I freeze at her words, remembering back to that night, of showering when I returned home, and the blood on my cock. I should have worn a condom, but in the heat of the moment, shit happens. But the blood? I’d thought the force with which I’d taken her had caused a little too much friction, but was I wrong?
“Hang on.” The blood pumps loudly in my ears at the realization that I’d possibly been her first. That she’d trusted me enough to give me the honor. I shouldn’t be trusted with something so precious. I could turn on a dime—I knew it down in my bones. I was as ruthless as my father and my siblings when the need arose. But this… “You were a virgin?” I pause, can feel the frown between my brows. “Was I your first?”
She shrugs and bites into a buttered piece of bread the waiter brought over to the table. “That’s unimportant semantics.” Her lips twitch as if she knows that’s not true at all. “Also, I’m pretty sure you didn’t even know I was, so what does it matter?”
Oh, it matters. It means I was her first, and knowing that makes me want to be her last.
The waiter returns, pausing our conversation, and asks if we want wine. Dallen’s gaze darts to me, questioning.
“Give us a bottle of your best white,” I suggest to the waiter, watching her, and no one else.
“Of course, sir. I’ll source that now.”
I meet the waiter’s gaze. “Excellent.”
“And have you decided on your meals this evening?”
We order. Decide on a shared appetizer because Dallen suggests it, and I want to please her. I like that she’s comfortable around me. I may dress nicer than most, have money to burn, and a good job, but my appearance can sometimes be a little intimidating. My height, the tatts, the sharp jaw, and cold gaze. These features, however, don’t seem to bother her. She doesn’t seem to notice them at all. I like that. I like it more than I thought I would.
She rests her forearms on the table and watches me for a moment. “So, tell me about you.”
The question is casual, like she’s asking about the weather. But it isn’t off-the-cuff. Not for me. I’m used to conversations where I know the rules. Where everyone is either trying to impress me, use me, or avoid offending me. Dallen doesn’t do any of that. She’s just curious. Like she assumes the truth is an option.
“I work,” I say, intentionally vague.
She snorts. “Wow. Riveting.”
I give her a look. “I’m captivating, I know.”
Dallen’s smile widens, and her eyes dip—quick and instinctive—to my mouth. The memory of her lips on mine flashes hot and immediate, like my body never got the memo that we’re in public now.
She clears her throat, then tries again. “Okay, fine. What do you do for work?”
I’m about to answer—my job isn’t a secret, but I also don’t want her knowing my surname, something she’ll surely learn if she knows my employment. I don’t want to be vague, but I also need more time before she forms her opinion of me. I need herto get to know me first, before I’m tainted by my own family’s history.
But just as I’m about to disclose my occupation, movement near the restaurant door catches my attention.
It’s subtle at first. Just a shift in the atmosphere, like the air in the room dims.
A man walks in with a purposeful stride, dressed in something that looks expensive but not in a showy way. Dark hair. Clean shave. A watch that costs more than most people’s monthly rent. He doesn’t scan the room like a tourist. He scans it like a predator.
My gaze locks on to him before I can stop myself.
A Romero.
Not Matteo—Matteo is gone. But the eyes are the same. The bone structure. The way the shoulders sit back like the world is supposed to move around him.
My jaw tightens.
The guy looks away, no emotion on his face, nothing to give away that he knows, in turn, who I am. But that doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve already clocked me from the door. He could’ve picked this place because he knew I’d be here. That a Moretti is one of the owners. Or he could be here for someone else, and I’m just overly paranoid after Lucien offed Matteo.
He slides onto a stool at the bar, leans in toward the bartender, and says something with a smile. Normal. Casual. Like he’s just another guy getting a drink before dinner.
I don’t buy it.
“Stephen?” Dallen says, and I realize I’ve gone still and silent. “Hey. Are you okay?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to her. Her brows are pinched together, concern mixing with curiosity.
