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"Were we?" His other hand comes up to brush my cheek, and I can't help leaning into the touch. "Because I remember knowing exactly what I wanted…who I wanted."
The wine, the memories, his touch—it's all too much. I'm supposed to be gathering intel, maintaining distance. Instead, I'm drowning in him.
"Stefano..."
"Say it again," he whispers. "My name. Say it."
"We shouldn't?—"
"Say it."
"Stefano."
He makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat spiraling through me. "Come home with me."
Four simple words that could destroy everything. My mission. My brother's safety. My heart.
But as I look into his eyes, burning with ten years of hunger, I realize I've already lost this battle.
Maybe I lost it the moment I walked into his club.
I should say no. Should remember why I'm here. Should think about the consequences.
Instead, I hear myself whisper, "Yes."
His smile is pure sin, and I know I'm in trouble.
Delicious trouble.
Stefano doesn't wait for the check. He just pulls out a black card and hands it to the hovering waiter without taking his eyes off me. His stare makes my skin feel too tight, too hot.
"Having second thoughts?" His voice is low, knowing.
I should be. God, I should be running as fast and far as I can. Instead, I watch his hands as he signs the receipt, remembering how they felt on my skin all those years ago. Wondering if they'll feel the same now.
"No thoughts at all," I murmur, and it's almost true. The wine has turned everything hazy except him. He's in crystal clear focus—the way his jaw clenches when I shift in my seat, how his eyes track every movement like he's memorizing me.
He stands, offering his hand. Such a gentlemanly gesture, but there's nothing gentle about the look in his eyes.
I place my hand in his, and the contact sends another shock through my body. His fingers close around mine possessively, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"Still the Ava who jumps without looking?" he asks as we walk through the restaurant. His hand has found its way to my lower back again.
"Still the Stefano who thinks he can catch me?" I counter, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
His laugh is dark, promising. "Oh,tesoro." He leans close, lips brushing my ear. "I already have."
The cool night air hits us as we step outside, but I barely notice. Everything is Stefano—his hand on my back, his cologne in my lungs, his presence overwhelming my senses.
His car pulls up, sleek and black and expensive. Of course it is. Everything about him screams power and money now. He’s so different from the wild boy I knew.
But as he opens the door for me, his fingers brush my hip, and that touch is exactly the same. It still sets my blood on fire. Still makes me want things I shouldn't.
I should think about my mission. About Tony. About all the reasons this is the worst possible idea.
As we pull away from the curb, his hand finds my thigh. Heat courses through me. It should feel like a trap closing.
Instead, it feels like falling.