“And you know a few?”
He nods, washing down the pizza with coffee. “Have you ever heard of Isla Gale?”
Who hasn’t? Isla is Mozart in a skirt. Frank played her concertos at home when I was a little girl. He spent hours sitting by the gramophone with his eyes closed, listening to the music. Later on, when he became a bitter buffoon who lost half of the city to Dante, music ceased to exist in his life.
“You know Isla Gale?”
Dante smiles a self-indulgent smile. “You’re looking at her son, Star. Do you want to meet her?”
“Are you serious?! You’re Isla’s son?! Wow... I sure know nothing about you.” My eyes widen when his question registers with me. “You want to introduce me to your mom?”
He pushes his plate aside. “Her, and her more or less brilliant friends. She’s touring Europe now, but we can visit her on the second weekend of December. You’ll then have a week to hand in your dissertation.”
“I can do it. I wouldn't miss the chance even if I were to pull an all-nighter.”
“Okay. We’re flying to New York on the ninth.”
I’m both excited and nervous about meeting his mother, even if it’s an educational meeting rather than Dante introducing his girlfriend.
Although this time, one doesn’t rule out the other.
We spend the next two hours in front of the TV. The movie’s only background noise as neither of us pays any attention. We tease each other more than anything, but I'm disappointed once the end credits roll. I never would’ve thought a mafia boss could be so normal.In the movies, they’re portrayed as ruthless and calculated.
Dante’s nothing like that when we’re alone. He enjoys small things.
I check the time on my phone. It’s only four, but I wouldn’t put it past Frankie to summon me ahead of time. “I’ll take a shower and start getting ready.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll get your dress from the car.”
I climb the stairs, pulling the hair tie out of my hair, then hang the towel close to the shower doors, so I won’t turn the floor into a small lake when I get out. It’s not until I stand there in nothing but my panties that I turn the shower on to let the water warm up.
The only thing I fail to do is lock the door.
Dante walks in, freezing mid-step, his eyes hungry, swimming with desire. “I thought...” he starts but doesn’t finish. He sets the bag on the floor, hangs my dress on the door, then turns around and leaves.
My cheeks burn hot, but a wave of desire hits me like a freight train. I take a tentative step to find Dante, but the door flies open again, and he bursts inside, determination showing in his eyes. He grips my waist, pushing me under the stream of warm water, his lips on mine before I can blink, the kiss urgent, almost brutal.
I still hold onto my breasts while water soaks my hair and Dante’s clothes. He pins me to the wall, never breaking the kiss, his hands all over my body.
“Take it off.” I tug on his soaked t-shirt.
He lifts me up, his hands under my butt for support, my legs around his waist. He pins me to the wall, yanking the t-shirt off over his head. The touch of his skin on mine sends a brand-new wave of desire deep inside me. The sight of his firm, tattooed arms, and broad chest drives me wild, but the second a soft moan escapes my lips, he stops.
“I need to leave, baby.”
My hold on him tightens. “No, you don’t.”
He bites my ear, breathing quickly. “Layla—”
I grab his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss to shush him. He holds me flush against the tiles, his lips moving down my neck. My stomach twists with anticipation when the pad of his thumb toys with my nipple.
I want him, but taking the lead is out of the question. Dante has to be in control, but first, he needs to realize where my mind is.
“Take me to bed,” I say in his ear.
His fingertips dig into my waist, the kiss greedy and demanding before he breaks away to look straight into my eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes, just...” I trail off, unsure how to voice my mind. “Walk me through this, okay?”