Page 32 of Darkest Kiss

“Ah.” Her expression hardens. “So you’re the mob.”

“We’re not the mob, exactly. Mob-adjacent? We’re arms dealers, recently arrived from Boston, looking to make inroads here.”

This earns me a glare from her. “You’re gun runners?”

“Sometimes,” I say. “Like I said, we’ve been watching operations in New York City, staking out the different boroughs and the crime families that run them. We identified the Vitellis as either a family that we could do business with… or the family that we could replace.”

Understanding dawns on her. “You were keeping tabs on my building.”

The next part is delicate. I grab a stool, sitting down, and steeple my fingers. “Yes. It started as monitoring the Vitellis, occasionally stopping by when a few of their associates were in the office upstairs. But then I saw you.”

“What do you mean, you saw me?” I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, but she takes a small bite of toast. After a moment, she takes a fuller bite.

“You’re smart. Funny. Nice. And of course, there is the fact that I find you mesmerizing.”

She coughs, choking a little. “Me?

“Yes, you.” I want more than anything to squeeze her hand, but I don’t. She doesn’t trust me yet. “I watched you for four months," I explain. "At the bookshop. Walking home. Sitting outside at that little bistro you eat at. I find you fascinating.”

“What? In what way?”

“Every way.” I shrug. “I know how you take your coffee, and which books on your bookshelf you dog-ear, and that you talk to yourself when you lock up the shop. I know everything about you, Noemi. I’m devoted to you. Obsessed with you. The only thing I've ever wanted is to keep you safe."

"Safe." She spits it out like it tastes bad in her mouth. "I felt how hard you were last night when I was pressed against you. I was practically in your lap and you were a steel bar. You're going to stand in your million-dollar kitchen and tell me this is about safety?"

That lands. She sees it on my face. Her chin comes up like she's daring me to lie about it.

But I won't.

"You're a beautiful woman," I say. "I can want you and want to keep you safe at the same time. Those two things aren't fighting each other. One of them just isn't your problem unless you decide you want it to be."

Her mouth opens, closes. She wasn't braced for honesty, which tells me plenty about the men she's known.

Noemi stands up, still a bit wobbly, making eye contact with me. “You have to let me go, Rian.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Fast as a whip, she flings the mug of by-now-lukewarm broth at me. I jump back as it splatters on me. The mug cracks as it hits the floor.

“Fuck me,” I mutter.

She's fast for someone who spent four days paralyzed and two more vomiting, I'll give her that. She gets halfway across the living room before I catch an arm around her waist and lift her off her feet. “Not fast enough.”

She twists and kicks. “Let me go!” She gets an elbow into my ribs hard enough that I feel it, which is more than most grown men manage. "Put me down!"

"You don't even know where you are." I hold her until the fight drains out, which takes less time than either of us would like, because she's running on empty. "You'd reach the lobby and my men downstairs would have you captured before you found the street. And if you make it out of the building, you want to know what’s waiting for you, Noemi?”

She stills. “What?”

“A bullet. You pissed off the Vitellis. You think they’re going to be chill about you showing up to the bookstore like nothing happened?”

Her breath seizes. “I… I didn’t think it through. But I don’t have to go back to the shop. I can just go home.”

“Do… do you remember that Marc is dead?” I ask gently.

No, she didn’t. I can tell from her anguished expression. She shakes her head.

I look down at her, trying not to inhale the delicate scent that cloaks her, even now. “Doing that would only bring the Vitellis to your door. Who would protect you the next time they decide to attack you?”