Page 9

I poured myself a second cup of coffee to wean off the fatigue and reluctantly dived right back into the paperwork scattered across my desk. I hadn’t slept well last night. How could I, when the ghost of our kiss still lingered on my lips? All night, I thought of Larissa. She was an unwelcome guest in my dreams, but how I hated to see her go when I woke.

Once again, I found myself thinking of her. At forty-two, I should have known better than to let Larissa Ajello, the sister of a man who had it out against our family, get under my skin. But there she was, twenty-five years old and so full of life, of sass, of fire.

She reeked of trouble, I knew that. But why couldn’t I get her out of my mind?

I sighed and looked at the clock. I was running behind schedule and found it hard to work. But time waited for no man, and so, I forced myself to focus. I had barely regained my flow when I heard a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I said, in a somewhat annoyed tone. I looked up, expecting to see one of my men, but to my surprise, I saw Larissa. She walked in wearing those tight, gorgeous jeans that make me go wild, along with a large, chunky sweater that left much to the imagination. Her hair, beautifully blown out, shone in the light as she flicked it over her shoulder.

Her gaze met mine, and for a second, mine lingered away to the gloss on her lips, before I focused back on those beautiful blue-green eyes that drew me right in like a flame. Did she know? Did she know how beautiful she was?

She stood before me, shifting her weight between her legs.

“Larissa?” I asked, sensing this might be a long conversation from the stance she stood in.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said, keeping my voice even as I tried to hold back a smile at her matter-of-fact tone. “Sleep well?”

“Wonderfully. Nothing like being held against my will to guarantee sweet dreams.” Her sarcasm was sharp, and how I’d grown to love it.

I motioned at the chair. She sat and without asking, I poured her a cup of coffee and slid it over to her. Larissa wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug and took a sip. She closed her eyes, and I saw the corners of her lips turn as she savored it. When she opened her eyes again and met mine, I chuckled. “You Italians and your coffee.”

“You know us,” she shrugged and, this time, smiled wholly.

“Spoilt brats,” I chuckled.

“Wait till you see us around our pasta,” she shook her eyebrows in my direction. The moment wasn’t lost on me. We were…playing. Like friends, almost. Almost.

I leaned back in, amused. But of course she didn’t let me enjoy the moment.

“Now that you know I'm innocent and can't give you any information about... whatever it is you think my brother did, you can take me back to him.”

I shook my head once, a clean, decisive motion. “That's not happening.”

“Why the hell not?” All five-foot-seven of her vibrated with indignation. “You said yourself deemed me innocent last night and apologized for making me see what went down.”

“I said you might not know anything consciously,” I corrected her. “There's a difference.”

“So what am I supposed to be, your prisoner until... when exactly?”

I stood, circling my desk until I reached the other side of the desk. She looked up at me through those curled lashes as I perched myself on the table right in front of her. “Until I'm certain your brother had nothing to do with the attack on our Vadim-Ustinov-Lebedev operation.”

Her brow furrowed. “The what?”

“We have an alliance now with the Vadims and Ustinovs. They’re powerful in the Bratva, and important to us. Until I know your brother won’t hurt our alliance, you stay here.”

“That's bullshit,” she spat. “Gastone wouldn't care about any Bratva. We’re the Mafia for—”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, I'm sure. My brother isn't stupid enough to start a war with you people.”

“You people,” I repeated, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Such diplomacy.”

“You're the ones who kidnapped me! My brother has never kidnapped anyone. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”

“I prefer to think of it as an involuntary protective custody arrangement.”

She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Are you always this insufferable, or am I getting special treatment?”

“I save my best material for Italian Mafia princesses with attitude problems.”

“I don't have an attitude problem,” she said, glaring up at me. “I have a problem with being held hostage by a man old enough to be my—”

“Careful,” I warned, although the age gap barb struck precisely where she intended it. “I might be seventeen years your senior, but I'm not decrepit yet.”

“I noticed.” The words slipped out before she could catch them, and I watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened slightly at her admission.

