I bite my lip. The need to kiss him tugs at my heart, but my mind won’t allow it. I need to keep my heart out of it. This is just sex. I push against his chest to climb off before I give in, but he holds me firmly in place.
“Don’t move. Not yet.” He swipes the hair from my face and gazes into my eyes.
I let him hold me a moment longer, breathing him in, willing myself not to want more than this. The memories reflect in his eyes. The man I loved is still there, as if calling to me from another time. It’s hypnotising and soul-crushing all at the same time.
Just sex, I remind myself. But the truth clings to me, no matter how hard I try to shake it. I want the kiss. I want him.
He kisses my breasts again over the camisole, then trails his lips over my skin to my neck. Another exhale fans mycheek. “I wish we could do this tomorrow.” He kisses my ear and whispers, “And the next day.”
“Well, if you promise to do that thing again with your tongue, I might be able to clear my schedule.” I quirk my lips. “I mean, I’d have to cancel my date with Jake Gyllenhaal and Henry Cavill, but I’m sure I can catch up with them another time.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t come back to England with you tomorrow. I need to stay here for a few days and take care of a few things. My brother, Dom, will be around if you need anything.”
“But you told Angelos?—”
He presses his finger to my mouth. “I won’t miss my son’s birthday for the world. I’ll be back in time. Trust me on that.”
26
DAN
Midnight wraps around me like a cold cloak. The veil of night makes it easier to stay under the radar as we scope out Matteo’s father, Vincenzo Messina. Crouched outside a container terminal at the Port of Civitavecchia isn’t how I pictured my weekend, but I’d promised my cousin I’d help him, and according to my research, this is where the Messina crime family conduct a lot of trade. Trafficking, weapons, drugs. Just another night at the office for scum like them.
The salty tang of the sea bites at my skin. The wind pulls at the edges of my jacket like a warning, while shadows stretch long across the loading docks, giving us plenty of cover.
Matteo passes me the night-vision binoculars, his jaw clenched so tight I can hear the faint grind of teeth. He hasn’t said much. He doesn’t need to.
Through the scope, I scan the terminal. Nothing yet. Just flickers of movement—dock workers maybe, or hired muscle, but no sign of his father. I adjust the focus, squinting.
“It makes me sick.” Matteo spits, his voice low. “That I could be related tosomeone so wicked.”
A thin older male comes in to view. “Hell, is that…?” Matteo whispers.
“Your father?” I ask, looking through the binoculars. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Without hesitation, Matteo draws an automatic from the holster strapped to his back and lines up the shot on instinct. Pure rage guiding his hand. Like it’s the only option that makes sense.
I understand all too well the urge to make things right and end the chaos with a single shot. Carefully, I place my hand on his forearm. “Matteo, are you sure that’s wise? Think about this for a moment. We haven’t planned for this. Our only goal was to have multiple sets of eyes on the transfer of the girls so we can intervene when they least suspect. I thought our mission here was to return them to their homes, not start a war with the Messinas.” I hold my breath, hoping he hears me and doesn’t make a rash decision that changes everything.
He lowers the rifle with a sigh and hangs his head low. “You’re probably right.”
The tight coil in my chest eases. I press the binoculars to my eyes again, scanning the dock, wondering what changed his mind. “Nico,” I whisper. Matteo’s brother, my estranged cousin, then just behind him, another familiar face. “What the fuck?” I adjust the scope, but there’s no mistaking that ugly bastard with the jagged scar on his cheek.
“What is it?” Matteo takes another look through the lens.
A cold, sour taste creeps up the back of my throat like bile, mixing with rage. “That’s Magnus Berlusconi.” My voice is flat, but my pulse thunders in my ears. “Rose’s husband.” My chest tightens, blood roaring behind my eyes. I grip the binoculars until my knuckles ache. The rifle slung over Matteo’s back has never looked more tempting.
I watch Magnus shake hands with Vincenzo’s man, and acrate marked with Conti symbols rolls by in the background. “He’s working with the Messinas.”
“How so?” Matteo pulls his brows together, taking another look through the lens.
“He’s intercepting trade… trade that was never meant for him. I need to figure out what he’s up to.”
If Magnus is working with Vincenzo Messina, then Rose’s husband just sold his soul to the devil. I scrub a hand over my jaw, wondering if Elio knows Magnus is lifting shipments. It would be the perfect time to attack the Conti family, while Elio is preoccupied with his mother’s pneumonia. Magnus isn’t just playing dirty—he’s making a power move. And if Elio finds out, it’ll be war. Maybe Magnus is trying to form new alliances now he’s out of jail and further down the pecking order. The crime syndicate in London isn’t as powerful as it once was.
The docks clear out and I lean back against an old, rusty container.
“I wish we could just blow the lot to smithereens and be done with it all.” Matteo leans back against the container with me.
