Page 22 of The Mafia's Septuplets
The admission sends electricity through my nervous system, confirming suspicions I’ve been trying to ignore. “This is exactly why I want out. I won’t be used as a weapon in your war.”
“It’s not just my war anymore. It became yours the moment you inherited Henri’s business.” He reaches for the scotch I declined and takes a measured sip. “The only question is whether you’ll fight it intelligently or stumble through blindly and get yourself killed.”
“Those aren’t my only options.”
“Aren’t they? Dissolving our partnership won’t make Balakin’s interest disappear. It will simply remove the protection that’s keeping you alive.” He sets down the glass and fixes me with that penetrating stare. “Is that really what you want? To face this alone?”
The question unexpectedly stirs fears I’ve carried since childhood, when I was alone, abandoned, and left to fend for myself in a world that’s never felt entirely safe. Henri’s death ripped away the only stability I’ve known besides Harper’s friendship, and now Iskander’s offering a different security that comes with strings I’m not sure I want attached.
“I want to run my business without armed guards and surveillance teams.” I stand and move to the windows, needing distance from his proximity and the way it makes clear thinking impossible. “I want to serve clients who appreciate quality craftsmanship, not launder money for criminals.”
“You want a fantasy.” He joins me at the windows, standing close but not touching. “Henri tried to give you that fantasy for twelve years. Look how it ended.”
The casual cruelty of that statement makes me whirl to face him. “Don’t you dare blame Henri for what happened.”
“I’m not blaming him. I’m stating facts.” His voice remains maddeningly calm. “Henri thought he could keep you separatefrom the realities of his business arrangements. That protection cost him his life.”
I blink back tears at the memory of Henri’s blood on the marble floor, taking on a harsh veneer that feels brittle. “You think you can do better?”
“I think honesty serves you better than comfortable lies.” He steps closer, crowding me against the window. “Facing reality gives you a chance to survive what’s coming.”
“By surrendering my independence? By accepting your control over every aspect of my life?” I instinctively shake my head, rejecting the idea.
He puts a hand on the window beside my head. “By accepting partnership with someone who has the resources to keep you safe.” He brings up his other hand to cup my face, stroking my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “Stop this pointless fight against something that’s already decided.”
I should pull away from his touch. Instead, I lean into his palm while my pulse hammers. “Nothing’s decided.”
“Isn’t it?” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, and I feel the touch like electricity. “You’ve been avoiding me for three days, but you came here anyway. You’re angry about the business arrangements, but you’re not walking away. You want independence, but you’re responding to my touch like you’ve been starving for it.”
The accuracy of his assessment makes me flush with embarrassment and arousal in equal measure. “You’re reading too much into?—”
“I’m reading exactly what you’re showing me.” His other hand settles on my waist, anchoring me against the window while his body cages me in. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching… How your breathing changes when I get close…” He lowers his voice to a seductive whisper, “The way you kissed me back in Henri’s office like you were drowning and I was air… They all tell me something.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Was it? It felt like the first honest thing that’s happened between us.” His mouth hovers just inches from mine, close enough that I feel his breath against my lips. “Tell me you don’t want this, Willa. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me to kiss you again.”
I open my mouth to deliver exactly that denial, but the words won’t come. How can I lie about something so fundamental when my entire body is screaming for his touch, and the memory of his mouth on mine has haunted every quiet moment for three days? “I don’t have the luxury of wanting you,” I whisper instead.
“Don’t, or won’t?”
I recognize the questions echo the last time we had a variation of this conversation and give the same answer. “Does it matter?”
“It matters more than you know.” His forehead touches mine, creating intimacy that makes something ache deep inside me. “I’ve been wanting you since the moment you stood up to Richardson, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
The confession breaks something inside me, releasing some last desperate grip on rational thought. Before I can talk myself out of it, I close the distance between our mouths and claim the kiss I’ve been denying myself for three days.
He responds instantly, moving his lips against mine with hunger that matches my own. This isn’t the careful exploration from Henri’s office but desperation and desire finally given permission to burn. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, requesting entry I grant without hesitation.
The taste of him floods my senses, making me moan against his mouth. He tangles his hand in my hair, angling my head for deeper access while he presses me more firmly against the window.
I should be concerned about the glass at my back, who might see us from the harbor below, and the boundaries I’m demolishing with every desperate kiss. Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer, needing more contact, more heat… More everything.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and I see my own desperation reflected in his gray eyes. “This is insane.”
He trails kisses along my jaw toward my ear. “Madness…”
“We should stop.” Even as I say it, I tilt my head to give him better access to my throat.