by Bethany-Kris
Her dad, always her hero and supporter, stood to give Camilla a tight, one-armed hug that still reminded her of the man who used to have pretend tea parties and let her paint his fingernails. Only once, though.
Once her father let her go, Camilla bent down to kiss the apple of her mother’s cheek with a smile. Emma was another cornerstone for Camilla—never failing, always holding strong, and loving her through the rest.
“Figured we better send Cross over to get you when you didn’t pick up my call,” Calisto said as he took his seat.
Camilla sat beside her father.
Cross took the chair beside their mom.
“I was out late,” Camilla said. “Didn’t hear anything until Cross bulled his way into my place.”
Her brother shot her a look.
Camilla shrugged.
Her parents didn’t ask a thing about where she had been, or what she had been doing the night before. They never did. At nineteen, almost twenty, Camilla didn’t have a lot of rules enforced down upon her by her parents. Really, they had never strapped her or Cross down with rules or demands.
She knew that she was lucky. Other principessas—girls like her with an Italian, Cosa Nostra boss for a father—were not as fortunate. Their life did not allow for very much freedom. Yet, her father made sure she had as much semblance of freedom as he could allow without being unsafe.
A good example was the enforcer she knew was on her watch. Or rather, the couple of men who rotated to keep an eye on her. Her father made her aware of the men, but also made it clear they did not report back on Camilla’s whereabouts or anything else she did. They were just there—in the background of her life—to keep her safe should something happen. They kept a healthy distance, and otherwise, gave her privacy.
So far, those enforcers had never needed to step in for Camilla. Other than the few times the men had taken her to a safe house when issues came up with other organizations her father dealt with, she didn’t see them. She hadn’t even known their names until a couple of years ago when she first moved out of her parents’ home.
Sure, being a woman meant Camilla wasn’t supposed to know details about the criminal organization her father ran, and her brother participated in. She was far from dumb.
Observant.
Quiet when needed.
Not, however, stupid.
“Make sure you’re not late for classes on Monday,” her mother said.
“I won’t.”
Like they even had to worry at all about that.
Camilla emptied the last bit of Pinot Noir from her glass while waving for her brother’s friend—Zeke—to grab her another. Cross had always been clear on the rules when Camilla partied. Be safe. Never drink from a glass you didn’t pour or see poured, or a drink taken from someone she couldn’t explicitly trust.
She trusted Zeke.
Turning her back to the loud music pumping through the Odessa beach house, Camilla tried to focus on her phone call.
“Give me all the details,” she demanded.
“Damn, I can’t even hear you very well.”
Camilla cursed under her breath, but headed out the back exit of the house where a few people had gathered to drink, and smoke. The heady scent of weed clung in the air, but she focused on her conversation with August.
“Details,” Camilla said when the music was all but a deep murmur at her back. “Give me them.”
“It went good. Basically a what’s what, and the stuff I’ll be doing.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I got the impression my main job is to keep Brock Darling’s specialty coffee full all day.”
Camilla barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“Not really.”
“Ugh.”
“We’ll see how it goes. It’s a high energy environment. They started the magazine a few months ago, too, so there are some opportunities for me to learn there. Everybody made it seem like Brock isn’t hard to work for.”
“That’s a plus.”
The music blasted louder behind Camilla as someone came out of the house.
“Where are you?” August asked.
“Zeke’s place.”
“Your brother there, too?”
“Not yet. You wanna come and party?”
August made a sad noise. “Can’t. Someone’s going to need their coffee at eight sharp tomorrow morning.”
“He doesn’t do church?”
“Apparently not, but hey, it gets me out of it, too. I don’t need an excuse on Sundays, now.”
“Nice.”
“Right? So hey, text me tomorrow sometime. We can try to meet up.”
“Will do,” Camilla said. “Love you.”
“Love you, girly.”
By the time Camilla got back inside the house, and found Zeke waiting with her safe glass of wine, she caught sight of her brother coming through the front door.
Cross, and someone else.
She only figured the guy had come with her brother because Cross chatted with him as the two navigated the people together.
Camilla didn’t have a clue who he was, but the guy was gorgeous.
Tall. Lean. Blue-eyed. Dark-haired. Strong features. Sharp lines.
Physically, he wasn’t anything to scoff at. She didn’t care how bold it seemed of her to look him over while she had the chance. If the guy didn’t want to be looked at like he was something she wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of, he shouldn’t look that fucking good walking across a goddamn floor.
Who was he?
Long fingers like he played an instrument, maybe. Or maybe like his fingers were built to play something a little more sinful. Built like he could run a ten-k without losing a breath. A half-smile that spoke of an easy nature, but could probably melt panties when he turned it on a woman.
There was nothing boyish about him.
Not a damn thing.
Dressed in black slacks, black silk shirt, and black leather shoes, he looked damn good. The guy walked with a confidence she knew was probably learned. Yet, his disinterested gaze swept over the faces of the people like he didn’t give a shit who they were.
He looked like all kinds of trouble.
