Roberto Bonacci is old school. Traditional. The kind of man who would consider what happened last night a debt that needs to be paid. And there are only two ways to pay that kind of debt.
I reach for my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number I need. Bosco answers on the second ring.
"Cousin. You're up early."
"Need you to do something for me."
"Sure. What do you need?"
"Research on traditional Italian marriage customs. Specifically, what happens when someone takes a woman's virginity without the father's consent."
There's a pause on the other end. "Fuck, Damon. What did you do?"
It's not a question, and I don’t bother answering it. Bosco's been my intelligence guy for five years. He's good at reading between the lines.
"How traditional are we talking? Old country traditional or modern traditional?"
"Roberto Bonacci traditional."
He whistles low. "That bad? Jesus Christ! You’re gonna start a fucking war.”
“Can you research it?”
"I'll have something for you as soon as I can."
"Drop everything else."
"That urgent?"
"Let's just say I need to understand what I'm dealing with before it deals with me."
I hang up and set the phone aside, then get up to pace the room. The smart thing to do would be to put distance between Viviana and me. Professional distance, physical distance, emotional distance. Treat her like the job she's supposed to be and nothing more.
The problem is, I don't want to do the smart thing.
All I can think about is fucking her again. I want to learn every sound she makes, every way her body responds to mine.
Which is exactly the kind of thinking that gets men like me killed.
My phone buzzes with a text from my father:Family meeting at 2 PM. Updates on the Bonacci situation.
Right.
The situation.
The reason Viviana is here in the first place, the reason we're working with her father instead of killing each other. For a few hours last night, I forgot about all of that. Forgot about the threats, the investigation, the temporary truce that's the only thing keeping both our families from going to war.
I forgot about everything except the way she felt underneath me.
I type back:Will be there.
Then I head downstairs to make coffee and try to think like a strategist instead of a man who discovered he has a weakness for Roberto Bonacci's daughter.
The kitchen still smells like the breakfast I made her yesterday morning. Before everything got complicated. Before I knew that touching her meant more than just satisfying an inconvenient attraction.
I pour coffee and sit at the island, spreading out the files Tommy brought me yesterday. Photos of the men who tried to grab Viviana's cousin. Security footage from the attack on the Bonacci compound. Intelligence reports on potential enemies with the resources to orchestrate something this sophisticated.
Work. Focus on work. Focus on the job instead of the way Viviana looked at me when she said she didn't want to go back to her room.
