Page 7 of Primo DeLuca

His body was a mass of lean muscle, just waiting to be admired. Movement in my peripheral vision called my attention away from what I knew was a chiseled jawline under his thick beard.

The men hadn’t said a word in protest of our actions, although I sensed my presence made the situation inside this room intensify tenfold. Not even the deliberate clearing of a throat had disturbed our introductory caress.

Why hadn’t I let go of him yet? My inner voice yelled, “Back away now!” and the rest of me said, “No way in hell am I letting go of this.”

My hero didn’t ease the hold he had on me, nor did he remove his gaze from mine until my arms slackened around his waist. It was the only resisting front I could muster.

When he finally decided to release me from the intoxicating tightness of his grip, he didn’t let me go too far. He took his time, turning me slightly with a firm hand so that I was aligned with his side.

Arm wrapped securely around my waist, he kept me pinned against his side so that I faced the men. Was he nonverbally introducing me to them?

Oddly, I felt safe. Protected, even. We didn’t even know each other’s names, but it didn’t stop whatever this connection was between us. He hadn’t uttered a word to me yet, but I acknowledged that I was intimately immersed in his world.

When I managed to pull my gaze away from him a second time, the group stared at us like a miracle was being performed. Eyes unblinking, lips parted, and eyebrows lifted high. A few gave each other questioning glances, hoping for an explanation.

The fear my dark savior had managed to coax away rushed back at the sight of all those eyes aimed in our direction. The lump of, oh shit, I thought I swallowed a moment ago was still stuck in my throat.

“Are we going to continue?” one of the men asked with his gaze pinned on me. The hard stares the group raked me up and down with produced a dangerous vibe that made me squirm. I was the minority in this room based on gender and race, and although I was profiled in shopping centers and while driving, I couldn’t recall experiencing this level of intimidation.

The men were hesitant about speaking with me in the room. A few started to talk but managed only nonverbal utterances before giving up. I believed they feared who I still had my arms wrapped around more than they did my presence.

The way their eyes begged him for answers confirmed my thoughts. A quick glance up at my dark champion showed him scanning the circle of men, his chin hiked up with an air of authority.

“If she were a threat, she sure as hell wouldn’t be standing here,” he responded to the stares, patting one of his big hands against my waist, inadvertently making my insides quiver.

His words alone eased the heavy coat of tension in the room. Shoulders visibly dropped and the suffocating tightness closing in on me eased to a tolerable level.

“You’re our Capo. We can’t let you go off alone now that we know you’ve been tagged by The Malizioso,” one man stated. He was careful with his words based on the way his gaze kept bouncing between me and the man literally wearing me as his newest accessory.

“And I won’t have someone up my ass twenty-four-seven. I can’t and won’t operate that way. The Malizioso has a set of rules just like us. If you kill the one that they’ve deployed to take you out, the hit is null and void.”

Wait. What?

My head jerked at the notion of what my brain was processing. Did I just hear that my new sexy savior has a hit out on him? My eyes crept up to his face where his penetrating gaze waited to meet mine. I was searching for answers in his eyes since a verbal connection hadn’t been established between us.

If the man helping me was wanted, then what did that say about the rest of them? Jesus. What had I stepped into when I opened that door?

“In your case, it may mean several hitmen,” the man with his hair graying at the temples replied. His words made the question circling my brain resurface.

Who the hell was I all boo’d up with? What kind of meeting had I accidentally interrupted? If someone was gunning for this man, I didn’t want to be near him when they found him. The idea that he wasn’t the least bit bothered that there was a bounty on his head made me further question his identity.

Upon further inspection, I didn’t miss the sight of more guns flashing like twinkling stars with each man’s movement. Due to my presence, some started communicating in Italian, leaving me to pick out the few words I understood until Don Ermanno was mentioned.

Was this the mob? Had I walked in on a mob meeting in progress? If my speculations were true, I’d stepped in shit so deep, I might as well train myself to get used to the scent.

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