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He shakes me off and then heads for the door. “You know.”

“Adriano!” I shout, but he’s gone, leaving me with blood on the floor and a storm of questions raging in my brain. Tommy shows up minutes later with Ralph, both grim-faced, hauling a tarp.

“Hey, Pen,” Tommy says, tossing me a weak grin. “Rough night, huh?”

“Just get him out of here,” I snap, crossing my arms.

Ralph snorts, rolling Theo’s limp body into the tarp. “Boss sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“Shut it,” Tommy mutters, heaving the bundle up. “She’s not in the mood.”

They shuffle out, boots scuffing the floor, leaving me alone with the mess. I grab a mop from the corner, dunk it in a bucket, and start scrubbing Theo’s blood off the tiles. The water swirls pink, then red, staining my hands. They shake, badly, and my mind’s a tornado.

How did I even end up here? I was just rolling into town for a wedding, three years deep in grieving my best friend, trying to come out of that black hole. Now I’m tangled up with her dad, letting Adriano shatter me piece by jagged piece.

Maybe this is my reckoning, craving what’s forbidden, sinking into it until it chokes me. I know it’ll destroy me one way or another, rip my soul out, or get me killed. And I’m too weak, or too stupid, to walk away.

Chapter 8

Penelope

I can’t shake him. These past few days, Adriano’s been a ghost in my head, haunting every quiet second. I want him so bad it hurts. It’s like a deep ache that’s eating me alive. I’m slowly losing it, unraveling, and I know it.

Ever since he made me come right there in front of Theo’s corpse with his blood still warm on the floor, I haven’t slept right. I should be sick to my stomach, bolting for the nearest exit, or at least drowning in guilt over screwing my dead best friend’s dad. But no. All I can think about is his mouth, his hands, and the way he broke me open. It’s been weeks since he licked me into a screaming mess on his office desk, and I’m starving for it again.

He is in a meeting, holed up in the back office of Caruso’s, the jewelry store where I have been stuck running the counter since I got into town. It is his clean front, all glittering diamonds and polished gold to cover up the dirty cash, the guns, and the deals that fuel his real life.

I am behind the register, wiping down a display case for the third time today, when he walks out around ten. His suit fits him too well, dark and crisp, and his eyes cut sharper than the stones we sell.

Tommy and some beefy guy with a scar across his knuckles follow him, muttering about “shipments.” I catch his look and my stomach twists. We are keeping it strictly business here, or at least pretending to.

“Penelope, ring up that ruby necklace for Mrs. Vitelli,” he says casually. “She will pick it up later.”

“On it.” I nod, grabbing the tag and keeping my hands moving so I do not fidget. His gaze lingers a second too long, and I feel it crawl over me, but I focus on the case.

Just then Mia swoops in from her office like an unwanted fly, all fake smiles and swaying hips. She brushes past me, leaning over the counter just enough to flash her cleavage his way.

“Anything else you need, Adriano? I can pull the sapphire set from the safe if you want.” Her voice drips, too sweet, like she thinks she has got some edge with him.

He barely glances at her. “Just the necklace, Mia. Penelope is already handling it but thank you.”

Then he is gone, back to his meeting and shutting the door with a solid click. Mia smiles wryly at me, flipping her hair, clearly thinking she has scored points. I roll my eyes and keep wiping, harder now, the glass squeaking under my rag. She has no clue what is really going on, and I am not about to tell her.

An hour later, the store is dead quiet, just the hum of the air conditioning and the faint rumble of voices from the back. He is still in there, running his world of blood and power, barking orders I can only catch pieces of through the walls.

I cannot sit still. Then deciding I only live once, I do something stupid. I grab my phone with my fingers shaky and type out something filthy: “I can’t stop thinking about you fucking me until I cannot walk. I want your cock so bad, I am wet just texting this.”

I hit send before I can rethink it, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out the silence.

No response comes. Minutes drag into an hour. He is in there with his guys, maybe ignoring it, maybe pissed, and I am out here, ringing up some old lady’s pearl studs while my mind spins. Did I push too far? Break some unspoken rule? My gut knots up, but there is this twisted buzz underneath it, knowinghe is right behind that door, my words sitting in his pocket like a live wire.

When work ends, I’m dragging my purse over my shoulder when I spot him outside, leaning against his car wearing a black pristine suit, gray eyes locked on me like a predator. “Need a ride home?”

“Yeah, sure.” My voice wavers, but I climb in. He doesn’t say much as the driver peels out into the night.

If I didn’t know him, that look would scare the shit out of me. But I do know him. Hell, he’s had his face shoved between my thighs, tongue working me over until I couldn’t breathe. So this tension, this thick, suffocating heat between us has got no business being here. I try to will it away, but it sticks, coiling tighter.

I shift in my seat, going from slouched to bolt upright. My hands flatten on my thighs, pressing into these damn trousers. No skirt tonight—just long, dark fabric and a blue top with sleeves that cling to my arms. My hair’s a wild mess, spilling over my shoulders and down my back, untamed. All I managed before he dragged me out was a swipe of nude lipstick. I’m not even close to the knockout I want to be, which makes it baffling why he offered to take me home.

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