"I can't—"
"You can. We'll discuss the case. Review the witness issues. Completely professional." His smile said nothing about this was professional. "I'll send a car for you at seven-thirty."
"I didn't agree to this."
"You will." He straightened his tie, which hadn't been askew. "You're curious, Emilio. About me. About what happens if you say yes instead of running. Tomorrow night you'll find out."
"And if I don't get in the car?"
"Then I'll know you're smarter than I gave you credit for." He moved toward the door, paused with his hand on the knob. "But you'll get in the car. Because you want to see where this goes just as much as I do."
He left before I could argue. I stood against the wall listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway, listening to the distant sound of the elevator, listening to my own ragged breathing in the silence he'd left behind.
I was shaking. Actually trembling like some Victorian maiden who'd been compromised by a rake. Except I hadn't been compromised—I'd just been asked to dinner.A professional dinner to discuss case strategy. Nothing inappropriate had happened.
Except everything about the last fifteen minutes had been inappropriate. The way he'd appeared uninvited. The way he'd invaded my space and backed me against a wall. The way he'd looked at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking and found it amusing.
The way I'd wanted him to kiss me so badly I'd almost closed the distance myself.
I returned to my desk on legs that felt unsteady. Tried to focus on the depositions, on the case, on anything except the memory of Sandro's body heat and cedar-and-leather scent. Failed completely.
My phone buzzed.
Dinner tomorrow. Eight PM. Wear something nice. The restaurant has standards.
I stared at the message. Should delete it. Should block the number. Should call Richard and withdraw from the case before I did something catastrophically stupid.
I added him to my calendar:Dinner - S - 8 PM.
This was a mistake. I knew it with the same certainty I knew my own name. Going to dinner with Sandro Vitale was crossing a line I couldn't uncross. Blurring boundaries that existed for very good reasons.
But I was going to do it anyway.
I gathered the depositions and my notes, locked up the office, and drove home through empty streets thinking about Tuesday's scheduled meeting at Inferno and tomorrow's dinner and how rapidly I was losing control of this situation.
Or maybe I'd never had control to begin with.
At home, I showered until the water ran cold, trying to wash away the memory of Sandro's proximity. It didn't work. I couldstill feel the imprint of his presence. Still smell his cologne like it had soaked into my skin.
In bed, I lay awake staring at the ceiling and thinking about witness depositions and false testimony and the way Sandro had looked at me like he was already planning how to take me apart.
You want to see where this goes just as much as I do.
He was right. I hated that he was right. But I couldn't deny it anymore.
I wanted to see where this went. Wanted to know what it would feel like to say yes instead of running. Wanted to find out if the reality of Sandro Vitale would live up to the dangerous promise of every interaction we'd had.
Tomorrow night at eight PM, I'd find out.
I fell asleep thinking about what to wear to dinner with a man who'd probably destroy me. Thinking about how I should cancel but knew I wouldn't. Thinking about the fact that I'd passed some point of no return without even noticing when it happened.
My phone buzzed one more time before I slept. Another message from Sandro.
Sleep well, Emilio. Dream of me.
I did.
Both commands proved impossible to disobey.