The tension in the room shifted, electric and dangerous. I cleared my throat. Suddenly, even the thought of this house being devoid of her stung my chest. Either way, it wasn’t so much that, as the simple fact that she was still my leverage, indicating I couldn’t give her what she wanted.

“Here's the deal, Larissa. I can't let you go until I know for certain that your brother isn't gunning for my family. But I'm willing to make you a deal.”

She eyed me warily. “What kind of deal?”

“If you can prove that Gastone is innocent—concrete proof, not just sisterly faith—I'll set you free.” I held her gaze. “Otherwise, you cooperate with me until we find who's really responsible, or until your brothers find you and we set the terms for our security before I give you back.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to prove anything while I'm stuck here with you?”

“You'll have contact with your family—supervised, of course. There’s a party coming up. That would be a wonderful time for them to realize where you’ve been, and that’s when you can play whatever part you want in asking them for information. Their reaction to your being taken by us can speak volumes, don’t you think?”

Larissa paced a small circle on the table with her forefinger, coming dangerously close to my thumb. “My family… have they…”

“They’ve been looking for you. Yes,” I said, and her finger stopped so darn close to my thigh, that I swear I thought it grazed me. She stared up at me, dumbfounded, with those big doe-eyes and my breath hitched in my throat, my thigh burning for her to come closer.

“Didn’t think to tell me?” she hissed.

“Didn’t want you getting any ideas for a grand escape,” I shrugged.

“Do they know where I am?” she asked now.

“They’re nowhere close to finding where you are,” I scoffed.

“This deal you offer. What if I refuse?”

“Then you stay here as my guest until this matter resolves itself. Could be days. Could be weeks.” I shrugged. “Could be months.”

She pulled her finger away from the desk and narrowed her eyes at me. “Fine. I'll help you find out who's really behind the attack, because it wasn't Gastone. But I want something else in return.”

“You're not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

“And yet, here I am, negotiating.” There was something admirable about her nerve. “I want more freedom around here. If I want to go out for a coffee, or to the shops, I have to be allowed.”

I considered her request. It wasn't unreasonable, given that she’d been here for weeks already and could remain longer. Being indoors all the time was impossible. “Agreed. But only if your cooperation is genuine and you allow my men to follow you.”

Larissa nodded and rose, extending her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

I took her hand, feeling the smallness of it in mine. She stood so close, that I saw her body turn inward, to protect her chest from grazing mine.

“Deal,” I agreed, holding her hand a moment longer than necessary. “But if I find out you're playing me—”

“Save the threats.” She pulled her hand back. “You're not the only one with something to lose here.”

A silence fell between us. In the quiet, I noticed the way she chewed her lower lip, a nervous tell she probably wasn't aware of.

“I should thank you,” she said suddenly, the words coming out stiff and grudging.

I raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For getting me out of that... place yesterday. Before I lost myself.” She swallowed hard, the memory clearly still raw.

“Of course,” I said, softly. “I couldn’t just leave you there now, could I?”

“Right.” She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. “Still. You helped me out, you talked me through my panic. You …took care of me. Thanks.”

The admission seemed to cost her something, and I found myself wanting to ease that burden. “You're welcome.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, and suddenly we were back in that moment from yesterday—her pressed against the wall, my mouth on hers, that inexplicable hunger that had overtaken us both. I felt it now, a current running beneath my skin, urging me forward.

She must have felt it too, because her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. The distance between us seemed both vast and negligible. I could close it in a single step.

I thought about how she'd tasted and how her body had fit against mine. My gaze dropped to her mouth, and I caught the slight tremble there. Twenty-five, I reminded myself. Sister to a potential enemy. Leverage, not desire.

The words felt hollow even as I thought them.

I slid off the desk, pushing her back to create space between us. “You're free to go out, but don't attempt to leave the compound without informing me so I can have your car, driver, and guards prepared.”

She blinked, the spell broken. “Sure.”

“Good.” I moved back behind my desk, putting the solid mahogany between us. She gave me a lingering glance as though she wanted to say something, but I pretended to be busy. I had no other choice, or I would have lost all control.

Without another word, she marched out.