Page 18 of His Nephew's Ex
For a moment, I think he might refuse. His dark eyes study my face with unsettling intensity. It’s like he’s reading each and every one of my secrets, including the ones I don’t even know exist.
Then he steps back, straightening his shirt with deliberate calm that makes my skin crawl with frustrated awareness.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly. “What’s between us is not going away just because it scares you.”
“There’s nothing between us.”
“Keep telling yourself that, little star.” He moves toward the door with that fluid grace that marks him as an apex predator. “But we both know the truth now.”
“Which is what?”
He pauses in the doorway, turning back with a smile that’s equal parts promise and threat.
“That you want me just as much as I want you. And sooner or later, you’re going to stop fighting it. You belong to me now. Don’t forget that. Everything in life comes at a price. Even peace.”
The soft chime of the closing door sounds like a verdict being read. I slump down the mahogany surface until I hit the floor, burying my face against my knees while the taste of him lingers like a brand on my tongue—proof of how easily I’ve betrayed everything I thought I knew about myself.
I kissed him again, even though every logical reason opposed it, even though I knew exactly what kind of man he is, and even though I understood that getting involved with him would be like jumping into a volcano.
And the worst part? Some traitorous part of me is already craving the next time.
Outside, a car engine purrs to life, and I know he’s been waiting, watching, making sure I’m okay before disappearing back into whatever shadows powerful men like him call home. The thought should disturb me. But understanding his motives scares me more than anything else because it makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before.
Because if I’m already thinking of his surveillance as protection instead of stalking, how far have I already fallen into his web? Will I ever find the strength to climb back out? Is there even a way out of this, or am I too far gone?
7
Simeone
The blood on my knuckles is still wet when Tiziano hands me the towel, his winter-pale eyes carefully neutral as I clean the evidence of tonight’s interrogation from my hands. The warehouse around us echoes with the aftermath of necessary violence—chains creaking from where we suspended our guest, concrete stained with the kind of secrets that disappear with bleach and time.
“The Muccio shipment?” I ask, flexing my fingers to work out the ache.
“Recovered, and every gram accounted for.” Tiziano’s voice carries the satisfaction of a job well done. “And our friend hereprovided some very interesting information about who’s been feeding the DEA intelligence on our operations.”
I glance at the broken man now slumped in the chair, unconscious but breathing. He’ll live, though he’ll carry scars and lessons about the price of betrayal for the rest of his miserable existence.
“Good. Clean this up. Make sure he understands that his family’s safety depends on his continued silence.”
“Yes boss.”
This is my world—blood and shadows and the kind of power that comes from making hard choices other men can’t stomach. For twenty years, I’ve built an empire from necessary evil, turning grief into strength and loss into unbreakable resolve.
But lately, all I can think about is jasmine perfume and defiant dark brown eyes.
Loriana.
It’s been a week since I cornered her in her bar, since I tasted the promise on her lips and walked away before I could claim what that kiss offered. Seven days of obsessing over the memory of her body pressed against mine, her fingers fisting in my shirt like she was drowning and I was her only salvation.
Seven nights haunted by memories of her taste, her scent, the way she’d melted against me—dreams that felt more real than the cold reality of my empty bed.
“Sir?” Tiziano’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “The car’s ready when you are.”
I nod, straightening my cuffs with mechanical precision. The Armani jacket hides the blood spatter, the expensive fabric a barrier between the monster I am and the world I move through with careful civility.
But as I slide into the back of my Bentley, I know exactly where I’m going. Not home to my empty mansion, not to another business meeting disguised as dinner. I’m going to her, drawn like a moth to a flame that will either consume me or transform me entirely.
The drive to her neighborhood feels longer tonight, every red light an eternity that gives me too much time to think. About the way she kissed me back despite knowing exactly who I am. About the fear and desire warring in her eyes when I called herstellina. About the fact that she’s pure, untouched, everything I have no right to claim.
