“Shhhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. Breathe.”
He loosens his grip slightly and my pulse slows a little. My heart is still hammering against my ribcage and I don’t know if it’s because he’s touching me with his hand, or if it’s from being in close proximity to a man who, despite having been inside me with his tongue, his dick and a lethal weapon, still makes me nervous.
He draws my arm across his body, pulling my mouth down to his. Then he kisses me deeply, using his lips, tongue and teeth, making my head spin.
When we eventually part, he looks into my swimming gaze.
“You’re sure you don’t want to take my driver?” There’s a mischievous tilt to his lips like he knows he just made me thoroughly weak with that kiss.
I shake my head and my shoulders. “I’m sure.” I arch a brow. “But nice try.”
His low laugh follows me to the door, making me pause.
Everything has changed. When I first walked into this building, it was under duress, because I had to. Only one monthlater and I’m returning of my own free will, to be with a man—one who makes me feel safe but may just be the most dangerous man in New York.
His lids are lowered, a sexy arch to his brow, and he licks his lips. “See you tonight then,cucciola.”
I let myself out of Fiero’s apartment and make my way down the hall to the elevator. It arrives quickly and I step inside. I check my unkempt appearance in the mirrored wall as I wait for the doors to close, turning as they do.
When they’re about an inch apart, a person appears on the other side. He looks like a younger version of Fiero. I’ve only seen Brando without his mask on—not Remo or Cassio. And I know instantly this is one of them. I go to raise my hand in a small, shaky wave, but the last thing I see before the doors seal shut is something that makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
It isn’t a scowl exactly, but it’s just as dark. His mouth remains motionless, all the movement in his eyes.
Which are swimming in what looks, very much, like hate.
I shakeoff the horrible and probably irrational sensation of feeling intensely disliked and race home to find Dad standing in the kitchen.
“Hey Dad? How are you?”
He’s staring blankly at the microwave like he’s never seen one before.
“Dad? You okay?”
He turns toward me with a puzzled look on his face.
“Oh, Fifi, thank God you’re home,” he breathes. “The electricity’s broken.”
I follow his gaze back to the microwave. The clock is flashing 12:00.
“Oh,” I say, relieved it’s nothing. “You just need to reset it.”
His shoulders sag. “Right. Right, of course.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Shall we do something today?” I ask, brightly.
He runs a hand through what remains of his hair, looking a touch surprised at how little of it is left.
“I don’t know, love. Your mom hasn’t been well. I should probably stay here and keep an eye on her.”
All the blood drains from the tips of my ears right down to my toes and I sway on the spot. This time he doesn’t notice his mistake, he just continues to bustle about the kitchen, wiping non-existent crumbs off the surfaces.
Fear crawls slowly up my spine and though I don’t know where I find the strength, I manage to speak.
“Okay, well, we can ask the doctor about her when I take you later this week.”
“Okay love.” He pats my arm before walking out of the kitchen, leaving me to grip the counters until my knuckles turn white.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
