineglass and empty it again, my eyes cast downward. “You’ve never called me beautiful before.”

“Because you’ve probably heard that phrase spoken a million times by countless shallow men. Because you must know that you’re beautiful and that men can’t help but notice and sing your praises. And I’m willing to bet that you hate hearing it.” He places his finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. “It doesn’t work, you know. You can wrap yourself in a fucking tablecloth, and men will still fall to their knees before you, Vasilisa. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Yes, there is.

When I was little, it didn’t matter if you were pretty or not—children just wanted to play.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention I started getting when I got older, especially in high school. Boys were always approaching me, saying how pretty I was, asking me out all the time. All the guys wanted to be with me. And the girls wanted to be me. I enjoyed it a helluva lot. God, I was so vain then. Or simply too young. But, little by little, things started to change. More accurately, actually, I started to change. And I remember the exact day that was the tipping point.

Our tenth-grade music and theater teacher announced that I’d been cast as the lead in the school play. I was so happy and proud of myself because of how hard I worked to get the role—learning the whole script by heart and spending hours practicing in front of the mirror. I even skipped my sister’s birthday party so I could rehearse a bit more before my audition the following day. But after the announcement, I heard other students whispering: Oh, everyone knows she just got the role because she’s pretty. Everybody kept saying it, and by the time the classes let out, even I believed it. The next morning, I told my teacher that I quit. Then, I went home and cried.

After that, similar things happened quite often. It wasn’t my paper on world hunger that got me chosen to speak during a school event, but rather because she would look good on the poster. And I didn’t graduate high school with a 4.0 GPA because I had taken extra online courses, it was because she got extra credits for flashing her tits at the dean.

“You know, I got the highest grade in my cryptography class last semester. The best result in the past decade,” I say.

“I’m not surprised.”

“Everyone said it was because ‘the professor wanted to bang me.’ Not because I worked my butt off studying.”

“Why do you care what anyone thinks?”

I look up and meet Rafael’s gaze. The space between my temples feels strangely light and airy. I should probably cut back on the wine. Especially since my tongue has gotten loose. Why is it so easy to talk to him?

“People are not islands, Rafael. We don’t exist alone, detached from everything. You can’t just ignore others’ opinions.”

“I don’t agree.”

The lantern hanging among the grape leaves above our table swings in the soft breeze, casting an intermittent glow over his harsh features and making the lines on his face even more pronounced in the interplay of light and shadows. His thumb resumes its gentle caress on my chin, sending pulses of pleasure along my skin. My fingers itch to do the same to him.

“Oh? And yet, you spent days hiding from me. Why?”

“People have very strong reactions when they see my face for the first time. Women especially. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“There are many things that scare me, Rafael. Your face isn’t one of them.”

“Tell me what they are, and I’ll vanquish each one.”

“Heights. Water creatures. Malls.”

“Shopping malls?”

“Yes. I can’t handle them.” I hold his gaze. “But my worst fear . . . is of my loved ones getting hurt. Will you please pull your henchmen whose crosshairs are aimed at my family?”

The muscle in Rafael’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t reply.

“Please,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll keep to our deal and stay until my job is done.”

It doesn’t feel so unbearable anymore. Staying here. With him. If I were brutally honest with myself, I’d admit that my heart constricts as if it’s being squeezed by a viselike grip whenever I think about leaving. I quite enjoy our everyday bickering. I like spending time with him. I like . . . him. My God, why couldn’t we have met under different circumstances? I have no doubts that I would have totally fallen for Rafael then. But maybe, regardless of our situation, I already have? No. Absolutely not. It’s simply the wine talking.

Rafael takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as his eyes sear into mine, then leans back in his chair and pulls out his phone. My heart thumps so fast it could break through my ribs as he dials someone and puts the phone up to his ear.

“Guido, recall the team on the Petrovs . . . Yes, now.”

“Thank you,” I say when he hangs up.

Rafael’s hand shoots out, grabbing the back of my neck. His gaze locks with mine, his green eyes glistening with menace. “Break your word, and you know what’ll happen. Do you understand?”

“I won’t break it.”

“Good. Let’s order.” He gestures at the waiter offhandedly.

The diners at the other tables keep throwing covert glances in our direction throughout our meal. They don’t think they’re being obvious, but I catch every single look.

By morning, everyone living in the area will know that I had dinner with an unknown woman. Taormina is a small town, and here, I’m the primary subject of gossip.

There are two popular topics of speculation. The first—what happened that caused me to look like this. Theories are endless, from a car crash in the US to being tortured by Mancuso before I made my escape as a kid. The second revolves around my love life. Guido told me that every time I’m seen with a new hookup, there are bets on whether she’ll be the one who’ll capture my alleged heart.

