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And then, with a mind of its own, my hand drifts down to my cock, rubbing it over the fabric of my pants. I'm so painfully hard thinking about the girl on my laptop screen. I can't take it anymore.

Finally, I unzip my pants and let myself spring free. I just need to get her out of my system so I can focus.

I stroke my length, my eyes still fixed on her.

And when I come, it's her I'm watching. Her I'm thinking about.

Like a coffee ring soaked into a wooden table, Olivia Marchese has embedded herself into my brain, and I don't think I'm getting rid of her any time soon.

TWENTY-TWO

Olivia

Sam isn't at the mansion when I get back from the bar. Roman had me pack it up right at five, reminding me that part of my agreement with Sam was to be home in time for dinner. But since he's not here…

I decide I'll find somewhere to sit that isn't inside the four walls of his guest room. I've spent enough time there already, and seeing as there's no end date for my stay, I might as well get comfortable.

Sam's mansion is huge and stylish, a mix of old Southern charm and modern luxury that would make my mother's designer heart skip a beat.

Through French doors, I discover a hidden courtyard. Bougainvillea spills over wrought-iron railings, and a small fountain trickles in the corner. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves, creating dancing shadows on the stone pavement.

It's stunning.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through the missed notifications from the days I was without it. I have at least fivetexts and two missed calls from my mother, but the thought of talking to her right now makes my stomach roll. I'm not in the mood for another guilt trip ofI can't believe you moved so far away from me and back tothatplace.

What would I say?Hey, I'm fine, just living with the New Orleans mafia boss because I accidentally saw him kill someone. No biggie.

I scrub a hand over my face. No, I'm not ready for that conversation. At least Joey knows what happened, so if I suddenly go missing, he can tell the cops that Sam Costello probably killed me.

Do I really think Sam is going to murder me?

A sigh leaves my lips. I'm not sure. He should, that much I know. Isn't that what they do with witnesses in all the gangster movies? Toss them in the sea with a brick tied to their ankles? Swim with the fishes, and all that.

But I still don't think that’s Sam's M.O. Maybe I'm naive.

Before I can think better of it, I open the browser and type Sam's name into the search engine. Seconds later, the results appear. I scroll through, my heart rate quickening with each headline. There's so much information about Sam — more than I expected.

Charges dropped against New Orleans mafia boss, Samuel Costello, due to insufficient evidence in murder trial.

I tap on the article, scanning through the details. The piece outlines how Sam was released less than a week ago after evidence emerged proving his innocence and the judge dismissed his case. He was in Orleans Parish Prison while awaiting trial for the murder of his father.

I freeze, my eyes rereading the line.

Did Sam kill his own father?

I know he's capable of murder; I saw it with my own eyes. But the idea of someone killing their own blood feels foreign to me. But then again, it was his uncle in that alleyway.

Going back to the search results, I tap on a photo gallery and find myself staring at Sam's mugshot. His eyes are hard, defiant, nothing like the calculated charm I've seen directed at me.

Further down, there's a society page from years back. A much younger Sam in a tuxedo at some charity gala, his arm around a stunning blonde. The caption reads:"Samuel Costello and date at the annual Children's Hospital Benefit."

I find myself diving deeper, reading about the Costello family history in New Orleans. They've been here for generations, with legitimate businesses — restaurants, real estate, shipping — serving as fronts for their less legal endeavors.

My stomach drops when I find an article about the murder of Giulia Costello, Sam's mother, when he was just a child. The details are sparse but horrific — killed during a kidnapping attempt by a rival gang.

I close the browser, suddenly feeling like I'm violating his personal information. This isn't just research anymore; I'm peering into the painful chapters of Sam's life that shaped him into the man who now controls mine.

I nearly drop my phone when Sam's voice comes from behind me.