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Elio is still patiently staring at me. I shrug. "So do the kids need to come in off of your giant carved ice palace or what?"

"They have coats," he says with that same curious expression. "They will be fine."

"You're right. They will be. We always make sure they're fine," I snap.

I'm not sure that I meant it to be so harsh.

Elio's eyes narrow. "You have always ensured the safety of the family, Marco. Even if I did not see it. I'm....thankful," he says.

If I wasn't so angry, I'd smile.

Elio struggles just as much as I do when it comes to expressing gratitude.

Instead, I give him a sharp nod. "You're welcome."

"It seems that..." he huffs. "Fine. I'll just state it. Since we are no longer opposed, I would like to discuss with you the possibility of you... reinstating some of your business obligations."

The thought sends a fissure of ice down my spine. "What does that mean?"

Elio nods. "For the most part, De Luca shipping has been absorbed into the Rossi fold. Dino has a handle on the docks, but Gia and Sal have been handling your... end of the business."

He means the unpacking of illegal goods and the distribution. "I know," I mutter.

Being held in witness protection by Interpol, I haven't exactly been around to handle the things I used to .

"It would be nice to bring you back. To the family business," Elio says.

The heavy emphasis on the word 'family' sits in my mind.

Family business.

My whole life, I have been acutely aware of the family business.

It has been everything I wanted, everything I aspired to.

Everything that I worked, day in and out, to protect.

I was the head of the De Luca family very young, when our parents were tragically killed in an explosion following Elio and Caterina’s first engagement party.

Elio and Gia’s parents were killed as well. For a long time, we both thought that the other was behind the murders.

It drove a rift between us.

Prior to that night, Elio had been my best friend. We’re the same age, and went to the same schools. In high school, Elio was a gangly Italian with an accent thicker than mud and a temper that kept people from mocking it.

I enjoyed being his silver-tongued advocate in the world.

The murders of our parents broke us.

The time he spent trying to get back at me through marrying Caterina…

I guess it healed us.

Elio offering to bring me back in is generous. It should make me feel...

something.

The fact that it does not creates a dissonance in my mind that feels like a buzzing beneath my skin .

I mentally shake. "Thank you, Elio. That would be... great," I manage to grit out.

I can tell Elio wants to ask more, but at that time a wail of despair comes from outside. Elio moves, automatically drawn to the doors to the patio, leaving me in the kitchen.

Alone.

When everyone is asleep, I choose to sneak back into the kitchen to fill my glass with Elio's expensive French cognac. Sipping the complex drink, I meander back into the room that I'm staying in.

I grimace.

Even now, looking at the walls in my brother-in-law and former best friend's house, safe and content and happy with my family, I feel that same itch under my skin as I had earlier.

Brought back into the family business.

As though Elio is the family. Elio is the business.

And I am on the outside.

I believe that is what bothers me, but there's another piece of it that feels... strange. Like a puzzle piece that I'm trying to jam into a space that looks like it should fit.

Even though it doesn't.

I wish to feel... at home.

Like I belong.

And not because of Elio's goodwill .

Unbidden, my mind drifts to the last time that I felt like that. When I felt so at home, I almost forgot that I wasn't.

Except...

I suppose I was.

It might be the fucking French alcohol, it might be the loneliness gnawing at me.

But regardless of the cause, I shut my eyes.

And I let myself remember.

A year and a half ago

"You said the water would be cold," I hiss through clenched teeth. "This isn't cold. This is fucking ice."

"Well, aren't you a big tough mafia man then, unable to handle a little Irish water?"

Her voice.

It's always her fucking voice that gets me first.

I've been holed up with Roisin Kennedy, Interpol agent and my handler, for a month and a half. I haven't been able to see my family, have no idea what's happening to Caterina, and I'm...

I should care.

But I don't.

I look over at where Roisin is emerging from the sea, like some kind of goddess. I’ve tucked myself back onto our blanket, the cold Irish ocean seeping into my bones .

My entire body heats, however, when I observe Roisin coming out of the sea.

She's fucking stunning.

I shouldn't be thinking that about her. She's practically my babysitter, after all.

