Page 24 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

"Oh, wow is right." Eliza studies the screen, then lifts her gaze to me. "I would have never thought to mix slate green with ivory silk, especially with the pop of blood-orange. That scarf changes the whole mood."

"It's one of my favorites," I say quietly.

The outfit is simple. Elegant. An ivory silk blouse cut diagonally, soft and fluid, tucked into wide-legged slate trousers that skim the ankle.

The kind of look that whispers confidence, not wealth.

Paired with suede loafers and gold hoops, it's nothing more than well-styled daywear.

But switch the flats for heels, twist a bright silk scarf at the neck, and suddenly it's ready for candlelight and wine.

"That's genius," Eliza murmurs, handing the phone back. "You've got an eye, cara mia."

My cheeks warm at the compliment and the term of endearment. Already, I'm beginning to hope that I will get to spend more than one evening with them.

"I have a dinner party I have to go to tomorrow, and I have no idea what to wear." Eliza's brown eyes are warmly on me. "Would you mind helping me?"

"I would love to." I feel excitement rush through me at the idea.

"Sorry I'm late, Mamma," Enrico's deep voice heats the excitement welling up in me even more. I can't stop myself from turning. Manollo and Dante assured me that he was alright, but it's only now that I see him that I truly allow myself to believe it.

"I would come in, but as you can see…" he looks down on himself dramatically. His suit is wrinkled and torn, with dark spots hinting at blood. His hair is a tousled mess, and scratches on his face hint at what happened at the mall earlier.

"Dio mio, Enrico!" Eliza jumps off her chair. "What happened?"

Izzy kicks me under the table and looks at me, slightly shaking her head.

I get it. Eliza has no idea what happened today, at least not yet.

I don't think the mall incident is something that can be kept quiet.

They can probably keep our names out of it, but from what I've seen of Eliza so far, she's going to connect the dots soon.

At the latest, if and when she watches the news.

"How dare you show yourself like this to your mother?

" Rizio shoots out of his chair so fast that it makes a screeching sound against the wooden floor.

He rushes to Enrico's side, not resembling the jovial man from a few minutes ago at all.

He looks stern, more like the mafia capo he is.

"A word, son. I've been trying to get a hold of you all day. "

He ushers Enrico from the room, and all I hear is him grunting, "I've been busy." Before they're out of earshot.

It's almost ten.

I've tried to sleep, I really have, but my brain is buzzing like a swarm of bees that drank espresso straight from the pot instead of collecting nectar.

I'm lying here in this too-soft bed with my stomach full—for the first time in, I don't know, weeks?

months? years? Dinner was so good, like embarrassingly good.

I had second helpings. Thirds. I probably looked like I hadn't eaten in a year, because, guess what? I kind of haven't. Not like that.

And then it hits me.

I was almost killed today.

Like—shot. In a mall. In broad daylight. While trying to drag Izzy away from men with guns. It felt like an action movie, except it wasn't one. The screaming was too loud and not loud enough, and I can still feel the cold press of tile under my knees.

So yeah. No sleep.

My scattered mind turns on a dime the way it has been doing all night, going from what happened at the mall back to dinner, to how nice the Sartoris are. So different from the Giordanos. It's confusing. They're kind, and warm, and terrifying.

And then there's Enrico.

God. Enrico.

He's like gravity. Heavy. Pulling everything around him into his orbit, including me. I don't trust him. But I feel safe near him. Like if the world ends again tomorrow, he'll still be standing, and he'll keep me upright, too.

It's too much. I'm full. I'm overwhelmed. I'm alive.

Also... Eliza looked at my Pinterest board like it was art, complimenting me, saying I had taste and talent.

That maybe we could redesign a guest room into a studio.

All that stirred that elusive feeling, hope, again.

Hope that maybe—somehow—this chaos could lead to something beautiful.

There might still be a chance for me to become a stylist. That I don't have to give up that part of me.

I feel like I'm spinning.

I talked to my family today. More bees swarm my head with voices of the people I haven't seen or held in too long. Parts of our conversation float through my mind, and then it's right back to the mall, to the sound of an explosion.

Right back to Enrico pulling me down.

I hadn't felt it then. Not really. Too much was happening at once, but now, lying in bed, I can still feel his warm body pressed against mine. Protective. When was the last time someone protected me?

The scent of his cologne still lingers with me, heavy, heady, sharp like him.

And with that, I know that sleep won't find me anytime soon.

With a defeated sigh, I get up. Moonlight streams in through the open balcony door, bringing a soft breeze that cools the air just enough, and I reach for the bathrobe Eliza gave me earlier.

I step out on the balcony, which overlooks a sprawling, parklike backyard.

A glistening lake with a private dock lies not even a mile from the house.

It's not the ocean I'm used to from when I was a kid, but it's a large body of water, and it's beckoning me.

Maybe if I sit on the dock and put my feet in the water, it'll settle my mind.

From my balcony, I see that the pathway toward it is lit, lined on both sides by small torches, starting from behind the massive pool with built-in jacuzzi.

To the left is a tennis court, and to the right a basketball court.

The rest of the several acres of land look like they're made up of some kind of forest, with dimly lit pathways.

I would love to explore the grounds more during the daytime, when I can see, but at the same time, I wonder why they would have so many trees; I'd think they'd make it easier for an intruder to fade away, at least until I hear a sharp bark.

Several German Shepherds rush out, followed by a man.

Even from up here, in the dark, his silhouette is unmistakable. Enrico.

My hand flies to my chest, and my breath halts for a few moments as I take in his handsome body.

