Page 15 of His Nephew's Ex
“Any of it. All of it.” Her hands come up to press against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away. “This isn’t why I came here. I didn’t come here to be kissed.”
“No? Then why are you looking at me like you want me to kiss you?”
The accusation sits between us, stark and undeniable. Well, she could try to deny it, could slap me, could run screaming from the room. Instead, her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the simple gesture nearly breaks my control.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not—”
I silence her protest with my mouth, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s meant to prove a point but becomes something else entirely. She tastes like whiskey and rebellion, like the warmth I’ve denied myself in twenty years of building an empire from ash, sand, and blood.
For a heartbeat, she melts against me, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kisses me back with a passion that threatens to consume us both. Her body molds to mine like she was made for this, made for me, and the possessive beast in my chest roars its approval.
Then reality crashes over her like cold water, and she’s pushing me away with hands that shake with more than fear.
“No.” She scrambles away from the desk, putting distance between us like I’m a loaded weapon. “No, this isn’t—It shouldn’t.”
“Loriana.” I cut her off.
“This was a mistake.” She’s backing toward the door, her eyes wide with something that might be panic or desire or both. “We should never have done that.”
She turns and flees, her heels clicking against marble as she runs from the truth we both felt in that kiss. I let her go, knowing that chasing her would only spook her further, that some prey needs to be hunted slowly, and carefully.
But as I watch her disappear through my office door, I know with absolute certainty that Loriana Parlato is mine now, whether she admits it or not. The kiss sealed something between us, marked her as surely as if I’d branded my name on her skin.
Flavio won’t be a problem much longer. And once his threat is eliminated, nothing will stand between me and claiming what that kiss promised.
I pick up my phone and dial Tiziano’s number.
“Handle the nephew problem,” I say when he answers. “Make sure he falls in line.”
“What about the girl?”
I touch my lips, still tasting jasmine and whiskey and the promise of something I haven’t wanted in decades.
“The girl is mine to handle.”
6
Loriana
Ten days later…
Crimson’s last customer finally stumbles out, leaving behind empty drinks and the smell of cigarettes and spilled beer. Friday night was our best in months, every table occupied, the till stuffed with more cash than I’ve seen since before Flavio’s harassment campaign began.
“You want me to stay and help close?” Mia asks, already reaching for her jacket. The exhaustion in her voice tells me she’s hoping I’ll say no.
“I’ve got it covered.” I wave her toward the door, needing the solitude to process how dramatically my life has changed. “Go home, girls. You’ve earned your rest.”
“Thanks, boss.” Sofia follows Mia toward the exit, pausing only to grab her purse from behind the bar. “Great night, huh? Feels like old times.”
Old times. Before anonymous threats and broken windows. Before, there were restraining orders that meant nothing and police reports filed in vain. Before I walked into a mafia don’s office and emerged with protection that came at a price, I’m still not sure how to pay.
The door closes behind my staff with a soft chime, leaving me alone with the aftermath of success. I should feel triumphant, vindicated, proud of what I’ve rebuilt from the ashes of Flavio’s destruction.
Instead, I feel empty. Like I’m waiting for a storm that’s already brewing on the horizon.