I don’t have a problem with prying eyes trying to catch glimpses of us. But I do have an issue with men ogling my woman. Like the guy sitting at the table to our right. He’s been salivating over my Russian princess for the past few minutes. It started with an occasional subtle peek as soon as we walked in, but his stares have been getting bolder. Making sure Vasilisa is still engrossed in choosing her dessert, I take the paring knife from the rustic citrus board that had accompanied our platter of a whole roast chicken. It’s small but extremely sharp.

“What are these?” Vasilisa asks, looking over the selection of sweets the waiter brought out.

“Cannoli,” I say, testing the tip of the knife with my thumb. “They have a creamy sweet ricotta cheese filling, as well as other variations with vanilla, chocolate, and pistachio.”

Pinching the blade with my fingertips, I assess the distance, then flick my wrist and send the knife sailing in a slight arc. The tip lodges in the wooden tabletop, right between the fucktard’s dinner plate and his hand holding a fork. The man tenses, gaping at me. I motion with two fingers to my eyes, then point to the knife protruding inches from his flesh, silently letting him know that it’s the only spot he’s allowed to look at. The guy quickly nods, his eyes snapping down to the table surface.

“Why did you do that?” Vasilisa asks, her gaze zeroed in on the knife. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“There was a cockroach. Nasty little buggers.” I take one of the cannoli from the serving tray and lift it to her mouth. “Delectable traditional filling. Try it.”

Vasilisa blinks, her eyes bouncing between mine and the pastry, then slowly leans forward and takes a small bite of the offering. Powdered sugar and some of the cream end up on her rosy lips, broadcasting flashes of her sinful mouth wrapped around my cock straight to my brain.

I’ve been probing the entire evening—small touches here and there to garner her reaction to me. She hasn’t recoiled once. I’m tempted to conclude that those ruby earrings did make a difference, even though she returned the gift. Still, even with the incentive, her behavior is unlike anything I’ve come to expect from a woman. Vasilisa’s eyes remain locked on mine as I brush the remnants from her lips with my thumb and keep stroking the plumped flesh even after the confection is gone.

Time stops as my finger traces her mouth, until my phone vibrates on the table with an incoming message, breaking the spell.

“Um . . . thank you,” she mumbles and straightens quickly.

“Anytime.” Amused by the look of confusion on her face, I smirk and pick up my phone. The text is from Guido, letting me know that several of Calogero’s men were seen in Catania earlier tonight. “I’m afraid we have to leave.”

“Yeah, um . . . sure,” she stammers through her words. “I left a diagnostic program running on the server I fixed yesterday. It should be done by the time we get back, so I can resume working.”

“As much as I’d like to spend the evening watching you work, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I have to go to Catania as soon as I drop you off.” I rise and remove my suit jacket, holding it out in front of me.

Vasilisa glances at the jacket I’m offering, then back up at me, arching her eyebrow. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“There are goose bumps all over your arms,” I growl. “Put it on or I’m going to force you into it. Now, please.”

Grumbling something in Russian, she turns around and slides her arms through the sleeves. When she faces me again, my eyes sweep over her, marveling at the sight of my little trickster in my suit jacket. I’m extremely territorial when it comes to my personal things, clothes especially. Allowing anyone to wear something of mine is too intimate. And I don’t do intimate. But seeing Vasilisa dwarfed by my huge jacket has the same effect on me as seeing her wearing my shirts. It makes me instantly hard as granite.

Every man who sets eyes on her now will know that she’s mine. The thought makes my cock swell even more, aching painfully behind the zipper of my pants. Maybe I should throw away all the clothes I bought her and have her walk around in nothing but my shirts again?

“You know, this deal of ours would be concluded much faster if you let me keep the laptop and work throughout the day,” she says while trying to fold the sleeve and squinting her eyes.

“Exactly.” I gently move Vasilisa’s hand away and begin rolling up the sleeve for her. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Just two glasses. Maybe three.” She tries to pull her arm free, stumbling backward in the process. My hand shoots out instantly, wrapping around her waist to keep her steady.

I pull her flush with my chest as I glance at the wine left on the table. The bottle is nearly empty, and I only drank half a glass. I guess she resorted to getting wasted to endure looking at my deformed face for a couple of hours. She’s not the first. One of my past hookups always got drunk before meeting up with me.

I move my hand off Vasilisa’s waist and take a step back. “Let’s go.”

She barely manages two full steps without swaying. Fuck. I wrap my arm around her again and slide the other one under her knees, lifting and cradling her to my chest. With her face only inches from mine, I can’t help but expect her to scream or wince. But, just like that night in the rock garden, she only bats her long lashes at me. Her unfocused gaze meets mine, and I recall that she was drunk then, also. Maybe that’s the reason for her lack of reaction.

“You can close your eyes if it’ll make it easier,” I say.

