Page 75 of Sins of the Orchid

For the past two years, I hadn’t seen any reports or pictures of her in the papers with any man. She usually had DeAngelo, her brother, or uncle with her, unless she was with her grandmother. That dragon of a woman controlled what leaked to the press. She kept her granddaughter's picture out of the media as much as she could. Nobody wanted to piss off the great Regina Regalè. Though every so often, a picture of her would end up in some magazine with speculations on Amore’s love interests.

There would be no Italian boys or other love interests for her. She was mine, whether she liked it or not.

This field on the way to the Bennetti residence was becoming too familiar. Twice in a day. I should have taken her to my place, but I was sure the news would have traveled to Savio, and he’d probably have a heart attack.

We drove for the first ten minutes in silence, her hand in mine. Amore had always been comfortable with silence, but right now, I wished she’d tell me what she was thinking, feeling, anything.

We were ten minutes away when I pulled over on the side.

“You’ll text. Yeah?” It sounded more like a demand, but I didn’t want to beat around the bush.

She tilted her head, watching me sideways. “I will, if you will.”

I smiled. “You got it.”

I brushed my fingertips over her cheek. “Don’t you go falling for some Italian now?”

She chuckled, her eyes shining. “Why not? What’s wrong with Italians?”

I growled at the thought of her with anyone else. “Everything is wrong with Italians.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know you are Italian, right?”

I grinned. “I’mtheItalian.”

“Ohhhh, I see,” she teased, her cheeks reddening. “Okay. You aretheItalian.”

I took her by the nape of her neck and pulled her to me for a kiss. She didn’t resist it, her body leaning over the console and melting into mine. By the time I let her go, she was panting, and her emerald eyes dazed with desire.

“I wish I was back from Italy already,” she admitted softly, her breath hot against my lips. First words hinting that maybe, just maybe, she felt something too.

“Me too,” I said.

By the time I pulled up to her father’s house, she had straightened up her hair and we shared a look. Both of us sat still as if neither one of us could bear to leave. I wanted her in my bed, to have her spend the night with me. Every night from now on.

With her, I felt younger, lighter. Something I hadn’t felt since I was ten when my mother died.

“You think you could keep those Italian boys at a distance until I visit you?” I teased her, albeit very seriously. If anyone touched her, I’d have to kill them. Tear them limb from limb.

“I’m sure I can manage,” she said smiling.

When Amore smiled, she glowed. Her bright smile hit me straight in my chest.

“Good,” I told her begrudgingly. I almost wished she’d beg me to visit her beforehand. Two months was a long fucking time. “Not sure if I can.”

She chuckled. “If anyone can manage, Santi Russo, it is you.”

I exited the car and came around to open her door. Both of us were in the blind spot of the surveillance cameras and outside the monitors. Amore followed my lead, sticking to the shadows. Her eyes locked on me. Her body stood close to mine, her breasts brushing against my suit, and I was ready to take her again.

I lifted my hand and gently brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Somebody must be laughing at me up there because for the first time in my life it was hard to let go. I wanted to cage her and keep her with me. But she wasn’t like other women in the Cosa Nostra. She’d never forgive me for caging her and throwing away the key. She was born outside the rules of our world and keeping her caged would clip her dreams and her wings.

I bent my head down and brushed my lips against hers. It was a fleeting touch, not nearly enough, but it would have to do.

“No Italian boys,” I rasped.

Her smile was soft. “The only Italian is you,” she murmured.