I’m in deeper trouble than ever before.
When I get home,I’m barely through the front door when Dad appears in the hallway, still dressed despite the late hour. His cheeks are flushed a deep red. I’d guess he’s about five whiskies deep.
Drunk enough to be dangerous. I’ll have to be careful.
“Well?” His voice is sharp with expectation. “Did you do it?”
My mind flashes to Vincenzo’s mouth on mine, the way he looked at me across the table.
“Not yet.” I force my voice steady. “There were too many people around. Waiters, other diners. Someone would have seen.”
His eyes narrow. “You had the entire drive home. You could have invited him in for a nightcap.”
“He didn’t ask to come in.” Not a lie, technically. “And I can’t seem too eager. If I suddenly invite him up after being resistant, he’ll get suspicious.”
Dad studies me for a long moment. I hold my breath, terrified he can see the truth written on my face.
“Don’t take too long, Adora. The longer you wait, the more impatient I get. And that would be unfortunate for you.”
The threat is clear. Do it soon, or he’ll do something worse.
8
Vincenzo
The Montoni mansion is an elegant fortress of glass and stone that is by no means impenetrable. I’ve made this crossing several times now, moving across rooftops in the dark like a ghost, and the route is familiar. Leap from an apartment building on the south side to a second-floor gable roof, scale the decorative latticework, and then traverse the slate tiles to where Adora’s balcony juts out below like an offering.
Tonight, cold wind cuts through my jacket as I move across the final stretch of roof. The city spreads out beyond in a glittering sprawl, but I barely see it. All I can think about is last night.
Her mouth so soft and sweet under mine. The way she kissed me back, desperate and hungry, like she was drowning and I was air. The small sounds she made when I pulled her into my lap.
I don’t want you to hurt the way I’m hurting.
I spoke the words before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way I haven’t been with anyone since my family died. Thatconfession wasn’t part of my plan. I should be planning Don Agnello’s death, not obsessing over his daughter. I should be thinking about revenge, not about the way Adora’s hair came loose from its pins when I kissed her.
My body remembers the heat of her. The way she said my name. I need to see her again because I’m convinced that last night was a fever dream. The connection I felt with her can’t be real.
But if it is?
Then God help me, because I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next.
I drop onto her balcony, my boots landing without sound on the stone. The glass doors are closed and the curtains drawn. I test the handle, and it’s unlocked. Either she’s careless, or she’s hoping for a nighttime visit from me.
The thought makes my heart pound faster.
I slip inside, and my eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. Her room is empty and the bed made. Disappointment lances through me, sharp and unwelcome. I was hoping to find Adora curled under the covers, her honey-blonde hair spilled across pillows.
I could settle into the shadows and wait like the assassin I am, but impatience burns under my skin. I came here to see her, and I need to see her now.
I move to her bedroom door and ease it open. The hallway beyond is dimly lit and silent. I step out, every sense alert. I’m creeping through Don Agnello’s house while he’s likely home, hunting for his daughter like a lovesick fool.
I move like smoke through the corridor, and I hear voices drifting up from below. One raised and angry, the other soft and pleading.
As I descend, the voices grow clearer.
“—completely unacceptable, Adora.”
Agnello, his voice cold and clipped and laced with fury.
