Matteo offered to get us a place, but Ari and I chose to move into one of the buildings my mother left us. A three-story building maintained by a management company that we took control over the second we turned eighteen. The original plan was to renovate the two top floors into apartments and the first floor into a bakery café. With Matteo’s help, the transfer of ownership was smooth sailing and starting work on the building was easier than either of us anticipated.
The front counter area of the bakery is finished now—display cases gleaming, tables arranged, the bell above the door working perfectly. But the bakery kitchen is still a work in progress, so I do all my baking up here in the apartment and carry everything down.
One thing we had no choice in was the bodyguards. Matteo insisted on getting every single one of us protection in case of any further threats. My cousins and Ari got hired protection from a private firm, but for some reason, I got...him.
Luca Conti.
I try not to think about him as I work, but it’s impossible. He’ll be here soon—he always is. Patient and present, no matter how cold I’ve been to him.
I try not to think about him as I work, but it’s impossible. He’ll be here soon—he always is. Patient and present, no matter how cold I’ve been to him.
But he's not our friend.
Luca Conti works for the Rossi family. I don’t even want to imagine what he has done to earn the position of a crime family’s lieutenant at just twenty-six. I mean, sure, Matteo has helped my sister and me tons since we met him but…I can never seem to make myself forget the kind of people they are. Mafia groups aren’t exactly known for their love for the community and charitable hearts.
They hurt people.
But he hasn't hurt you now, has he?
"Matilde."
I spin around and fight the urge to blush when I'm met with those stunning pale green eyes and that mouth I kissed sixmonths ago. Christ, I still dream about that night sometimes. And when I do, my stomach flutters, just as it is in this moment.
Luca Conti is God's gift to earth. Breath-taking in a way that knocks into you, enough to forget what he is. The devil. Everyone in the mafia is. And yet, every time I see him, I forget that.
He always has the air of a fallen angel about him and today’s no different. A simple white T-shirt shouldn’t look that good on someone. It hugs his sculpted chest and reveals the swirl of dark ink covering his arms. A few strands of raven black hair fall artfully over his forehead, and I just…I can't look away.
Around Luca Conti, I'm a mess of nerves and longing, and I hate myself for it.
"Good morning,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. I hold my breath, afraid that if I breathe too much. then I’ll get intoxicated by his scent and do something stupid like ask him to kiss me.
"Morning," I respond, reaching up to twirl my hair but dammit, it's pulled up in a messy bun. My hands drop awkwardly to my side to try to deal with all the nerves I get when Luca Conti is near. Every sense is heightened, tuned to him. ” You’re here early. I haven’t even brought the pastries down yet.”
“Thought I’d help you carry them,” he chuckles, walking forward and making me back up a step. A wicked smile settles on his lips as he leans in, and I darn near lose my breath when he cages me against the counter. So close, I can smell him. That strong masculine scent that always sends my head spinning and heart racing.
He's so close…
“What are you doing?” I breathe, my heart beating frantically when he reaches up. My eyes flutter to a close as I anticipate his touch, but it never comes. When I open them again, it's to see him holding a cookie, a knowing smirk on his lips.
"Just grabbing a cookie is all."
I don't breathe again until he takes a step back. “Hey!” I scold, reaching up to snag the cookie back, but he moves faster, biting into it. “Those are for the customers.”
Damn him and that sexy smirk. “Are they?”
“Yes, if you must know, the sugar cookies are quite the hit with old ladies.”
“And here I thought you were making them just for me.”
I am. But I would first swallow a handful of nails before I admitted that out loud. “Don't be insane,” I say instead, trying not to watch him chew. Sweet Jesus, how can someone look so goddamned hot just chewing? I force my eyes away, turning to the box of pastries on the kitchen counter. “Since you're here, help me carry these boxes down to the bakery.”
“Sure,” he says, tossing the rest of the cookie into his mouth before approaching the boxes. “How much longer before they're done renovating the bakery kitchen?” he asks as he grabs four boxes. “It can't be easy going back and forth all the time.”
“The guy in charge said they'll be working on it for another couple of weeks before I can use it.Until then, I'll have to make do with this kitchen and do the heavy lifting on my own.”
“You have me, Matilde. Use me when you need help with anything.”
So he's said in the last six months, but I don't respond. I never do. He's done his best to be there despite my less-than-accommodating attitude. Patient and present, he's been. It doesn't make sense. As theircapo, I imagine the Rossis have better things for him to do than babysit an eighteen-year-old baker, so why is he still here?
