I barely hear them after that. She’s coming closer, weaving her way between tables. My stomach tightens. It always does when she’s near, like my body’s bracing for something it knows I won’t let happen.
Her scent hits first. It’s warm vanilla and something citrusy. Seconds later, I feel the warmth of her hand as it brushes mine by accident.
Just a touch. Just a fraction of a second. But it’s enough to undo me.
I meet her eyes. Big, brown, vulnerable. She looks at me like I’m a thunderstorm and she’s forgotten her umbrella.
And then she’s gone.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Calm down. Control. That’s the key.
“She’s cute,” Valerio says, voice casual.
“She’smine.”
He raises a brow.
I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Alberto whistles low. “And here I thought Luca Lucchese didn’tdoattachments.”
“I don’t.”
They don’t press. They know better.
What they don’t know, what I don’t let them see, is how much it costs me not to act. How many nights I’ve watched her through smoke and candlelight and felt like I was being torn apart from the inside. How many times I’ve imagined what it would be like to reach for her and let her see me, all of me.
But I can’t. Not when she’s... her.
Myangioletto. My little angel.
I call her that in my mind when no one’s listening. She moves like light, soft and golden, in a room full of wolves.
And I? I’m the biggest wolf of them all. By day, I'm the CEO of Lucchese Enterprises, a respectable businessman dealing with import-export.
But by night? I'm Don Lucchese. The boss of the Lucchese mafia family, rulers of Manhattan.
I'm not a good man. But from all I know, she's a very, very good girl.
So I sit here and watch, protecting her from a distance. It should be enough.
But some nights, it feels like torture.
Like tonight.
This dinner was meant to be business. A show of strength. The five families of New York, Lucchese, Romano, Moretti, Gallo, and Neri, dining together to strengthen our alliance. Each of us rules a borough, each of us holds the line.
Manhattan is mine. Romano’s got Queens. Neri runs the Bronx with an iron fist and a silver tongue. Moretti's keepingBrooklyn quiet for now, and Gallo’s crew has Staten Island on lockdown. We’re here to talk strategy, share intel, keep things civil.
There’s been talk of Bratva movement in Philly—Russian mobsters trying to sniff around our borders. Muscle, drugs, guns. The usual. Alberto’s already flagged them as a problem, and Riccardo, the Don of the Romano family and my oldest friend, agrees. Valerio said they’ve been pushing too close to Queens for comfort.
And I should care. Idocare.
But I can’t stop watching Erin.
My gaze follows her like a second skin. I don’t trust the other patrons. Their eyes linger too long, their laughter sharp around the edges. I see the way they look at her—hungry, entitled. Like she’s prey.
But not the bosses.