But fuck.

I do anyway.

She's all muscle, with surprising curves that make my mouth salivate, and there's power in her tiny frame that I know too well. The memory of her taking me down while we were sparring one day, her legs wrapped tightly around my head, makes me hard so fast I have to adjust myself.

Her challenge turns me on.

Because so far, she's put up a good fight in all of our little mock battles...

And it feels so fucking good for me to win them anyway.

"You're going to catch your death of cold," I say to her.

I sound like a fucking nonna, but I can’t help it. I don’t know what to say to her half the time, and now that I can see the smooth expanse of her bare skin?

It’s a miracle I managed any words at all.

Roisin tilts her head back and laughs, droplets cascading down her neck, glowing in the rare sunshine that's blessing us on the beach today. Largely, Ireland is fucking miserably cold and wet.

So when the sun came out today and she told me we should go to the beach, I didn't argue .

Like some kind of fey creature, she hops over the large, smooth rocks to come back to our spot. She stands over me, and I manage to dodge a stream of cold water as she wrings her hair out. In the water, it's less of a sunny strawberry blonde, and more burnished gold.

I need to stop fucking thinking about her like this.

"Big baby," Roisin laughs at me.

I roll my eyes. "Roisin..."

"I told you. Call me Ro."

I shake my head. "That's a nickname."

"And?"

"People who are close have nicknames. Family. Friends."

Roisin looks at me, and I regret my words immediately because some of the joy has faded. "And we're not friends, are we, American?"

I hate how she calls me that.

And I never want it to change.

"No," I say firmly. "We're not friends."

I don't know how to describe what we are. On paper, she's the agent in charge of keeping me hidden until I need to testify.

But we live together.

We act like a couple. Our cover is that we're a couple.

All of the work with none of the benefits, and what's killing me is that every day I spend with her, the act of being her partner feels less and less like work.

And more like life .

Not to mention, the benefits?

I fucking want them.

With every day that passes, I’m more acutely aware of how sexually attracted I am to this Interpol agent. I can never act on it, of course.

But fuck if I don’t dream.

Roisin settles on the blanket next to me with a sigh. She puts her head on my shoulder, sending my confusion through the roof.

When we're in town, it makes sense for us to touch. We have to look like a happy couple, to keep up the charade.

But here ?

She doesn't need to do it here. There's no one around.

Except me.

So what is real, and what isn't?

I don't fucking know.

But instead of spending all of my time worrying about it, I wrap an arm around her. The salt on her skin is rapidly drying, sticking to my fingers.

I want to lick it off.

"You know, I was convinced when I was a child that I'd see a selkie here," she murmurs.

"Selkie?" I ask.

Roisin nods. "It's a woman who can wear the skin of a seal. She swims in the ocean as a seal and comes on land at night to try and seduce men. "

"Like a mermaid," I say.

She nods. "Very. Except she literally takes off her skin and hides it. It was said that the man who found her skin would control her, and I always thought that was sad."

"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Roisin shrugs. "Because it taught me that if someone knows your secrets, they own you," she murmurs.

Not for the first time, I wonder what secrets Roisin is hiding.

I look down, noticing something for the first time. "What's this scar from?" I ask, my fingers gently tracing it.

She shivers, and the sight of her skin under my fingertips makes me rock hard again.

"My brother," she whispers.

She's talked about her brother before. He sounds like he was a real asshole, and it always makes me wonder if Caterina says the same thing about me.

"You want to share more?"

She looks back, her eyes sparkling. "And let you steal my secrets, American? I think not."

Then, with a laugh, she's up again, sprinting into the sea.

And the salt on my fingertips is all I have to remind me of the woman that I'd been holding.

I sigh.

That was one of the good memories, before I found out who she really was .

The woman under the skin.

I take a deep breath.

I have to show up for this fucking trial in three weeks. And part of the reason I don't want to isn't just because I'm not quite sure how to navigate what's going to happen.

It's because I have to see her again.

Roisin.

Who I thought was Roisin Kennedy.

But is really Roisin MacAntyre. Sister to the man Elio killed.

And only daughter of the Irish MacAntyre family.