And a whole lot of fun.
A little cocky. A touch of arrogance. Nothing innocent about him.
Exactly Camilla’s type.
The fact the guy was Cross’s friend didn’t bother Camilla at all. That didn’t make him off-limits to her. As long as it didn’t interfere with his business, her brother didn’t give a shit. Not to mention, he never told her who she could or couldn’t sleep with, date, or otherwise.
Cross was good like that.
“Who is that?” she asked Zeke while she still had the time. Soon, her brother and his friend would be too close to ask. “With Cross, I mean.”
“Oh, that’s Tom. He’s spending some time in the city, I guess.”
“Tom?”
“Tommaso Rossi—Chicago.”
Oh.
Oh.
Camilla caught Tommaso’s gaze with her own the closer he came. His straight eyebrow cocked high as his gaze drifted over her face. He then looked over the silver, bodycon dress she had slipped on earlier.
He was a lot like her, it seemed.
Bold.
Unashamed.
Down his gaze went to her bare legs, and the Valentino rockstud black and silver heels she wore. Then his striking gray-blue gaze jumped back up to meet hers once more.
Camilla grinned, and took a sip of her wine. Her night just got way better.
CHAPTER THREE
“AT LEAST wait until I’m not looking to eye-fuck my sister,” Cross said under his breath. “That’s the respectful thing to do, Tommaso.”
Tom heard Cross’s warning loud and clear, but it still took him a couple of extra seconds to tear his gaze away from the platinum and purple-headed blonde across the room. He knew Cross had a younger sister—nineteen or twenty, somewhere around there—Camilla. Al
though, he had never met the girl.
No, not a girl.
Definitely a young woman.
Very much woman.
All woman.
Tom’s gaze darted back to the woman in question as Cross stopped to chat with somebody. He figured his friend’s attention was distracted enough that he wouldn’t notice or mind Tom sneaking one more peek at Camilla Donati.
Petite in stature, she would barely reach his chin, and that was with her heels on. And speaking of the heels … Those damn things had spikes all the way around the straps, and they looked made for some kind of fun and sin.
There were at least another thirty women in the room. All dressed in some variance of skirts, dresses, or jeans that hugged their asses tight enough to make Tom wonder how the fuck they could even breathe.
Yet, something about Camilla kept his gaze drifting in her direction.
Edgy makeup, with crystals placed along the cut line of her eyebrows. Red lipstick so dark it was bordering on a black crimson. Round, large brown eyes that someone else might have mistaken as innocence staring back from them.
He didn’t see innocence at all.
Not the way she was looking at him.
Pretty wasn’t the right word for her delicate features and naturally pouty lips. Pretty made him think of fragile lace and inexperience.
Alluring was more like it, with just a touch of sex to color her up.
Like a rose.
Attractive, silky smooth, interesting and beautiful. Just enough sexy to make it impossible to resist touching it. Hidden dangers in the form of thorns ready to injure and scar.
“She single?” Tom asked when Cross finished with his conversation with the stranger. He couldn’t even help it. The words came out before he could stop them. “Your sister, I mean. Is she?”
“Kind of makes you look like a lovesick fucker when you keep staring, Tom.”
“Your point?”
Cross sighed, and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Cam doesn’t know what a relationship is, so yeah, she’s … available.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Not my business, that’s what.”
Tom didn’t press for more. “Why aren’t you pounding me into the ground right now for even looking at her? She’s what, nineteen, or—”
“She’ll be twenty soon.”
“Didn’t answer my question.”
Cross shrugged. “Cam does Cam, man. She does whatever the hell she wants to do, and nothing anyone else says has much effect on her. As long as she’s having fun, nobody’s bothering her, and she doesn’t need me to step in, then I step way the fuck back. She’s my sister, not my property.”
“So you wouldn’t mind—”
“Literally not talking anymore about it because I don’t care, and I don’t want to know.”
Good enough for Tom.
“I mean,” Cross added quickly, “she doesn’t usually mess with my friends, so good luck with that, huh?”
Tom chuckled.
He didn’t need fucking luck.
She was still looking at him, too.
“Zeke!”
Cross’s holler gained the attention of the man standing beside Camilla. A single wave of Cross’s hand sent Zeke heading in their direction.
“What, you’re not even going to introduce me to her?” Tom asked.
His friend laughed at him, and hit him hard on the back.
“Fuck no,” Cross said. “I’m not helping you. I just won’t stop you. See the difference?”
“You’re a shit.”
“Not news, man.”
“A real shit.”
“I said what I said,” Cross replied.
Well, if Camilla was anything like her brother … Tom didn’t plan on going very far with her, anyway. One could only take so much Donati attitude before it drove them up the fucking wall.
Zeke nodded to Tom as he joined Cross. “Tommaso. Haven’t seen you in what, a couple of years?”
“Something like that. How’s your father?”
“Wolf is … Wolf.”
“So, riding your ass, right?”
