His mouth looks as sinful as a decadent dessert. But there’s a dangerous aura that seems to waft from him. A sleek jet-black Armani suit which encompasses his broad shoulders. His dress shirt is a deep red, which looks almost black in the low lights of the bar. The silver tie is shiny and pops starkly against the darkness. Tanned skin with that accent tells me he’s Italian. I’ve spent my young life around men like him, with the men who could have killed my father.
His short black hair is styled in a messy way, as if he’s run his fingers through it a few times. Or he’s had some woman’s hands tugging at the strands while he buried his face between her thighs as his sinful mouth devoured her. The thought has me squirming involuntarily.
“Can…” Clearing my throat, I try again. “Can I get you anything?” My meek voice makes me sound like a child or a mouse.Jesus, get a grip. His gaze travels with such slow precision from my feet, up my legs and torso, only stopping momentarily on my chest, and he drags his dark piercing stare to my sky-blue eyes. Every moment his eyes are on me, my skin tingles. It feels like a match has been struck and I’m about to burst into flames.
“A bottle of the Balvenie Scotch, fifty-year-old, and three tumblers. Bring it to The Lounge.” With that, he turns and walks away without so much as a glance behind him.
My eyes don’t want to look away. As if he’s the glue and I’m the paper. He must be the most devilishly striking man I’ve ever seen, besides Lucio. Turning to get the order, I grab three crystal glasses and place them on the tray, along with the whisky he’s requested.
My hands tremble and I fight to calm the need that’s coiled in my belly. Oh, the sinful things I’m sure he can do. That I want him to do.Calm your shit down, Raina.
In that moment, he reminds me of Lucio. How he commanded a room when he entered. How as soon as he opened his mouth, people would flee or come closer. And my heart aches. It thuds painfully, reminding me I’ve lost two men I love. My father, certainly dead. But the man who’s offered me a new lease on life has just disappeared.
The stranger is gone, but his presence lingers. Something about him seemed familiar. Like he knew me. My body trickles with confused emotions warring inside me and all he did was look at me.
Jesus, imagine if he touched me.
5
Franco
“Mr. Moretti, it’s good to see you. Please, have a seat.” Andrea Lombardi is an asshole, and it takes all of my restraint not to kill him right here and now. I know he has connections to who killed Lucio. His name came up a few times in our findings, so here I am, dealing with an asshole. This prissy piece of shit is one I’d rather do without, but I set my mind on vengeance.
His sister was the girl Lucio told me about. In his letter, he mentioned Raina Lombardi. I have to keep her safe, to fucking babysit. As much as I wanted to refuse, I can’t. He’s my blood and there’s nothing that will make me reject his dying wish.
“Mr. Lombardi, I’m sure you know why I’ve asked for this meeting,” I respond as I unbutton my suit jacket and settle in the expensive leather seat. I wanted to kidnap Raina, to lock her away in my house, but I know I’ll have this asshole to deal with.
He follows suit, sitting opposite me with a shit-eating grin on his face that I’d like to wipe off with my fist. Before he can respond, the door swings open and my brothers saunter in. Giovanni and Matteo couldn’t be more different if they tried. Both in looks and personality, but there’s one thing they do well, and that’s kill. Especially assholes like this.
“Sorry we’re late. There was a problem,” Matteo murmurs but offers nothing more. Once they’re seated, the door glides open and I know who it is before she enters. The woman who caught my eye, but she’s Lucio’s. Or was rather. That thought sours my mood as soon as it flits through my mind.
Carrying a silver tray with three tumblers and a bottle of the whisky I asked for, she’s dressed in a demure outfit and a pair of ballet shoes. Even though she’s young, far too young, I can’t help assessing her. My cousin had good taste in women.
Her body is curvy—soft and pliable. Her skin is creamy with a soft blush on her cheeks. I can easily imagine her in my bedroom, on her knees with those doe eyes peering up at me as she begs for me to teach her how to swallow my cock. How I’d love to show her how much of a villain I can be. To mark her creamy skin with the palm of my hand or my belt.
“Brother.” Turning to Gio, I glance at the smirk on his face and shake my head. This is a job. She’s not mine. I shouldn’t be thinking about her in that way. My cousin would’ve had my balls if I went near her.
“Is there anything else?” Her soft-spoken question has me flitting my dark stare on her. She’s watching my intently.Do I remind her of her lost lover? Does she know he’s dead?
“That’s all, thank you,” I respond, my tone firm and commanding. Testing her.
A simple smile crosses her features and she gives me a curt nod. Her hair is golden brown—which hangs in soft waves to the middle of her back—a hint darker than blond. Blue eyes that remind me of the ocean—the translucent sea of Reggio Calabria, of home—pin me with a questioning gaze. It’s as if she’s trying to read me.
My gaze drops to her chest, taking in her ample breasts. Even though they’re not overly visible in the blouse she wears, I know they’d fit perfectly in my hands. It’s enough to taunt me from the soft silk that hides them from my gaze. I wonder if her nipples are sensitive. She’s distracting me from business, which isn’t good, but there’s something about her, as if she wants the danger. Perhaps that was her reasoning behind dating Lucio.
“Let’s get this meeting started. Thank you, Raina, you can leave now,” Andrea grunts out rudely, and she merely nods. The way he treats her angers me. If I had my way, I’d gut the fucker right now. How I’d revel in watching him bleed out.
I grab the tumbler and drain it of the amber liquid, savoring the burn. “There have been two murders in the city. As I’m sure you are aware, we don’t take kindly to people encroaching on our territory. Your name,” I tell him as I pour another three-finger shot, then continue once I lift the tumbler toward my mouth, “has come up a few times.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Moretti, I have heard nothing about this.”
“So you don’t know your father was killed?” My question stills him for a moment, shock clear on his face, and I know he’s hiding something. His eyes, they tell me what I need to know. He’s in on this. I’m not sure how, but I’ll find out.
“I-I got the call this morning,” he stutters, shifting in his seat.
“And you’re not the least bit concerned about who did it?” I take a swallow of my drink, watching him, assessing him, reading every nuance of the lying bastard.
He clears his throat, ready to spew a lie. “Of course I am, I just haven’t had time to take it all in.” I’m surprised he even had the balls to sound like he’s saddened. Unfortunately, his acting abilities aren’t up to par.