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Her mouth fell open.

And fuuuuck. I fixated on her mouth so I wouldn’t fixate on what her pussy would taste like. Goddammit. As much blood I had on my hands, it felt dirty to think of her in terms of sex or blow jobs because, for the longest time, she was like a little sister to me. Then she lost her virginity to that fucker and it made me realize she wasn’t a child anymore. Still, it would be another two years before I realized Bianca had grown hips and tits and mastered the way to drive a man crazy with a flick of her hair. That was when things started changing—fast. And once they did, there was no turning back. The first time she got me hard, I was so horrified, I got drunk, puked my guts, and stood under a scalding hot shower as though it would burn off my guilt for lusting over her.

Even now, the flames of hell licked at my heels as I challenged her with my eyes.

When she was a child, her face reminded me of those mischievous angels. Chubby cheeks and bouncy dark brown curls, which glinted red in the sun. Bianca’s face had lost the baby fat of youth and had morphed into an exquisite, heart-shaped face with defined cheekbones and a stubborn chin. But her power was in her eyes. Deep-set, thick lashed. When the lighting was just right, each dark iris was surrounded by a burst of yellow gold that flared like the petals of a sunflower into an outer ring of dark brown. Other times, like when she wanted something they darkened into a soul-gripping shade of brown.

Her family called that look her puppy-dog eyes. And I agreed with them until, in the last four years, puppy-dog eyes slowly transformed into the call of a siren. Now I wanted to drown in them before I devoured her lips and sank into her heat.

Our conversation had shifted, including our silent one.

Her mouth slammed shut and her eyes dropped to her plate. Her cheeks were still pink, but I knew it wasn’t anger anymore but an awareness of me as a man.

My cock hardened behind the zipper of my jeans. I shifted in my chair and adjusted myself.

She caught my movement, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. I opted to take a sip of coffee.

“Are we consummating the marriage? Because…it’s not like I’m a virgin.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Her gaze snapped to mine. “Why? Because you’re the reason I lost it?”

I raised a brow. “Are we talking about this now?”

She stood, picked up her plate, and rounded the counter to head to the sink, turning on the faucet. “I was stupid.”

I barely heard her above the rush of running water.

Getting up from the barstool, I strode to her, turned off the faucet, clasped her shoulders, and turned her around. “Maybe. But you were only seventeen and you let Griselda goad you.”

Her eyes flashed. “And how does Griselda fit into our drama? I’m going on a hunch—she’s not really pregnant, is she?”

“I never asked for confirmation.”

“Then what’s the deal about being engaged to her?”

“We were never going through with marriage, but simply discouraging Gian from forcing her to marry into the Philly mob and forming an alliance from hell. Gian called our bluff by throwing us an engagement party.” That was another level of fuckery. I agreed to help Griselda because we’d been engagedbefore. Even when she broke things off with me first, I had already tainted her chances of a lucrative marriage match.No one wants Sandro Rossi’s leftovers, Griselda screamed at me more than once. Guilt about that festered after Griselda remained unmarried year after year. That was why I practically handed over control of the club to her and why I didn’t want the same thing to happen to Bianca, but too late for that now. A widow had a more respectable status than a former fiancée. That was why faking my death was one avenue I was considering so Bianca could escape my family. The De Luccis would never abandon her.

“The three of us have formed a weirdly toxic relationship.” She meant me, her, and Griselda. “I want to leave the past in the past. I’ve yet again screwed with your life and hers. Maybe I deserved this, but not Renz. He got caught up in my preoccupation with you.”

“Preoccupation?”

She glared at me. “Obsession, all right? But I’m over it.”

I crowded her against the sink and caged her in, lowering my head, and said, “Oh, no, baby. We’re going to show how obsessed we are with each other. We’re married, remember? We’re crazy about each other.”

She narrowed her eyes, but I could almost imagine the pounding of her heart. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths. “We don’t have to pretend if it’s just the two of us.” She pushed at my chest.

When I refused to budge, she hissed, “Sandro.”

I let her scoot out from under my arm and put distance between us. She shifted her attention to the bags on the counter. “We need to put these away.” She glanced around the kitchen. “I don’t know where you want these.”

I sauntered lazily over to her. I never thought I’d like playing house with a woman, but with Bianca, I was looking forward to it, however temporarily.

“I hardly use this property. The pantry is empty. Do as you please.”

“There’s enough food for six months in here.” She was exaggerating, but she still wouldn’t look at me. I followed her around the counter where she found a large cooler. She flipped the lid open. “Okay, there’s enough meat in here to feed an army.” She let the lid fall and looked at me. “Are we entertaining while we’re holed up in here?”