Luca side-eyed me with an amused expression as he took a drink of his beer. He apparently knew I wanted Elena, just like every fucking other man in New York. It was more entertaining, I supposed, because I wasn’t quiet about disliking her before I’d even met her.
“Fuck off,” I gritted.
His chuckle was quiet.
A few moments later, I nursed my whiskey, vaguely listening to my cousin Lorenzo talk about the horse he’d bet too much money on.
“I’m telling you, the odds on this are good . . .” Lorenzo trailed off, staring at what had to be some girl behind my back. “Jesus Christ, I want to marry that woman.”
A wave of agitation ran through me because I knew who he spoke of, but I only swirled the whiskey in my glass before taking an annoyed sip.
I heard Elena laugh softly at something Tony had said behind me. I bit down on the liquor, swallowing. She was so loyal to her idiot of a brother—the one who’d almost gotten her killed. My teeth clenched.
I needed an outlet for this before it exploded.
It was either fighting or fucking. And since I knew the latter would be tainted right now by everything Elena Abelli, the former would have to do.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket.
Then I forwarded the photo of Jenny to Tony.
And waited.
Truthfully, I hadn’t had a girlfriend. She was more accurately a steady fuck, which was the closest thing to a girlfriend I’d had. I didn’t think Elena would give me as much sympathy if I’d said that, so I . . . fibbed, like the cheat I was. Tony had slept with Isabel, making sure I found out, and so out of mere principle I’d fucked Jenny. It was kind of embarrassing how easy it’d been.
I hadn’t spoken to Jenny for more than a year now. With her recent contact, I assumed Tony must not be able to get her off as well with his left hand as he could his right.
“Uh, Ace . . .”
I swirled my whiskey. “Let it happen.”
“Okay, boss.” Lorenzo took a step back.
Luca shook his head and left his seat.
I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t start shit in public. But I was afraid of what I would do if I didn’t. If I ran into Elena Abelli again tonight . . . I’d lose my goddamn mind.
A sudden wave of tension brushed my back before a dull pain exploded in the side of my head.
“Tony!” Celia gasped as the glass tumbler shattered and pinged as it hit the floor.
The room fell into silence.
I couldn’t help a corner of my lips from lifting.
Thank God that fucker was reckless.
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”
—Marilyn Monroe
“STUPIDO!” MAMMA REPEATED THE WORD three times, her voice resounding in deaf ears, before muttering in Italian that all of her children were stupido as she left the kitchen.
“Fuck, Elena. Stop.” Tony winced.
I pulled the cotton ball away from the nasty cut on his face. “You can hit Nicolas with your injured hand, but you can’t take a little burn of alcohol?”
And to think that I had waited on him all night when he could throw punches like he was 100 percent. He was regretting it now, with his tight expression and the red seeping through the bandage on his hand.
God, he looked awful.
There was nothing more gruesome than watching two men pummel each other half to death. Especially when you had the odd feeling of not knowing who you wanted to win. Tony . . . right? I swallowed, feeling like a traitor.
After Tony had shattered a glass against his future brother-in-law’s hard head, Nicolas had wrapped an arm around my brother’s neck and slammed him to the floor. The heavy thunk still resonated in my mind.
Nonna had looked up from her game of tic-tac-toe with my sister and sighed. “Finally, some entertainment.”
Adriana had taken a sip of wine, her expression lightening since whatever news she’d received earlier, and, oddly enough, bet my nonna fifty bucks on Tony. Apparently, Nicolas was part of the reason she was upset.
Papà had only sat back in his chair and watched, and so had Nicolas’s uncles. No one was stepping in, and for all I knew they were going to fight to the death. The thought settled unpleasantly in my stomach until I couldn’t watch it any longer. I waited outside, in front of the restaurant, with Dominic.
I wasn’t sure how it had started, but I imagined Tony had found out about the picture, or maybe Jenny had admitted she’d been with Nicolas recently.
And this was the aftermath.
Red marks covered Tony’s bare torso, the beginning of bruises forming on his ribs and back. Blood spilled from a nasty cut on his face, from his nose, his lip, and dripped down his chest.
He leaned back in the island chair, dressed in his shoes and dress pants, texting.
“What’s the cut from?” I was unsure of how such a ragged wound from the corner of his eye to his hairline had been the product of a fistfight. Though, I guessed it was a pretty severe one, as though they’d both been saving all their aggression for it.
“Broken chair leg.”
My eyes widened. “He hit you with a chair leg?”
What a cheat.
“Yeah. After I hit him with it.”
Oh.
Truthfully, I didn’t know why I was even trying to help Tony. He hadn’t exactly been the best brother as of late. It made me feel like a pushover, but for as long as I could remember I’d had this mother-hen gene I couldn’t get rid of. It was an urge to help I couldn’t ignore. I didn’t know where I’d gotten it. It wasn’t from my mamma and, as Nonna used her cane to push open the kitchen door and then thanked Tony for winning her fifty bucks, not from her either.