The dogs gather around him, clearly excited about something.

Without meaning to, I fade back deeper into the shadows of the balcony so that he won't see me, but I can still see him.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of staring at him.

He's not wearing the three-piece suit I've come to expect him in, but a pair of black joggers and a black shirt that fits him like a glove.

From here, I can't make out all the details of the muscles I felt earlier when he tackled me to the ground, but I can bathe in the sight of his V-shaped body.

His shoulders are so incredibly wide, bringing back the sensation of being so safe, despite the bullets flying around us.

He stops at a wide, circular-shaped patch of grass, the dogs right on his heels.

"Sit," he commands, and all six of the dogs obey as one. His voice is so deep and commanding that it carries all the way to the balcony on the second floor.

"Stay!" He orders.

He retrieves something from his pants pocket, which looks like an awkward move since he's using his left hand. Whatever he pulled out, the dogs seem clearly excited about it, but none of them move.

"Ready?" His voice is strong enough to drift up to where I'm standing. I watch him lift a ball high into the air and move into a pitching position.

He's still half in shadow, but I can make out how the fabric of his pants clings to his muscular thighs, a view that is way too distracting.

Heat pools low in my belly, slow and unfamiliar, as if my body knows something my brain hasn't caught up with yet.

But I know I shouldn't feel this way. Most of all, not about him.

He's too old, at least ten years my senior.

Too serious. Too… powerful. He is a man that people follow without question, a man who decides who lives and who doesn't.

A man who'd never want someone like me. I'm nineteen. I've never even been kissed. I don't know what I'm doing, and he… he probably knows everything .

But none of that seems to matter. Not when he's this close.

Not when just looking at him makes my skin feel too tight and my thoughts get scrambled.

My body seems to react to him automatically, and most concerningly, so does my mind.

I begin to wonder what it would feel like if he touched me, really touched me.

The way a man touches a woman. At that, a pleasurable tremor moves through me that leaves me longing even more.

He throws the ball. I'm not a baseball fan by any stretch of the imagination, but even I know that this throw is not an ordinary one.

"Go!"

The dogs rush forward as one, past him, as he watches them while I watch him.

It's too dark and I'm too far to see his expression, but something about the way he holds himself and how the dogs are acting suggests this is a normal routine.

Plus, the Shepherds will keep anybody out of the yard.

Answering my earlier questions about why the Sartori family would have so many trees on their property.

The German Shepherds probably roam the property, just like the Dobermans did at the Giordanos.

Dogs, too, are something I have never really contemplated before.

Giovanni had his Dobermans, and I fed them treats here and there, but there is something utterly spellbinding about the way the Shepherds are running.

Something lithe and feral. And then I know why I like them, because they remind me of Enrico.

He, too, moves with a grace belying his size.

One of the dogs comes running back, proudly holding the ball between his teeth. His tongue is lolling out sideways, and he looks so funny and adorable that I can't stop a small laugh from escaping me.

The sound must have been too loud, loud enough to make the Shepherd's ears perk up, and so does Enrico, as he searches the house for the cause of the noise.

There is a patio and pool between us; still, it feels as if our eyes lock.

"Cat?"

I step forward so he can see me better and wave. "I didn't mean to interrupt your playtime."

"What?" He puts his hand to his ear, and this time, I see the mischievous grin on his face.

"I didn't mean—" I try again.

"What?"

"Alright, I'm coming down," I say, this time lower.

"Bring some treats from the kitchen island."

Funny, this time he seemed to have heard me just fine.

A smile spreads across my lips. There is something forbidden and arousing about moving through the dark house, going to meet Enrico in the yard, like a clandestine date.

I scold myself, Clandestine date? Really, Catalina? You're losing it .

True to his word, I find a glass canister sitting on the kitchen island, filled with small bone-shaped biscuits—the dog treats. I fill my pockets and walk outside. Marveling for one short moment at the fact that I'm in the kitchen, and don't feel any hunger. This has to be a first in… a long time.

The patio is even grander than it looked from up on the balcony. Several lights are strung over and through wooden beams that make up the roof, surrounded by grapevines.

In one corner is a large kitchen island, complete with a full-sized fridge and an oversized barbecue. Chaise lounges, chairs, and tables occupy the other side. A full-sized bar stands against the house.

Several steps lead down into the yard, and then I have to move around the pool before I reach Enrico and his dogs.

The Shepherds surround him, eyeing me cautiously, waiting for a command from their master.

I'm sure they would rip me to pieces if he gave the order.

The thought makes my feet falter for just a moment.

Giovanni would have. I swallow and ask a little too late, "Do they bite? "

"Only when I tell them to or when someone they don't know comes too close without one of us around." He replies. And then, "Easy, Boris," he tells one of them, who was about to rise.

"Uhm…"

"Just come closer, they won't hurt you," he promises.

"Okay." Even I can hear the quiver of mistrust in my voice, and he laughs.

"Hold out a treat," he tells me.

My hand digs into my pockets, and I pull one out, approaching the first dog.

"Hold it on the flat of your hand. They have sharp teeth." He advises.

I gulp, but seeing the magnificent dog so close to me, all I want is to pet him. Or her?

I hold out my hand like Enrico said.

"Go ahead, Sally," he tells the dog, and only then does she approach me cautiously. I feel her breath on my hand, before a long snout slowly opens. Oh Dio, those teeth . They look long and sharp. But Sally surprises me, as she almost daintily picks up the treat.

Enrico points at the next. "Dexter."