“And sometimes,” Matteo said casually, licking a bit of chocolate off his thumb like he had no idea what it was doing to my heart rate, “Lying is worth it to get what you want.”
I raised a brow. “Not if you end up losing it in the end.”
“If.”
“When.”
He smirked. “We’ll have to agree to disagree,princesa.”
I couldn’t help it; I smiled, shaking my head at him, the candlelight flickering between us. “You’re crazy.”
“You love it,” He murmured, leaning back against the booth with that infuriatingly relaxed confidence.
My smile lingered.God help me, I liked this –him– more than I should.
The jazz swelled softly around us. The world outside the restaurant could have fallen away, and I wouldn’t have noticed. It was just Matteo and me, dessert plates between us, and that familiar, dangerous spark humming in the air.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Matteo’s penthouse suite on the top floor of one of the glitziest casino hotels in Vegas. The moment we stepped inside, the city’s skyline spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows – gold and neon lights shimmering like liquid stars against the desert night.
I’d expected opulence, but this was something else. Black marble floors gleamed under dim golden lighting. A grand piano sat in the corner like it belonged in a fifties’ jazz club, and a sleek bar ran the length of the living area, bottles glittering like stained glass.
The air between us waselectric, stretched thin and sparking. All through dinner, through the car ride back, it had been growing beneath every shared glance and every touch. Now, alone in his penthouse, it wrapped around us like silk.
“Make yourself at home,Donna,” Matteo said, his voice low, smooth, the trace of his accent making the word sound like a secret as he addressed me with the Italian term of respect. The female version of aBoss– aDon– something I wasn’t, but considering I was to be only second in command soon, close enough.
He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it carelessly over the back of an armchair, and rolled up his sleeves. I wandered toward the bar, the click of my heels soft against the marble. “I think you already know I’m not good at being a guest anywhere.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
He reached for two crystal tumblers, moving behind the bar with practiced ease. I perched on one of the tall stools, resting my elbows on the counter as I watched him. He moved like he owned the space – confident, unhurried, anddevastatinglyattractive.
“What will it be?” he asked without looking up, already pulling out a bottle of whiskey and something citrusy.
“Surprise me,” I purred, crossing my legs.
“Dangerous words.”
The flirting came easy, almost instinctual now. A shared glance here. A light brush of his hand when he slidthe drink toward me. My pulse picked up every time his gaze lingered a little too long, every time his voice dipped into that teasing register that made my stomach flutter.
And then – just as the tension sharpened into something undeniable, and I blinking up at him through my dark eyelashes – he said it.
“I’m relocating to Miami.”
“What?”
“Zach doesn’t need me in New York anymore. He and Maria are settled now, and the business there is stable. I’ve wanted to move south for a while – sun, ocean,” he added lightly. “Maria already convinced Zach to fly down every two or so weeks together. My people have already gotten me settled there.”
Something shifted in my chest. I didn’t know what I’d expected to hear tonight, but it wasn’t that. The wheels in my head began turning.
“Wow…Miami.” I rounded the bar to get to him.
“I should’ve told you sooner. But we were just starting to…”
“Get along?”
“I guess you could say that.”
Before I could second-guess it, I reached up, grabbed Matteo by the jaw with both hands, and pulled him down to me.
