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“Never mind,” I said. “Get out.”

I wasn’t expecting what happened next. And in retrospect, I could have put an end to it quickly.

Bianca climbed over to my side and sat on my lap, right over my growing boner.

She gasped. “You’re hard.”

“Get. Off,” I snarled, gripping her shoulders, but I didn’t find it within myself to move her. She felt too good. I could feel the heat of her pussy. Hell, I bet her panties were soaked. I wondered if it was for me. My fingers tightened. I was jealous. Jealous of whatever fucker made her wet.

We stared at each other for a second, maybe two, and then she pressed her lips to mine. I didn’t react, but when she pushed her tongue between my mouth, it was game over. Soft lips seduced me and turned my brain to mush. Lust overpowered logic and razed all restraint to ashes.

I grabbed the back of her head, angled mine and kissed her deeper. She tasted of strawberries and I had the murderous compulsion to erase that boy’s kisses. Bianca whimpered in response and ground down on my cock, making me harder. She continued to rock and I continued to kiss her. One of my hands traveled down her body with the intent to drive my fingers into her soaking cunt. But the flash of headlights from an oncoming vehicle snapped me back to my senses.

Of where we were.

Of what we were doing.

I tore away from the kiss, hoisted her off my lap, and deposited her back into her seat. She’d landed in a tangle of limbs while I shoved out of the vehicle, dragged in air, and pressed my heated body against the car, waiting for the blood to return to my head.

“Get out.” I shut the driver’s door, giving her a few moments to untangle herself. I didn’t need to ask her again. Her door opened and she got out.

She didn’t look at me. She ran toward her apartment building. I didn’t call out her name. I didn’t follow her.

Bianca and I had crossed a line tonight, and we could never go back to what we once were.

Because I wanted nothing more than to fuck Bianca De Lucci and the guilt of it made me sick to my stomach.

When she was safely in her building, I brought up our text thread.

I can’t make lunch tomorrow. I’m heading back to Manhattan tonight.

Bianca

Figures.

I fucked up. I’m sorry, baby.

She didn’t respond.

I drove back to my hotel, cleared out my things, and returned to New York. When I arrived, I took a long hot shower as if I could scald my skin and sins enough to absolve me of what I’d done. Not for killing a man, but for wanting to fuck the girl who’d always been like a sister to me.

Bianca was right: I had a fucked-up sense of morality. I should stay away from her.

I got drunk for three days straight. Thankfully, with Bianca in Cambridge, there weren’t many chances of us seeing each other. She started spending her summers abroad with her parents.

Calls and texting between us stopped.

That was when I resorted to stalking.

Chapter

Sixteen

Bianca

It had been two days since the Rossis brought home a bloodied Al Scavo. Two days since the Blind Don checked up on us to make sure we were upholding our end of the bargain consummating the marriage—which was creepy as hell. Two days before I finally had a decent night of sleep in Sandro’s bed. And the reason I slept peacefully was because my husband didn’t come home last night.

The glaring light of the morning jolted me awake. My arm shot across the bed to Sandro’s unslept side and I sat up quickly in a slight panic. Did something happen? Sticks would have awakened me, right?