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I raise my glass, clink glasses with him. “Who said it would ruin it?”

He laughs ruefully. I take a sip; the bubbles warming me up, then place my glass down and cut into my steak.

“You seem different tonight,” I say.

“Different?”

“Something has changed. Was it what happened with The Vultures?”

“Sort of. It was being with the mob. I never wanted to return to them, to give my father what he wanted.”

I gasp. “What do you mean, ‘father’?”

He shrugs. “I suppose you can know. My father is the don of the Family.”

I stare, rapt, my food suddenly forgotten.

“He tried to groom me to be next in line. He wanted me to be like him. Cold, ruthless, heartless. Maybe there was a time where I might’ve been what he wanted me to be, but the more I saw of that life, the more sickened I was by it… and now I’ve had to go to them for help again.”

“Because of me,” I mutter.

He reaches across and takes my hand, staring at me with those intense dark eyes, like two stars have fallen from the sky. “Don’t say that,” he says, and he’s suddenly my Warden; this is an order. “Don’t even think like that. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing.”

We hold hands for a few moments, then I pull mine away, and cut into my steak. I stuff a juicy, delicious piece in my mouth, so I don’t have to respond to what he just said.

“What?” he asks, probably reading my expression.

“Thanks for telling me about who you are.”

“No, Keepsake.”

“No?”

“That isn’t what you were going to say,” he tells me fiercely.

I shake my head. He’s right, dammit. He can read me like I could read shards of twisted metal in the old workshop and discover the beautiful pieces they could become.

“You’re lying to yourself if you think this–us–is down to youwanting to do the right thing. I see the animal in you, Dom. It scared me at first.”

“But not anymore?” he says huskily.

My breath picks up, but I control myself. As best as I can, anyway. “I don’t know. I want the truth, but you know that. There’s only so many times and so many ways I can say it.”

He looks at me for a few moments, saying nothing. Smoldering, burning up, like the man who would be Don, king of the mafia, is trying to simmer through his CEO persona.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “Damn, Keepsake. Yeah–you’re right. I can’t lie. I can’t run. I followed you because I wanted you. I took you because I needed you. You’re here becauseyou’re mine.”

He stands, his chair falling to the floor, then walks around the table and hauls me to my feet. I gasp as he crushes me against him, his hands greedily sinking into my hips, pushing his rock-hard staff against my belly. When we kiss, it’s like he’s mesmerizing me.

I’ve got my answer. He’s my captor, my Warden. He admitted it. And yet I can’t stop kissing him.

When his hand slides down my body, toward my sex, I push him away. It takes all the self-control I have, but I manage to do it. “What am I if I let this happen?” I murmur.

“Somebody who does what she wants, what she needs,” he growls.

“Let’s just eat. We can’t do this tonight. We can’t do this until I know you’re going to let me go.”

“I’m never going to let you go. Even when I set you free, I won’t be able to let you go. Ever.”