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“Enjoy your cannoli?” I nudge Massimo’s empty plate.

“So fucking good. I think I missed Auntie Savia’s cannoli more than I missed you.”

I chuckle at him wiggling his eyebrows at me.“You cut me deep, kid. Now, tell me what you picked up from that little chat.” We are trying to involve him in our day-to-day shit so he can get a handle on how everything works.

“Um. Well, Stefan is getting around the capos and at least some of them are listening to him. I got a weird vibe between Baz and The Exorcist when we were talking about mercenaries. Mostly we need Elio to man the fuck up and stop leaving the door open for Rossi.”

I nod and ruffle his perfectly styled hair. “Good listening,caro mio. It’s good to have you home.”

I could have eaten atLa Fazenda, but I’m strict about my calorie intake and I know Peta has left some chicken salad in the fridge for me. The woman is an angel, I swear. Mostly for putting up with Dad. She is a lot younger than him and I was suspicious of her when she first arrived on the scene. Despite being only fourteen years older than me, she has been a reliable and supportive stepmother to us three older kids and a wonderful mum to Massimo.

Untucking and unbuttoning my dress shirt, I chuck it over the back of a dining chair and lean against the marble countertop in my tapered dress pants and a sports bra.

I’m shovelling chicken and salad into my mouth, and debating whether to train chest or back when I hear Francesca’s laugh carrying up the stairs that go from the underground garage to the hallway next to the kitchen. It sends a thrill up my spine and a flood of heat to my cunt.

He brought her home. My stomach quickly sinks at the thought and I tell myself to snap out of it.

This is fantastic news for theFamiglia. They’ll fall in love, get married, and have lots of little mafia brats. Stability and peace throughout the land! Happily ever after.Ugh.

For some reason it makes me want to forget chest and back and do three hours on the fuckin’ punching bag instead.

“Oh hey, G.” Elio appears at the top of the stairs. He has an arm around Francesca’s shoulders and they both look like they've been laughing.

“Hey, you two. Good date?” I should have run upstairs when I heard her laugh and avoided this painful small talk. Now I’m fuckin’ murderous knowing that while I was dealing with shitty senior members of theFamigliahe was moving in on quite literally the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my bloody eyes on.

“Yeah it was great,” Francesca says softly with a smile. She is trying not to look directly at me and my stomach churns as my brain works overtime trying to figure out if it is because she is embarrassed she ever even looked at me or because she feels the magnetic pull between us too.

Elio lets her go and grabs a couple of wine glasses from a cupboard. “Red? White?” he asks her.

“Red? I don’t mind. You choose.” She’s distracted, her eyes tracing a hot path down my torso and settling on my hard-earned six-pack. Okay, maybe more like a four-pack these days. And, because I’m a pathetic arsehole, I suck in my stomach slightly causing them to ripple and Francesca to gulp slowly. I relish the heat in her gaze.

The marble countertop digs into my lower back, but I will not move from my laidback slouch. It says ‘I’m chill, not bothered, totally unaffected’.

Never mind I have to remind myself to chew my food because I am shoving it in my gob with such ferocity.Self-control,Giovanna.

“Alright, catch you later, G. We’re going to take this upstairs.” Elio holds the wine bottle up and chucks his arm back around Francesca’s shoulders.

She doesn’t say anything to me, but as they reach the base of the stairs she looks back over her shoulder. The intensity of her stare heavy with meaning I refuse to let myself decode.

The churn in my stomach becomes a burn in my chest and I give myself one moment of weakness to feel sorry for myself. One moment to ask why I never seem to get the things I want. Ever. Why I hustle around keeping this family together, but I always end up with the short straw.

Chapter Thirteen

Francesca

Plush suede leather in dark grey encases the expansive eight-seater sofa in Elio’s living room. It is a space that screams opulence. Dark woods and black and grey textures make for a sleek masculine aesthetic that fits him to a tee.

From where I sit on the sofa, Elio’s ginormous four-poster bed is visible through the ajar bedroom door.

The dark colour scheme continues there and I can’t help but smirk at the absolute certainty I feel that the posts of his bed are set up for restraints and bondage. I’d bet my non-existent life savings on it.

Despite his lounge suite being fit to sit more than his entire family, Elio’s right leg presses into my crossed left knee. His closeness is almost overwhelming. The potent scent of his sharp cologne blankets us like a heady bubble. It isn’t unpleasant, but it is a lot.

Elio’s body language is not leaving any room for doubt that he intends to fuck me. His gaze sweeps up and down my body lingering on my lips, my thighs, my chest, and my neck. He exudes sexual aggression, and dominance, which I’m hugely attracted to, but I’m just not sure I want it from him.

I genuinely didn’t expect our night to lead here, but I shouldn’t have underestimated Elio’s charm. It is legendary after all. How silly of me to think that I could be immune to his silver tongue and panty-melting smiles.

That’s not quite honest. I’m having to coach myself to focus on him and only him and to make the best of what is a less-than-ideal situation.