My skin also danced with an edginess that tonight had left behind. I had to do something to stay busy, otherwise thoughts of him came to the surface, making me feel hot all over. And, to be clear, it was the wrong him I thought of.
I crossed my arms, still wearing my dress and heels. “Well, did you get some hits in? Because it looks like you took the brunt of it.”
A sarcastic gaze flicked to me before he glanced back to his phone. “I got enough.”
“Please tell me you aren’t texting Jenny.”
“I’m not texting Jenny,” he said dryly.
He was texting Jenny.
“You both cheat on each other. Don’t you think it’s not the healthiest relationship to be in?”
He set his phone on the island and ran his hand through his hair. “I love her, Elena.”
A little lump formed in my throat. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Tony.”
“Of course not,” he responded with a serious tone, and I thought we were going to have an intelligent, meaningful conversation for once, but then he opened his mouth again. “Good sex has to come with it.”
I sighed.
He laughed and ran a hand down his chest, smearing blood as he did. “You’re a good sister, Elena. Now come give your big brother a hug.”
“No.” I frowned. “You’re sweaty and bleeding.”
“A hug is the least I can do.”
“The least you can do is not—no, Tony, don’t!”
He squeezed me in a bear hug and made a show of wiping his nasty man-ness all over me. I groaned, wrinkled my nose, and tried to fight my way out of it.
He sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”
I froze. “What?”
“Broken rib, I think.”
I winced and pulled back just as Papà pushed the kitchen door open. He glanced at my first-aid supplies on the counter and then at me with disapproval, telling me not to coddle Tony. His gaze went to his son, eyeing him with that judgmental stare he was good at.
“You look like shit.”
Tony chuckled. “Thanks, Pops.”
The door swung shut, and then Papà’s voice filtered through it. “Office, now.”
Wide awake, with all my synapses st
In a restless daze, I combed my wet hair and then pulled on some panties and a tight t-shirt that said, “Sleep Tight, I Bite.”
Lying in bed, the gothic band Type O Negative leaked from Adriana’s room and into mine. A good sister would have gone to ask her why she was upset, but I was beginning to learn I was a selfish one. I closed my eyes, wishing I could only flip a switch to get rid of this attraction for her fiancé.
When I opened them, I still felt it—a fascination so deep in my skin it was like it had always been there, lying dormant. My breathing turned shallow as I relived the night: his presence brushing mine, his deep voice in my ear, his hand on my thigh, pushing my dress up and up.
Warmth ran between my legs, leaving an emptiness behind I was scared only he could fill.
I had it bad.
So bad.
I wanted this man like I hadn’t even known you could want a man.
Throwing the covers back, I slid out of bed and padded to the dresser. I pulled a Zippo lighter out of my clutch.
With the scratchy sound of the flint, a flame danced before my eyes.
After the fight, I’d gone back inside to retrieve my purse and found the lighter on the floor. It was his, with an ace of spades on the side.
I took it as easily as he took my sanity.
Climbing back into bed, I lay there and flicked the Zippo open and closed, filling the room with a flame for a man I shouldn’t have.
Before I snuffed it out.
“A woman is like a tea bag—you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”
—Eleanor Roosevelt
“I’M GOING ON A RUN!” I yelled downstairs. A sleepy grumble sounded in the dark man cave before I slammed the door.
I liked to pretend I could leave the house and run in our gated community alone, but I couldn’t. So, I sat on the staircase and took my time lacing up my sneakers.
It was early—eight o’clock, maybe—and a couple servants were moving around, cleaning an already clean house. There was always someone here. When I married and owned my own home, I didn’t want servants. I wanted to walk the halls naked. Hopefully that would be enough incentive for my husband to agree.
A moment later, Dominic appeared, his thick hair mussed from sleep and his broody expression even broodier than usual. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, running shorts, and shoes. I knew underneath there would be a gun strapped to his thigh.
Gabriella came around the corner, carrying some sheets. Her eyes brightened when she saw me. “Oh, good, you’re running! I’ll start with your room then. Your nonna yells at me when I go in hers earlier than ten.”
Her dark hair was in a messy pile on the top of her head, and her smile was infectious. I couldn’t help my own.
“Yeah, you’ll have to maintain a queen’s schedule with her.”
Gabriella had vivacious good looks and a coquettish personality. I’d wondered if the men in my family were taking advantage of it, but I knew I was wrong as she walked up to Dominic—who was texting, go figure—stood on her tiptoes, and whispered something I could only imagine was dirty in his ear.
He never pulled his gaze away from his phone, but a grin tugged at his lips. “Later,” was all he said.
She dropped back to her heels with a shy smile, and then excused herself as she made her way past me up the stairs.
Him, too?
“Unbelievable,” I muttered once she was out of earshot. “You don’t even have to look at a woman to get laid.”
I received the tiniest bit of amusement from him as he slid his phone in his pocket. “Let’s go, before it gets hot.”
We ran the entirety of the gated community. I waved to Tim Fultz as we passed, who was getting into his car for work at the law firm. The rest of the properties were quiet, the people who could afford them spending half the year on vacation, or still in their beds with a small hangover and an expensive prostitute. I noticed Ryan mowing one of their lawns and a bitter feeling ran through me.
