I stop. Spin.
Too late.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind and drag me into the dark.
5
MATTEO
She screams,and I don’t blame her.
My hand clamps over her mouth before she can draw breath for another. Her back hits the brick wall, and I feel the impact shudder through her body into mine. She’s warm. Soft. The scent of her shampoo hits me, something sweet and floral that doesn’t belong in this grimy alley.
Christ. Focus.
“I need to talk to you.” I keep my voice low and calm. “You’re not in danger.”
Says the man who just grabbed her off the street and pinned her in a dark alley.
Her eyes flash with disbelief. Fair enough.
“I won’t hurt you.” I hold her gaze, willing her to see the truth in it. “I just want a private conversation.”
She stops struggling. Her chest heaves against my forearm, and I force myself not to notice how close we are, how easy it would beto press into her fully. To feel every luscious inch of her against me.
I ease back. Give her space to breathe.
When I’m sure she won’t scream again, I slowly lift my hand from her mouth. Her lips are parted, and I catch myself staring for half a second too long.
“What do you want?” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t back down.
I reach for her arm. The sleeve of her shirt covers the bruises I saw yesterday, but I know they’re there. Know they’ve probably darkened overnight into ugly purple and yellow. I’ve worn enough of my own to know they probably still ache.
My fingers brush over the fabric. Light. Careful.
“Did Viktor cause these?” I ask. “Did he hurt you?”
Her jaw tightens. “Why do you want to know? Did Viktor send you to harass me?”
Something hot and defensive coils in my gut. “No.”
“Right.” She clearly doesn’t believe me. “Because being grabbed by two different men in two days is just a coincidence.”
“Was that the first time he’s put his hands on you?”
Her eyes drop. Shame colors her cheeks, and I hate that I can see it. Hate that she feels it.
“No.” The admission comes out quiet, like it embarrasses her. But all I feel is rage burning through me.
Motherfucker.
“Viktor and I are enemies.”
She looks up. Those big brown eyes search my face, flickering with doubt and curiosity in equal measure. This woman doesn’t trust easily. I know the feeling.
“So you’re part of the Italian mafia? The Andrettis?”
That surprises me. Most civilians don’t throw around mafia talk so casually. “How do you know about that?”