The corners of her lips tilt up, an impish smile lights up her dark depths. She wraps her arm around my neck and leans closer, touching the tip of her nose to mine. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Rafael, but you’re not that tall. My fear of heights doesn’t kick in until I’m twenty feet off the ground.”

I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to seize that bratty mouth with mine. I want her. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before. And I don’t hold back when I want something.

“One million,” I say, staring into her dark eyes.

Vasilisa’s brow furrows. “One million?”

“The amount you’ll get for this kiss,” I growl and slam my mouth to hers.

Vasilisa

I can’t think. I can only feel.

The taste of him. The warmth, spreading through my chest.

The most alluring flame singeing me from the inside out.

Rafael’s mouth attacks mine with such ferocity that I can’t even draw a breath, but who the hell needs air? I wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing with all my might as I kiss him back like it’s the end of the fucking world.

It just might be. Mine anyway. But I’m ready to burn in the fire he sparked.

The incessant ringing of a phone finally penetrates my daze. I hadn’t realized how quiet everything was around us until now. Rafael’s phone keeps going off in his pocket, but he ignores it completely, continuing to ravage me with his mouth.

The smell of him, the same scent that is now mine, is making me crazy. I tug his lower lip with my teeth, suck on it. A low growl leaves his throat, and then he bites me. Nips on my tingling lips. My fingers tunnel through his hair, pulling, messing it up. He always keeps it slicked perfectly back. Vehemently controls everything about him. Not anymore.

It’s glorious.

It’s wild.

He’s unrestrained.

“Signor De Santi.” An unknown male voice breaks through the trance that surrounds me.

Rafael’s lips go still, then slowly release mine, letting me draw the first breath in what feels like hours. Despite my grip on his strands, he tilts his head and glares at the waiter. The man, standing mere feet away, flinches and seems to shrink in stature, but holds up a phone to Rafael.

“Potrei ucciderti per questo,” Rafael barks at the little dude who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“È Guido, Signor De Santi,” the poor guy stutters. “Dice che è urgente.”

“I’m sorry, vespetta. I have to take this,” Rafael says as he gently lowers me to the ground, then snatches the phone from the offering hand and starts yelling at the caller.

During his menacing tirade—I can tell by the tone of his voice—that lasts for at least two minutes, Rafael keeps his free arm wrapped around my waist, basically crushing me to his front. I put my palms on his chest, feeling the vibrations deep within him, while trying to gather my senses.

Rafael De Santi kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

My God, I’ve lost my fucking mind.

With one last bark, Rafael throws the phone onto the table, and his hand slides to the small of my back. Giving the waiter another glaring look, he quickly ushers me toward the exit.

I don’t say a word as Rafael helps me inside the car, completely shaken by that kiss. By my reaction to it, really. I’m both excited and appalled. My heart still hasn’t stopped its mile-a-minute race by the time he gets behind the wheel.

“So . . . trouble in hitmen paradise?” I ask as casually as I can muster. Maybe we can pretend that earth-shattering kiss never happened.

Rafael cocks an eyebrow at me, then starts the car. “No. It’s something . . . let’s say it’s personal.”

“Will that personal matter require a Remington, as well?”

“Maybe. Calogero Fazzini’s men rarely learn their lesson without it.”

My eyes snap to him. “The don of Sicilian Mafia?”

“Yes.” He nods. “And also, my godfather.”

I blink in confusion. “But you said you’re not a member of Cosa Nostra.”

“I was never initiated into the Family. When I was fourteen, I fled to the States with Guido.”

“Why?”

“Because my mother broke the omertà.”

I suck in a breath. Omertà is Cosa Nostra’s code of silence. The basic principle is that one must keep their lips sealed, especially when dealing with legal authorities or outsiders. It’s an extreme form of loyalty—a code of honor and conduct—that places importance on solidarity against government involvement, even if upholding its tenets includes one’s mortal enemy or a personal vendetta. Within the Mafia, breaking the omertà is punishable by death.

“Cosa Nostra killed your mother?”

“The previous don, Mancuso, did it himself.”

A shudder runs down my spine. “Why did you come back to Sicily?”

“So I could kill Mancuso.” A small smirk pulls at his lips. “My godfather took over the Family less than forty-eight hours after I slit Mancuso’s throat. We struck a deal then, Calogero and I. He rules the west coast, and I control the east. But it seems he’s trying to break that agreement now.” Rafael stops at a red light and turns to face me. “And I always make sure people fulfill their promises to me, Vasilisa. Do keep that in mind.”

I nod and shift my gaze to the ribbon of road in front of us. The temperature in the car seems to have dropped, or maybe it’s just the feeling of dread brought on by Rafael’s warning. I wrap his jacket tighter around myself and spend the rest of the journey staring at the dark landscape visible beyond the windshield.