Page 15 of Alessio DeLuca

I trail after Alessio into the kitchen, trying not to ogle the way his jeans hug his muscular thighs and perfectly shaped ass. The man is a walking temptation, and having him here, in my space, is doing dangerous things to my imagination.

“I hope you like Italian,” he says with another cocky smirk.

“My favorite,” I reply, low and throaty, and our eyes connect for a long second.

As he unpacks the food, the contents still steaming, Alessio clears his throat. “Got a bit of everything, since I wasn’t sure what you like.”

I busy myself grabbing plates and silverware, needing something to do with my hands. The intimacy of this, him in my kitchen, feels more overwhelming than any slow dance in a jazz club could ever be.

We settle in to eat, the silence between us surprisingly comfortable despite our clear desire to consume one another. Every so often, his leg brushes against mine under the table, sending sparks of awareness across my skin.

“This is really good,” I compliment, taking another bite of cheesy lasagna. “Way better than frozen pizza.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that wraps around me like an embrace. “Glad you approve of my personal chef.”

There’s a beat of silence as we finish our meal, the air growing heavy with all that’s unsaid between us. I’m just about to break it with a random comment when Alessio leans back in his chair, his expression growing intense.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says abruptly, his blue eyes finding mine. “For last time. I was out of line.”

I blink at him, taken aback. “You don’t need to apologize,” I manage. “We were both… caught up in the moment.”

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his stubble. “That’s no excuse. I never want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words. This is a side of Alessio DeLuca I’ve never seen before - almost tender. It makes me want to cross the distance between us and smooth the furrow from his brow with my fingertips.

I reply softly, “but really, you didn’t. I… I wanted it too.”

His eyes darken at my admission, turning fiery. “Maty,” he warns.

“Why don’t you tell me about your family?” I ask, desperate to change the subject before I do something reckless, like crawl into the man’s lap.

To my relief, he allows it, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “Not much to tell, sweetheart. I was an only child. My father was a hard man, but he loved my mother deeply. He never really recovered after she died.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my heart aching for the boy he was. “That must have been difficult.”

Alessio shrugs, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. “Was a long time ago.”

I shiver at the returned coldness in his voice. This is the mafia king, the man who rules his empire with an iron fist. But now I know there’s more to him than that. There’s a heart beneath that hard exterior, one that knows loss, sorrow and the need to protect what’s his.

“It’s late,” I say, forcing a smile. “You should head home, get some rest.”

He studies me for a long, searching moment, and I have the feeling he sees far more than I want him to. But in the end, he simply nods and rises to his feet.

I walk him to the door, my skin prickling with awareness of just how close we’ve been this whole evening. At the threshold, he turns back to face me, his big body crowding mine in the narrow space.

“Thank you for dinner,” I manage, my voice sounding husky to my own ears. “It was a nice surprise.”

“Anytime.” His own voice is a low rumble, intimate enough to send heat rushing through my veins. His hand twitches at his side, as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me.

And I know that if he did, if his hands found my skin in this moment, I’d be powerless to resist him. I’d let him lay me bare and take me apart, right here against my front door where anyone could see us. The thought sends a dark thrill racing through me.

But to my mixed relief and disappointment, Alessio pulls back, his face closing off into that unreadable mask again.

“Goodnight, Maty.” His lips graze my cheekbone in a soft caress.

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him with finality. I press my fingers to my burning cheek, my heart pounding. I’m in so much fucking trouble.

To distract myself, I start cleaning up the remains of our dinner, and take out the trash. On my way back, I pause at the door when a glint of something on the doormat catches my eye. Frowning, I kneel to inspect it… and freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

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