Me: I don't know what to do.
Gia: Yes you do.
Gia: You fight for what you want. Just like you always have.
Gia: The question is: do you want him?
I set down my phone and look around my office. At the life I've built. The business I'm running. The independence I've fought so hard for.
This is what I wanted.
I want him too.
I want Santino. The real Santino. The man who destroyed an entire crime family because he couldn't stand the thought of me being in danger.
Maybe it's my turn to fight for us.
Chapter 30: Santino
I'm holding a pair of aces when the door opens behind me. I don't look up immediately because I'm in the middle of a hand with Alexei Volkov and I need to maintain my focus on the game.
Then I feel it—arms slipping around my neck from behind, soft and warm, carrying the unmistakable scent of jasmine and vanilla that makes my heart stop.
I turn my head and there she is—Liana, wearing that same dress, her eyes locking on mine with a dark, intense heat that steals the breath from my lungs.
"Deal me in," she whispers in my ear, and every rational thought leaves my head in that instant.
I turn fully in my chair, my hands instinctively going to her waist as I pull her down onto my lap. She settles against me without hesitation, her body pressed perfectly against mine, her back against my chest.
"Gentlemen," she says to the table, her voice smooth and confident as she addresses the other players, "I hope you don't mind."
Alexei's eyes flick between us before a slow smile spreads across his face. "Not at all. Welcome to the game."
The Greek nods his approval while the others murmur their agreement, but I can barely hear them over the pounding of my own heart. All I can focus on is Liana—on my lap, in that dress, the heat of her body against mine and the way she shifts slightly to settle in more comfortably, every movement sending fire through my veins.
"Your bet, Marcello," Alexei prompts, pulling me back to the present.
I look down at my cards where the aces are still waiting, but I find that I don't care about them anymore.
"Call," I manage to say.
The hand plays out in front of me and I lose badly, but I don't give a damn about the chips I'm pushing across the table. Liana shifts again, her hip pressing against me in a way that makes my grip tighten on her waist, and when she tilts her head back slightly to look up at me, those dark eyes full of promise, I can't think of anything but her.
Another hand is dealt while I'm still recovering, and I bet without even looking at my cards, losing again in spectacular fashion.
"You're off your game tonight, Marcello," the Greek observes with amusement in his voice.
"Distracted," I say roughly, the understatement of the century.
Liana's fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns on my thigh that are driving me absolutely insane, and I lean down until my lips are close to her ear. "Why are you here?"
"Why do you think?" Her voice is meant for me alone.
My hand moves from her waist to her hip, holding her tighter against me as I struggle to maintain any semblance of control. "Liana—"
She shifts again in a way that feels like deliberate torture and turns her head so her lips are almost touching mine. "I’m here. Isn’t that enough?"
It is—Christ, it is more than enough.
