For over a decade, I served as the international liaison, navigating the darker corners of global business. Most of that time was spent in Italy, but it required a lot of travel. Now, at thirty-five, I’ve returned to the States and stand as Papa’s second-in-command.
I hated being so close to Isolde in the years I spent living back in Italy, unable to reach out. I wanted to. So badly it hurt. But I can’t taint her life with mine. She’s too innocent for my world.
I remember when I told her I was leaving.
“You look sad,Tesoro,” she’d said. Izzy always saw right through me; there was no hiding anything from her. She mighthave been a year younger than me, but she was far wiser than anyone gave her credit for.
I had raked my fingers through my hair, staring up at the night sky. We were lying on the blanket we’d claimed as ours, the one we always brought out with us. It was our thing—watching the stars, talking about everything and nothing.
“I’m moving,” I’d finally said, the words sticking in my throat before I could force them out.
Her head had snapped towards me, but I kept my gaze on the sky, trying to hold it together. I’d known what I’d see if I looked at her—her honey-blonde hair falling in waves, her face tanned from all those hours in the sun, and those dark blue eyes. I didn’t need to see them to know they were filled with pain.
But I looked anyway. Because how could I not?
I’ve loved her for as long as I can remember, though I didn’t know what it was for a long time. I’d never wanted to be anywhere else but with her. Her presence was the one thing that always calmed me. She was my home, my safe place.
“Where are you going?” she’d asked, and her bottom lip had been trembling. I remember the way my chest ached. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss her, to take her lip between mine, to make her forget everything else.
“America,” I’d said. “Papa’s making me go.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over, running down her cheeks. I reached out, my thumb brushing them away.
“Will we keep in contact?” she whispered.
I swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “I promise,Cuore mio.”
We stayed in touch for the first year. This was back before mobile phones were common, so we wrote letters. Waiting for hers was agony, but when they arrived, they were the only light in the darkness that had become my world.
After I took my first life, I knew I couldn’t keep her in mine. My world was dangerous—too dangerous for someone like her. So, I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I stopped replying.
She sent ten more letters after I went silent. Then came the last one. That letter shattered me.
Those words ripped my heart out and shattered my fifteen-year-old self's soul. But even then, I knew it was for the best. She deserved more than I could give her.
I slam back another shot, just as a hand curls around my bicep. A woman’s sultry voice purrs in my ear, “You look sad, let me make you feel better.”
I look at her out of the corner of my eye. I imagine if I were any other man I wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance to fuck her. Hell, if it were another night, I probably would too. She’s beautiful; anyone with eyes can see that. Chestnut brown hair cascading down her back in waves, bright amber eyes that are highlighted by long lashes and dark smokey makeup. Her lips are painted cherry red to match her teasingly short dress.
But it does nothing for me. My dick is soft, not even a stir as I look at her. She’s not my Izzy.
“No thanks.” I shrug her arm off, and she pouts, not taking the hint.
“Come on, you’re not really going to turn me down, are you?” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, trying to look seductive, then moves in closer to me. Her hand snakes over my chest, traveling lower, but I catch it with one of mine, gripping her wrist tightly.
I shove back from my chair so forcefully it clatters to the floor. I can tell my expression is murderous because she visibly gulps and tries to twist her wrist from my grasp.
“Touch me again, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes so fast,” I seethe, tightening my grip further and flashing my gun holstered at my waist, before I push her away from me.
She stumbles back, eyes wide with fear as she disappears into the crowd.
Dante claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”
I shrug him off. He’s the closest thing I have to a best friend—in this country anyway—but I’m not in the mood for him tonight.
I move through the crowd with purpose, my presence parting them like the Red Sea. They avoid eye contact, don’t dare approach, not when they can see the storm behind my eyes.
My office is upstairs. I should have stayed up there, but I had the stupid idea that being alone would be worse for my thoughts. Turns out nothing will improve them tonight.
