It’s the scent—orange blossoms that are warm and sweet, undercut by sea salt and sun-warmed stone.
The smells wrap around me before my eyes even open, so vivid it nearly steals my breath away.
My lashes flutter when I finally open them, confusion thick and sluggish while my mind tries to catch up.
When I finally manage to lift my head and look around, the world makes no sense at all.
I’m… lying in a bed.
Notmybed. The narrow mattress in Brooklyn with its squeaky frame and threadbare sheets could never be this nice.
This one is vast with four-posters carved from dark wood, draped in gauzy white curtains that stir gently in a breeze I can feel against my skin.
Sunlight spills across the room in lazy bands, warm and golden, illuminating stone floors and pale walls washed in cream.
Beyond the open windows, the sea stretches endlessly, blue and glittering beneath the sun.
Cliffs rise in the distance, white and jagged against the horizon.
Waves crash far below, the sound distant but unmistakable.
For one disoriented heartbeat, I almost believe I’m dreaming. That this is some cruel trick of the mind… a fantasy stitched together from memory and longing for my home.
I’m in Sicily… the place I swore I would never see again.
A voice cuts through the haze, unmistakable. “Buongiorno, Elena.”
My breath catches painfully in my chest.
I don’t even need to look over to know who it is. My body is already reacting before my mind can catch up, every nerve flaring to life like it’s been waiting for this moment for four long years.
Dante Cosenza stands in the doorway across the room dressed in black from head to toe, not a crease or stitch out of place.
His dark hair is cut shorter than I remember, his jaw clenched a little harder.
Time has sharpened him, carved away whatever softness I once knew existed and replaced it with something much colder.
Yet still, the sight of him nearly knocks the air from my lungs. This is the man I once loved in secret. My ex-fiancé’s youngerbrother. The man whose touch had once set my body on fire even as guilt ate me alive from the inside out.
He moves through the room with a predatory calm, steps slow as he makes his way over toward the bed like I’m a rare bird he’s already caged and claimed and can’t wait to make dance for him. I push myself upright, ignoring the way my head protests as the blood rushes back to it, fury burning hotter than fear at the moment.
“You’ve caused quite a mess,Tesoro,” he murmurs.
It makes my throat tight. My voice is hoarse when I speak. “Why am I here?”
It’s a useless question, one I already know the answer to. But I ask it anyway to buy me time from whatever sick and twisted game he’s about to force me to play.
He stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes running over me carefully. “Your father owes my family for the crimes he’s committed. He betrayed my blood and you helped him disappear. I want his location.”
“I wasn’t part of his business, you know that. I had nothing to do with his escape,” I spit out.
He moves again, rounding the foot of the bed to come closer to my side. I can feel the familiar gravity that once pulled me under tugging at me now, singing its siren song once again. I brace my hands against the mattress, forcing myself not to retreat, not to show weakness to the one man I know who delights in using it against his enemies.
“Do you expect me to believe that?” he asks coolly.
His eyes burn now, though not with desire like they once did for me. Now it’s with something far more dangerous.
I know that look all too well.
