My cheeks heated as I watched him grow harder under my unwavering attention. It was all I could do not to cross the distance between us and touch him.
Romero slid the shower open with unhurried movements and wrapped a towel around his waist before he stepped out, all naked glory and dripping wet. The scent of his spicy shower gel, peppermint and sandalwood, wafted into my nose. Slowly he advanced on me, long legs sure of every step. “You know,” he said in a strangely rough voice. “If someone found us like this, they might get the wrong idea. An idea that could cost me my life, and you your reputation.”
I still couldn’t move. I was stone, but my insides seemed to burn, to liquefy into red-hot lava. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.
My eyes lingered on the edge of the towel, on the fine line of dark hairs disappearing beneath it, on the delicious V of his hips. Without realizing what I was doing my hand moved, reaching for Romero’s chest, for the Famiglia tattoo over his heart, needing to feel his skin beneath my fingertips.
Romero caught my wrist before I could touch him, his grip almost painful. My gaze shot up, half embarrassed and half surprised. What I saw on Romero’s face made me shiver.
He leaned forward, coming closer and closer. My eyes fluttered shut but the kiss I wanted never came. Upon hearing the creak of the door, I peered up at Romero. He’d only opened the bathroom door wide. That’s why he’d moved closer, not to kiss me. Embarrassment washed over me. How could I have thought he was interested in me like that? He was a Made Man.
“You need to leave,” he murmured as he straightened. His fingers were still curled around my wrist.
“Then let me go.”
He released me without hesitation and took a step back. I stayed where I was. I wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch me in turn. He cursed and then he was upon me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other on my hip, the touch hot, warning and promise. I could almost taste his lips they were so close. His touch made me feel more alive than anything ever had.
“Leave,” he rasped. “Leave before I break my oath.” It was half plea, half order.
CHAPTER ONE
Four years before:
Liliana
I still cringed when I remembered my first embarrassing attempt at flirting with Romero. Mother and my sister Aria had always warned me not to provoke men, and I’d never been as daring with anyone as I’d been with Romero. He’d seemed safe, like there was no way he could possibly hurt me no matter the provocation. I’d been young and stupid, only fourteen and already convinced I knew everything there was to know about men and love and everything else.
It had been in the days leading up to Aria’s wedding to Luca and he’d sent Romero to protect my sister because he didn’t trust Father’s men to do a good enough job—which was ridiculous, considering that Umberto had guarded my sisters and me since our births. It was a big deal to choose a bodyguard for your future wife; only someone who was deserving of your absolute trust could be allowed that close, but that knowledge wasn’t even why I trusted Romero.
Romero had looked terribly handsome in his white shirt, black slacks and vest that hid his gun holster as he stepped into the suite my sisters and I shared in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. And for some reason, his brown eyes had looked kinder than what I was used to from men in our world. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. I wasn’t sure what I’d been thinking, or what I’d expected to achieve, but the moment Romero sat down, I’d sauntered over to him and settled in his lap. His body was muscled, strength hidden beneath a sophisticated exterior. He’d tensed under me, but something in his eyes had made me fall for him that day. Often in the past, when I’d flirted with my father’s soldiers, I’d seen in their eyes that they wouldn’t hesitate to have their way with me if it wasn’t for my father. But with Romero I knew I would never have to worry that he’d take more than what I was willing to give. His eyes filled with confusion and worry as I sat on his legs. He didn’t push me off, didn’t move at all. His fingers rested on the armrest. He was a man in control. He’d seemed like a good guy, like the guys I ever only got to admire from afar because you couldn’t find them in the mafia. Like a knight in shining armor, someone dreams of silly girls were made of—girls like me. Aria had lost it and sent me off, but before I’d left I’d risked one more look at the man that had captured my heart and would never let it go: Romero. Soldier of the New York Famiglia.
* * *
Only a few months later, I found out that Romero wasn’t whom I thought he was, who I wanted him to be and had made him out to be. That day still haunts me after all this time. It could have been the moment that my crush on Romero disappeared for good.
My parents had taken Gianna, Fabiano, and me to New York with them to attend Salvatore Vitiello’s funeral, even though I didn’t know Luca and Matteo’s father. I’d been so very excited to see Aria again, but that trip turned into a nightmare, my first real taste of what it meant to be part of our world.
After the Russians attacked the Vitiello mansion in the Hamptons, I was alone with my brother, Fabi, in a room where Romero had taken us after the Famiglia under Luca’s lead had come to our rescue. Someone had given my brother a tranquilizer because he’d completely lost it after he’d seen our bodyguard getting shot in the head. I was oddly calm, almost in a trance as I huddled beside him on the bed, staring at nothing and listening for noises. Every time someone walked past our room, I tensed, prepared for another attack, but then Gianna texted, asking me where I was. I’d never moved as fast in my life. It took me less than two seconds to jump off the bed, cross the room and rip the door open. Gianna stood in the corridor, her red hair all over the place. The moment I jumped into her arms, I felt better and safer. She winced because of the bruises the Russians had inflicted on her. Since Aria had moved, Gianna had taken over the role as substitute mother while our own mother was busy taking care of her social responsibilities and catering to Father’s every whim.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my eyes darting left and right.
“I want to have a look downstairs.”
Panic overcame me. I didn’t want to be alone again and Fabi wasn’t going to wake for another couple of hours so, despite my fear of what we’d find on the first floor, I followed my sister downstairs. Most of the furniture in the living room was ruined from the fight with the Russians and blood covered almost every surface. I’d never been very queasy about blood, or anything really. Fabi had always come to me to show me his wounds, especially when there was pus because he hadn’t properly cleaned them. And even now, as we strolled past all the red on the white carpets and sofas, it wasn’t the blood that made my stomach turn. It was the memory of the events. I couldn’t even smell blood anymore because my nose was clogged from crying. I was glad when Gianna headed for another part of the house but then I heard the first scream from the basement. It was an agonized, high-pitched cry. It was a man, and I hadn’t thought it possible for a man to make that kind of sound. I would have turned on my heel and pretended there was nothing. Not Gianna though.
She opened the steel door, which led to secret underground rooms. The staircase was dark but from somewhere in the depth of the basement light spilled out. I shivered. “You don’t want to go down there, right?” I whispered. I should have known the answer. This was Gianna. When had she ever done what was reasonable?