“I don’t have time for that,” I say straight-laced.
“Why not?” he asks, clearly not buying it.
“Well, for one, I work night shifts, so nights out generally aren’t an option,” I say. “And two, I don’t like going out.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s studying me. “I have a feeling you’re lying about point two,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. “But I’ll let it slide.”
He’s not wrong. I do go out occasionally, but most of my friends are nurses or doctors, and their schedules are just as unpredictable as mine. Making plans is difficult at best.
“Have you gone out at all in the last few months?” he asks.
“Sure, a few times,” I say, shrugging slightly. “But not bars or late-night food. Sometimes I’ll grab breakfast with a few of the other nurses after a shift. Most of the time, though, we’re all too exhausted to do anything but sleep.”
“Well,” he says, lips twitching with amusement, “you’re going to need to be open to more dinners out—because your brother loves that shit.”
“And you don’t?” I ask, tilting my head.
“I do, just not at the level your brother does,” he replies, meeting my gaze.
“Great,” I say dryly. “He’s going to drag me to all these things, isn’t he?”
“No, he won’t drag you,” Mateo replies, shaking his head. “He’ll probably ask if you want to join, but he’s not going to force you. And he’s not hitting clubs and bars.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Most of the time, it’s sporting events or dinners for special occasions around the city. Or he’s going to one of the restaurants he owns.”
“Thank God,” I say, letting out a breath. “Because I don’t think I could agree to clubbing or bar-hopping every night I have off.”
Mateo laughs, the sound warm and easy.
And I hate that the thought slips in so naturally, but this not-a-date date with my brother’s best friend is already the best one I’ve ever had.
A few days later,Gino invites us over for dinner, saying he wants to check in and get updates from Mateo in person. They’ve been talking for hours every day since Mateo started staying with me, and from what I’ve overheard, I’m not the only topic of conversation. Whenever they talk about me, Mateo seems to push back against whatever Gino is suggesting.
From what I can piece together, Gino wants Mateo to move something up—something that has to do with me. At the same time, rival syndicates are circling, looking to take advantage of an opportunity I don’t fully understand. Whatever it is, it feels dangerous.
I don’t want to break anyone’s trust, so I keep my questions to myself.
We arrive at Gino’s house and step into the large entryway, and it’s the first time I truly take in how beautiful and massive it is. The entire place has a modern, open feel, but it isn’t limitedto neutral or light colors. Pops of red, green, and blue appear throughout different rooms, adding warmth and personality.
Just inside the entrance sits a small table and dresser meant for keys, mail, and anything else you’d want to set down. To the right is the dining room, which flows seamlessly into the kitchen. To the left is a large library—one I immediately want to explore when I have time to wander through this massive house. Correction: mansion.
A tall staircase takes center stage, leading up to a balcony that overlooks the entryway and a row of rooms beyond. The upper level looks more like a hotel floor than part of a private home.
“Hey, guys,” Gino calls out as he walks down the hallway from behind the staircase. “Good to know you two haven’t killed each other yet.”
I let out a soft laugh.
“Vanessa, can I talk with you for a minute?” Gino asks.
“Sure,” I reply.
Mateo gives me a small, reassuring smile before heading into the kitchen.
“Let’s go in here.” Gino gestures toward the library, and I follow him inside. He closes the door behind us, and the quiet settles in around us. “I wanted to spend some time with you one-on-one,” he says. “All I know about you is what Kevin and Mateo have told me,” he admits. “I want to get to know you on my own.”
The words catch me off guard. This is one of the first times in my life someone has openly said they want to know me. I’ve had friends over the years, sure, but no one has ever been this direct, this intentional about it.
“What do you want to know?” I ask shyly.
As the words leave me, my gaze drifts around the massive library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every wall, packed witheverything from classic literature to romance and historical fiction. A large bay window floods the room with natural light—almost blinding.