Zeke laughed. “Every damn day.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom watched Camilla tip her crystal wine glass up for another sip. He saw just the tip of her tongue peek out to edge along the rim of the glass. His throat and slacks tightened to an almost painful point.
She knew what she did.
She was looking right at him.
Camilla cocked an eyebrow, and watched him through long, dark lashes. Like she was fucking challenging him or something.
The woman didn’t know who she was playing with.
Not at all.
“We’ll catch up tomorrow or something, all right?” Tom asked.
He wasn’t even looking at Cross or Zeke now.
“That girl is like a Venus Fly Trap,” Zeke muttered. “All she’s got to do is sit still, look pretty, and the next stupid fucker falls right into her snare. Watch yourself, Tommaso. Before you know it, Camilla will have you falling in all kinds of love with her, and then she’ll smile when she waves you goodbye. That’s her deal—she doesn’t know how to do anything different.”
Was that supposed to be a bad thing?
Tom didn’t think so.
“Okay, that’s enough of this,” Cross said. “Let’s get me a drink.”
Tom took one more look at Camilla to consider his next move. She decided for him with a little tilt of her head as if to ask him to come over.
“Later,” Tom said over his shoulder.
Neither of his friends answered him back. That, or he just didn’t hear their response.
Tom slid in beside Camilla, with their backs turned to the entrance of the kitchen, as she took another sip from her wine.
“So it’s Tommaso, right?” Camilla asked.
She peered up at him, sly and sweet at the same time. How did she even manage that?
“Most people call me Tom, but Tommaso passes when I’m not in Chicago, or if it’s my mother using my name.”
“Why’s that?”
“My father is the Tommas of the family.”
Camilla nodded. “Ah, I see. I’m—”
“Camilla,” Tom interjected. “I know.”
Her gaze drifted to where her brother was snagging a new bottle of unopened bourbon from the top shelf of Zeke’s liquor cabinet.
“I bet you do,” she finally said. “You know, everything they said about me is true.”
“How do you know they said anything at all?”
“Because everybody deserves a warning when it comes to me.” Camilla grinned wickedly, gave him a wink, and took another drink of her wine. “My mother likes to say I’m a free spirit. Wild-hearted. Everyone else has a compass, and it points them north to keep them settled. My compass is broken, but that doesn’t stop people from thinking they can fix it.”
“Not all broken things need to be fixed. Sometimes, the interesting and beautiful parts are the broken ones. It’s the story, not the ending, that tells the tale.”
Camilla laughed a sexy, musical note. “You just took my easiest pick up line, and turned it into something beautiful.”
“Let’s call it a talent of mine.”
“One of many?”
Her crimson lips curved sinfully, baring her straight, white teeth. He didn’t miss the suggestive undertone in her question at all.
His cock perked to life all over again.
Quick-witted. Unashamed. Tempting. Beautiful.
Probably dangerous.
For a heart.
For a soul.
For any man in her path.
Right then, Tom was the one standing right in front of her oncoming destruction. Camilla Donati was a bombshell. One hell of a combination when it came to a woman. He either wasn’t smart enough to get out of the way, or he just didn’t care.
Tom understood all too well what Zeke had meant earlier with his warning.
It would be far
too easy to fall in love with a woman like Camilla. All she needed to do was just speak to a man. She spoke, and he was caught.
Just like that.
Who the hell was this girl?
How had he missed meeting her for this long?
“What brought you to New York, Tom? Chicago not keeping you entertained, or what?”
“A break,” he said. “A much needed break, Camilla.”
“You can call me Cam.”
He smirked. “Is that all I can call you?”
Camilla’s brown eyes darted up to his, and that teasing tongue of hers came out to wet her bottom lip. “If you’re funding, feeding, or fucking me, then I guess you can call me whatever the hell you want, Tom, but only when you’re doing those things.”
Yeah, love.
It would be easy, he knew.
He’d marry a woman like Camilla in a heartbeat. She was one of a kind. There wasn’t another woman in her vicinity who could keep his attention like she just had, or match her fire.
“Just remember, it ends when I say it does,” Camilla added with a shrug.
“Got it.”
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
“No, why?” he asked.
Camilla handed over a small clutch. “I’ve had two glasses—enough to be over the limit on a test, not that I can even feel it. Sucks being short when it means you can’t absorb alcohol as fast. You drive; I’ll give you directions.”
“Your place or a hotel?”
“I like waking up in my own bed. Plus, I’ve got a weapon that can kill you hidden within reach in every single room, so …”
“I sincerely hope you’re not joking.”
Because that would be the perfect topper on the sexy, fan-fucking-tastic creation that was Camilla Donati.
“There’s a reason why my brother never worries about me, Tom. He’s taught me well.” She beamed at him. “And no, I’m not joking about the weapon bit, either, in case you want to test my limits.”
Camilla’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip after she added, “And I don’t have very many of those—limits, I mean.”
God, he loved that, too.
“Let’s go.” She ticked a finger over her shoulder, and set the wine glass to a small end table against the wall. “We’ll see if I can make your break from Chicago worth it, Tom.”
