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Chapter Nine

Rafael

I’m vaguely nervous waiting for Lux to arrive. I drop the spatula twice before I force myself to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

She’s been on my mind twenty-four-seven since the night at the bar, clouding my thinking. I try to focus on the goal: get revenge for my father’s death. She’s the killer , I tell myself.

But my brain refuses to cooperate. Instead, I see her warm sapphire eyes, her radiant smile, and the soft curves of her body every time I close my eyes.

The voices telling me to destroy her get drowned out by her soft laugh, her heady moans, the way she calls me Wolf like it’s a cute nickname.

The elevator dings and I hear her heels on the marble floor. I take a deep, grounding breath and put the spatula down.

Son of Dominic Romano. The Wolf. Lethal. Brutal. Ruthless.

Focus on your end goal. Don’t get soft.

“In the kitchen!” I call out, forcing myself to stay put and make her come to me. She wanders in, her heels clicking across the floor. She’s wearing a tiny pink dress tonight, her hair spilling down her back in loose waves.

She smiles and my heart stops beating for a second. “Hi, Wolfie. That smells amazing.”

I forget who I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. My body floats toward her like she’s summoning it. I grab her around the waist, kissing her deeply, feeling her smile behind it.

“Hi, Lux, you look…stunning.”

“Ah, this old thing?” she asks, spinning around coyly. “Just my work uniform.”

“I really don’t want to think about you serving drinks to rich old dudes wearing that.”

“They’re mostly harmless,” she says, brushing it off. “My boss, Carlo, is probably the weirdest one out of the bunch.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about him,” I say, keeping my voice level. Finally, something I can use.

She perches on a stool at the kitchen island, slipping off her heels, and moans in pleasure. The sound connects to a memory of my face between her thighs. I almost throw her over my shoulder and drag her to the bedroom like a caveman.

“He’s fine, not creepy or anything,” she starts, her little heart-shaped face resting on her hand. “I mean, depends on your definition of creepy, I guess. But he doesn’t try anything weird with me.”

“What makes him weird then?” I stir the garlic and onions slowly, hoping she’ll reveal something that implicates her and confirms everything.

At the same time, my heart hammers in my chest, praying she doesn’t. I don’t know if I even want to know the truth anymore.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Okay, so he loves to give us a motivational quote before the start of each shift, right?”

“That’s not that weird. Sounds like a good leader to me.”

“Well yeah, if the quote is something like…don’t give up until you reach success,” she says, using a fake deep voice to mimic Carlo. “But they’re usually Al Capone quotes. Or some other long-dead gangster. I think Carlo’s seen too many mafia movies.”

I go still, waiting for her admission, “ and I work for him, one of the biggest mafia dons in the city”. But nothing happens. I spin around and she’s dreamily staring off into space, swinging her legs lightly.

“Maybe Carlo is part of the mob?” I egg her on, raising my eyebrows.

“Carlo?” She stares, her eyes widening. Then she bursts into laughter, a tear streaming from each eye. “Carlo looks big and tall and mean and rough, but he’s kind of…well, a bumbling idiot. Not exactly Al Capone.”

Hmm. I look deep into her eyes, seeing nothing but truth there. There’s not a single trace of the usual tricks that liars use—just raw honesty and joy. I clear my throat and turn back to the stove, reminding myself that I’m cooking dinner for her.

“Glad to hear it,” I say lightly. “You don’t want to get mixed up in that.”

“Nah,” she says, clearly not giving it a second thought. Suddenly, I feel her arms circle my waist as her face presses into my back. She sighs sweetly. “I missed you.”

On second thought, dinner can wait.

I turn around, hoisting her up onto the island by her waist, and kiss her deeply. She spreads her thighs, pulling me closer to her. My fingers tangle into her hair as the kisses turn more aggressive, like neither of us can get enough.

Last time she set the pace—sinfully slow. This time, we’re moving at lightning speed, needing the connection, the skin-on- skin contact. She rips off my shirt and gets to working on my belt buckle as I push her dress over her hips.

A tiny triangle of fabric covers her pussy, already soaking wet. My pants slide to the floor, and I lean down, grabbing one side of the thong with my teeth. She gasps, laughing, as I pull it down over her thighs like an animal.

I haven’t seen her in two days. I haven’t tasted her in three. It’s been driving me completely insane.

I even slipped into my security room earlier today just to get a glimpse of her on the cameras. She was getting ready for work, walking around her apartment in this exact thong. I toss it across the room.

“Wolf,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re a wild one.”

I grin, whipping her dress off and sending it flying as well. She leans back on the marble countertop, smiling at me lazily. Not this time, waitress. This time I’m in charge.

Winking at her, I grab her hips and slide her off the counter. She looks at me with confusion but stretches up on her tippy toes to kiss me again. I spin her around, my mouth already on her neck, my hands cradling her soft breasts.

“We get to play my way this time,” I growl in her ear, squeezing her hard nipples between my fingers.

She moans, low and heady, as goosebumps break out over her skin. I slide one hand down between her legs, slipping inside, feeling her unbelievable wetness.

She whimpers, grinding herself into my cock. The waves of pleasure force her to brace herself on the island. Perfect .

I hoist her up, her torso on the cold marble, ass in the air, legs dangling down. She looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes half-closed with lust.

“Make it hard and fast,” she begs, arching her back for me. “I need you so bad.”

I smack her ass cheek, hard, and she flinches but doesn’t stop me. I slap the other one, leaning down to kiss the red mark immediately. She groans, trying to move closer to me.

I’m ready to explode from the image of her stretched out, face down, on my kitchen island. Her wet pussy is beckoning me, her scent filling the air. It makes me feel good knowing she wants this as much as I do.

I grab her hips, sinking into her from behind, and she inhales deeply. My mind and my body disconnect completely as I thrust deeper and harder into her. She meets my rhythm, moaning and begging for more.

The thrusts get faster, harder, until I start worrying that I’m hurting her and slow it down a little. She looks over her shoulder and growls at me, her hair flying, her eyes on fire. She looks like an angry little fox.

The Wolf and the fox.

I kick the pace back up, losing my mind entirely. We reach our release at the same time, her screaming my name, trying to grip the slippery marble with her fingers. I trail kisses down her body, easing her onto the floor.

She spins around, slumping against me. We stand there like that for what seems like an eternity, our bodies on fire, buzzing with the heat of this connection. Her forehead is pressed to my chest and my fingers are in her hair.

I could have spent the rest of my life standing there like that.

“Wolfie, sorry to interrupt this beautiful moment,” she says, trying to peek around me. “But are those burned onions I smell?”

“Oh fuck.” I whip around, grabbing the pan and throwing it into the sink. The vegetables are a burned, putrid mess, and smoke swirls around us. I turn back to face her, grinning like an idiot.

“How does delivery pizza sound instead?”

“Perfection.”

We clean ourselves up, feast on pizza at four a.m., and climb into bed, laughing like silly kids. She entertains me with her wild life stories, and I listen, charmed and feeling goofy. When the conversation dies down, she snuggles into my chest, her soft snores comforting me.

As much as I want to join her, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. My hand absently strokes her messy curls.

This is not good. This is really not good. It’s the worst of the worst.

My mind goes into overdrive, realizing I no longer have the desire to kill her. In fact, I want to do nothing but protect her. I struggle with the idea, trying to battle myself into submission.

She works for Carlo Mancini. She killed my father. She’s the enemy.

I drill it into my head over and over again. Then I pass out, her cinnamon scent making my heart soar and my eyes heavy.