"You wanted to see me about the?—"
The words die in my throat.
Pietro stands behind his desk, and there's a man in the leather chair across from him. Broad shoulders, dark hair.
His back is to me.
My brother's eyes flick to mine. Something passes across his face. Warning? I can't read it before it's gone.
"Vittoria. Good timing." Pietro gestures toward the other chair. "I was just telling our guest about the security upgrades you implemented."
The man rises.
He turns.
Pale gray eyes lock onto mine like a missile finding its target.
No.
No, no, no.
Dmitri Baganov stands in my brother's office, six feet four inches of Bratva heir wrapped in a suit. His mouth curves into the barest hint of a smile. The same mouth that was on mine a month ago.
The same mouth that still haunts my dreams.
"Miss Sartori," he says, and his voice rolls through me like thunder. Deep. Unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world. "A pleasure to finally meet you properly."
Finally.
Properly.
The bastard.
Pietro rounds his desk, oblivious to the fact that my heart is currently trying to escape through my ribcage. "Dmitri, this is my sister Vittoria. She designed our entire security infrastructure. Best tech mind in Chicago, if I'm being honest."
Dmitri extends his hand toward me.
I stare at it.
His fingers are long, elegant. The hands of a pianist or a surgeon.
Move,I scream at myself.Say something. Do something.
But my feet are rooted to the imported Italian marble and my tongue has apparently decided to take an unscheduled vacation.
Dmitri's smile widens. Just a fraction. Just enough to tell me he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Vittoria?" Pietro's voice cuts through the fog. "You okay?"
"Fine." The word comes out strangled. I force my hand into Dmitri's grip. "I'm fine. Nice to meet you, Mr. Baganov."
His palm is warm against mine. He holds on a beat too long.
"Please," he says, those pale eyes never leaving my face. "Call me Dmitri."
Dmitri
She looks like she rolled out of bed.