By ten o’clock, as we were within sight of the house, the sun beat down harder than ever. Sweat made a lazy path down my back, and my lungs burned. Jumping into the pool sounded better than any idea I’d ever had.
“I’ll race you home,” I panted.
“No.” Dominic maintained a steady pace, but his shirt was soaked with sweat.
“Come on, chicken.”
“If I were five that might have worked.”
“I’ll tell Papà where your stash of pot is.”
He blew out a sarcastic breath, shook his head, and then sprinted.
“Hey!”
With burning thighs, I picked up the pace until I was side-by-side with him. I shoved his shoulder for cheating, managing to push him over a step. Though, I soon realized he wouldn’t return the gesture, considering Papà stood on the front porch with an unfamiliar man, their eyes on us.
Nicolas’s car sat in the driveway, and when he stepped his big body out of it my heartbeat faltered, which created a domino effect of flutters in my chest.
Dominic slowed, apparently thinking it wasn’t appropriate to race his cousin in company. I met him stride for stride until my feet touched our front lawn.
Dominic put his hands on the back of his head and sucked in deep breaths. “Son of a bitch,” he complained, panting.
“Too much smoking,” I told him, choking on air because I was trying to inhale it so fast.
He raised a brow, in a way of asking me what my excuse was.
“Mamma’s cookies,” I told him unashamedly.
He laughed in that quiet, thoughtful way of his.
My thighs were on fire, but I resisted the pull to drop to my knees. I would have made a show of falling to the lawn any other day, but unfortunately, we had company. I believed if I told myself Nicolas’s presence was unfortunate, it would eventually feel that way. Grasping at straws was all I had.
My hair stuck to my sweat-soaked face, and my heart pounded without a pause. I rested my wrists on the top of my head, trying to catch my breath while my eyes unwillingly coasted to Nicolas. He wore a gray suit, white undershirt, and black tie. He looked like a million bucks, just as he always did. I had the sudden desire to wipe some of my sweat on him.
He flicked a gaze to me as he strode down the walkway. His expression wasn’t very nice for the half-second it landed on me. There wasn’t a kink in his step, and, from a distance, he didn’t appear to have been in a table-smashing fight last night. Tony was probably still sleeping downstairs, recovering. He’d spent the night, and I could only hope it was because he was thinking about his relationship with Jenny.
Papà’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Elena, come here.”
I groaned internally. That was the classic “Come meet this man” tone. Glancing at Papà, I tried to convey that I wasn’t dressed to meet someone, but he only gave me a blank look, his demand withstanding.
Dominic rounded the house to the back door and I burned with jealousy.
With a sigh, I headed to the porch and closer to a certain soon-to-be brother-in-law. My sweaty skin became a live wire.
I stood next to my father and his guest, but only vaguely heard my papà’s introduction because Nicolas was a few feet away. He leaned against a porch column with his hands in his pockets, his gaze warm against my face. A red mark marred his cheekbone, and it looked like he had a cut on the edge of his bottom lip.
That gentleman look went up in smoke . . .
I turned my attention to Papà’s guest. “It’s nice to meet you, Christian.”
I had the uncanny ability to subconsciously take in information, especially when it came to my father’s introductions.
I glanced at Christian’s face and then paused.
Because holy handsome.
Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, with soft yet angled features that were the epitome of masculine magnetism. But there was something cold about him. Maybe it was how his watch fit his wrist, how straight his tie was, how his suit was pressed, and how confident his stance was. The man was a perfectionist—I’d bet money on it. When he smiled, the cold look transformed into charm, if not a bit indifferent. He was so unbelievably handsome I found a blush warming my cheeks.
“I should have come a little earlier and gotten my workout in with you. Looked like you were giving your cousin a run for his money,” he said.
The wheels in my head spun. This man was charming, had a cultured if not slightly cavalier tone, and was a real Adonis.
I smiled shyly. “Well, Christian, I run at eight in the mornings.” It was an invitation and, surprisingly enough, Papà didn’t even blink. His expression stayed appeased. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
Christian laughed, running the thumb of his right hand over the watch on his left. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” His gaze warmed, remaining a sliver detached. “It’s been a pleasure, Elena.”
Papà said something, but the cogs were turning in my head too loudly to hear. As Christian and my father headed inside, I turned to watch them go.
Christian was going to snuff out the flame I held for Nicolas.
He was the first intriguing man I’d met since my sister’s fiancé, and I was going to do everything I could to get to know him better. Hopefully, my crush would transfer over like a bad transaction—which it would be, if that dangerous perfectionist vibe was anything to go by.
Flicking my gaze to where Nicolas had stood, my attention halted on him when I realized he was still here.
He was giving me the rudest look I’d ever seen, and for him, that meant something. “Since when do you run every morning?”
How did he know I didn’t?
I blinked. “Since right now.”
His jaw ticked, and he flicked a dark gaze toward the side before focusing it on me. I realized that was Nicolas Russo’s way of rolling his eyes in disgust.
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