I add three exclamation points because I know they annoy him. It's the little things that count in psychological warfare.
"You're up early." Gia's voice comes from my doorway, and I look up to see her already dressed for the day, leaning against the frame. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Not really." I set down my phone and pull my knees to my chest. "I'm escalating the plan."
"Escalating how?" There's wariness in her voice now.
"I'm going to push my way into every part of his life." The plan is already forming in my mind, clear and calculated. "His house. His crew. His work. Everything. I'm going to be so invasive, so clingy, so absolutely everywhere that he'll desperately want space. He'll have no choice but to walk away."
Gia frowns, concern etching lines on her forehead. "That's risky, Liana. What if it backfires?"
"It won't. It can't." I stand and head for my closet, already mentally cataloging what I need to wear. "The kiss was..." I trail off, unable to find the right words for what that kiss made me feel. "It doesn't matter. I need to speed this up before things get more complicated."
"What if he likes you being involved?" Gia asks quietly. "What if instead of pushing him away, you're pulling him closer?"
"He won't. Men like Santino want their space. Their territory. They want women who stay in their designated boxes and don't ask questions." I pull out a sundress, something casual but pretty. "I'm going to invade all of it, starting today."
Later, I arrive at the address he gave me. It's an old building, near the port, with weathered stone walls and narrow windows. Nondescript from the outside, which makes perfect sense. You don't advertise where you conduct illegal business to anyone passing by.
Two men stand outside the entrance, both built like walls. They straighten when they see me approach, hands moving reflexively toward their jackets.
"Liana Costa," I say with a bright smile. "Santino's expecting me."
One of them speaks into a radio while the other keeps his eyes on me. After a moment, the door clicks open with an electronic buzz.
Inside, the space is nicer than I expected. Rich leather furniture sits arranged around dark wood tables. The smell of espresso and cigarettes hangs in the air. Very masculine, very Italian mafia. The kind of place where deals are made and lives are negotiated.
Santino appears from a back hallway, and my breath catches despite myself. He's in a suit with no tie, the top button of his white shirt undone, looking every inch the underboss. His eyes scan my face like he's trying to read something there, searching for answers to questions he hasn't asked yet.
"Liana." His voice is controlled, careful. "You came."
"Of course." I keep my tone light, innocent.
He gestures down the hallway with one hand. "Come on. We can talk in my office."
I follow him through the building, acutely aware of eyes watching us from the main room. His crew, probably. Judging. Wondering what their boss is doing with a woman who jumped out of his moving car last night. I can feel their stares burning into my back as we walk.
His office is exactly what I expected, large mahogany desk, expensive leather chair, shelves lined with books that look actually read rather than decorative. There's a gun on the desk, sitting there casual as a paperweight. Like it's just another office supply. I make note of it but say nothing. Not yet.
"So." He closes the door behind us with a soft click. "You wanted to talk."
"I did." I sit in the chair across from his desk, crossing my legs and arranging my dress carefully. "About last night."
Something flickers in his eyes—heat, maybe, or memory. "You mean the kiss."
"What? No." I wave my hand dismissively, as if the kiss that kept me awake all night meant nothing. "The car thing. That got out of hand. I shouldn't have jumped out like that. It was too dramatic."
His expression shifts to confusion, his brows drawing together. "You want to talk about jumping out of the car."
"Yes. It was dramatic. Unnecessary." I pause, letting a beat of silence sit between us. "But you were driving like you were trying to kill us both."
"I wasn't—" He stops himself. Takes a visible breath to compose himself. "Fine. I was driving too fast. I'm sorry."
An apology. I wasn't expecting that. It throws me off balance for a moment.
"Oh, well. Good." I shift in my seat, recalibrating. "But that's not really why I wanted to meet."
"Then why did you want to talk?" He leans against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
