Page 196 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Get a fucking grip, Luna.I scramble to hold on to the anger fueling me, channeling it from the medical report crumpled in my hand. But then his gaze rakes over me, deliberate and searing, and he clears his throat.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Cade recovers first. Rising fluidly, he vacates his chair and moves to stand behind it—the position he always takes when we’re both in a room like this.

“Signora mia,”he greets, inclining his head with that maddening blend of respect and dominance.

He gestures to the chair, inviting me to take it. I move toward it, but protocol dissolves the moment I’m within reach. His chest expands on a deep inhale, and I make the mistake of looking into his now feral eyes.

The next thing I know, his hand wraps around my throat, and his mouth crashes down on mine. Three days of pent-up need, frustration, and longing pour into one brief but devastating kiss. For a hot moment, everything disappears.

When he lifts his head and takes a respectful step back as though he didn’t just blow my faculties to smithereens, my knees buckle and I sink into the chair.

However, my brain fog evaporates the moment I notice the fourth man in the room.

Stillis the first word that comes to mind. Everything about him is dark, except for those incandescent blue eyes. They pull you in like a frozen whirlpool while the rest of him—long sable mane with a pure white streak on one side, full beard, and muscled frame wrapped in all black—blurs into insignificance.

What the hell gave Reese and I the idea that the powerful, reclusive Beast of New York was an ailing patriarch who’d be dead in a few years?

Why, he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five! That shock of white in his hair? Definitely not old age.

Wow. And my husband locked this creature in a box and dragged him across Europe?

And then a far worse thought hits me:Thisis the man hunting Reese?

“SignoraQuinn.”His voice emerges from somewhere impossibly deep, like the bottom of a well.

“DonGiovanni.”

My head inclines smoothly, belying the chaos in my head.

“Call me Gino.” A corner of his lips lifts. “You’ve earned it.”

Before I can decipher his meaning, Dante interjects, “Ladies, you want to tell us what’s going on?”

The men don’t look annoyed—if anything, Nico and Dante seem relieved, like we’ve interrupted something far darker than a business meeting.

Sophie, who had been rooted to the spot, openly gawking at Giovanni, now struts toward Nico. Without missing a beat, Nico pushes back from the desk and she claims her place on his lap.

Only Addy remains standing, mouth tight with irritation.

“Right,” Dante glances at his empty lap, then his wife. “Where’s my cuddle?”

“You don’t get one,Fratello.”I throw the balled-up report at him, and he catches it. “What you get to do is explain that.”

Dante’s eyes narrow. Then he smooths out the crumpled paper against the table, his eyes glinting with instant recognition.

“This?” His mouth curves into an infuriating smirk. “Why, isn’t this your report from Seaway Memorial?”

Behind me, Cade goes rigid. His hand tightens on my shoulder as he leans forward and snatches the paper.

“You son of a bitch,” Cade growls, his voice carrying that deadly edge, and I catch Giovanni’s reaction to Cade’s voice: his lids slide shut in a prolonged blink. Otherwise, his frozen expression doesn’t waver.

The temperature in the room drops.

Note to Cade: Never turn your back on this man.

Dante remains unruffled. “Quinn, you were a murderous nomad with an evil twin and you’d only known Luna less than a month.”

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