“Is there anything else you’d like to know about my habits?” he continues. “Or were you simply interested in inviting me to have lunch with you, Miss Petrova?”

“Having lunch in your company would be the low point of my day,” I say and grab a glass of milk. “You look like crap, by the way.”

Absolute silence descends on the room. The maid who’s been putting the pots back into the cupboards is staring at me open-mouthed. The other one is doing the same, her mallet frozen in midair as if she were struck motionless by lightning. Irma was preoccupied stirring something on the stove, but now she’s just got the spoon in a death grip, and her wide eyes are fused to the nearby wall. Guido’s gaze, on the other hand, darts from me to Rafael and back.

“No better way to start a day than by getting compliments,” Rafael says and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Did you resolve the misunderstanding last night?” I ask.

“Yes. It just took a little longer than expected.” He approaches the table with an unhurried stride and unceremoniously takes a seat beside me. “Love what you did with our website.”

I choke on my milk.

“That was her?” Guido snaps from across the table.

“Do we have another hacker with a grudge against me who also has unbridled access to our systems?”

“Mitch has been trying to fix the issue for the past two hours, but there’s some malicious code implanted into our server-side scripts and any change he makes won’t stick.”

Rafael cocks his head, observing me over the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll fix it.”

“She will?” I raise my eyebrow.

“Yes. And she’ll go to dinner with me as punishment for her misbehavior.”

“Dinners weren’t a part of our agreement.”

“Neither was further fucking with my business. And, I wasn’t asking, vespetta. It’s a perfect opportunity to wear your new earrings.”

“Yeah, too bad I left all of them at home.” I reach for a slice of cherry tart, feeling Rafael’s eyes punching holes into my head the entire time. Feigning innocence, I take a bite and meet his gaze. “Oh, you mean the ones you left on my nightstand mere hours after reminding me that you’re holding the lives of people I love in your hand?”

“Yes.”

“They are in your desk drawer. The second one from the top.”

Rafael’s hand shoots out, seizing my chin between his fingers. The silence in the room becomes so absolute that a feather could drop, and the boom would echo off the walls. With eyes narrowed, Rafael leans forward, drawing level with my face.

“I’ll come get you at six,” he says through his teeth, then releases me and storms out of the kitchen.

I look back at my tart while fuming internally at my own reaction. My problem? I’m actually excited about going to dinner with him. Goddammit.

* * *

“We should have gotten that dress from Albini’s,” Rafael says as he pulls into the parking lot of an upscale restaurant with a terrace perched on the edge of a hillside, overlooking the sea.

“It’s an evening gown meant for wearing to galas or other such suitable events. Not to dinner at a local eatery hot spot.”

“Then, I guess we’d have to find a suitable event,” Rafael says as he reverses and parks.

I’m actually tempted to say we should. That dress was the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. But, the last time I chanced going out in something similar, I regretted it right away.

On that occasion, I attended a charity fundraiser with a guy I was sort of seeing at the time. He was the son of a Chicago politician, several years older than me, and I thought he would be more mature than my previous dates. I asked about the work his father was doing, but the guy completely ignored my questions, too focused on my cleavage. He also kept insinuating that his apartment was only a block away. The entire fucking evening.

Is a normal, meaningful conversation too much to expect from a date? It must be, because when I mentioned that I agreed to go out so I could get to know him a little better, he looked at me all confused and asked: Why would you dress like that if you don’t want to be fucked? I stopped dressing up at that point. Stopped going out, too. It simply wasn’t worth it.

Agreeing to try on that gorgeous gown at Albini’s was a moment of weakness. I missed wearing pretty things, and that dress was beyond stunning and impossible to resist. When Rafael barged into the dressing room, I momentarily worried what his reaction to seeing me in it would be.

He didn’t even bat an eye.

My gaze flits toward Rafael as he turns off the ignition. He must be the first man who hasn’t tried persuading me into his bed within an hour of meeting me. Going by the looks he’s been giving me, I’m fairly certain he finds me . . . intriguing? Probably in the same way a lab worker is fascinated with a new strain of bacteria, though. He might enjoy observing it, but isn’t actually tempted to kiss the thing.

It bothers me a bit. His apparent immunity to me. And the fact that it does, bothers me quite a lot. I’m so fucking confused about everything. Why am I so drawn to Rafael? Why does my heart skip a beat every time he comes near? Is it just some kind of wacky curiosity? I’m not certain that it is.

Tonight, I picked a revealing, open-backed sparkly silver halter top that ties around the neck. Along with it, I’ve put on super-tight black pants and metallic gray six-inch heels. I was one hundred percent sure Rafael’s jaw would drop when I stepped through the mansion’s front entrance to where he was waiting by the car. The only thing he said? You may get chilly in that top, vespetta. And then, he opened the passenger door for me.

Is he even attracted to me?

Sometimes I think he is, but other times, like tonight, I think he’s just amused by me.

I watch Rafael as he exits the vehicle, his three-piece graphite suit fitting his large frame just as it should—tailored specifically for him. He checks all my boxes. Tall. Dark-haired. Heavily muscled. Stylish. Doesn’t turn into a dickheaded teenage boy when he happens to be in my company. I don’t care that his face is so scarred that it’s basically misshapen. Rafael is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He’s also a mean asshole who kidnapped me and threatened my family. That gets him instantly disqualified from my list.

But I want him to kiss me anyway.

The valet opens my door, offering me his hand. “Buonasera, signorina—”

Strong fingers wrap around the man’s wrist, cutting off the rest of the guy’s sentence.

“Non toccarla,” Rafael says through his teeth, glaring at the young man who looks like he’s a second away from pissing himself. “Lei è mia. Capito?”

“SÌ. Ho capito, Signor De Santi. Mi dispiace molto,” the man chokes out and quickly steps away.

“What happened?” I ask as I take Rafael’s extended hand.

“He wanted to repark my car,” he says, helping me out. “I thanked him and said no.”

“That didn’t sound like a thank you to me. And he is the valet. It’s his job to park cars. Why wouldn’t you let him?”

Our gazes collide. We’re standing face to face now. Okay, more like face to chest. Even with sky-high heels on, I have to crane my neck quite a bit to be able to meet Rafael’s eyes.

He dips his head, and one of the strands of his slicked-back hair falls forward, tickling my forehead. With my hand still in his, he gently strokes my knuckles with his thumb.

“I don’t allow other people to touch what’s mine, Vasilisa.”

A shiver runs down my spine from the way he pronounces my name, with a hint of an Italian lilt. It feels like the softest caress.

“It’s just a car,” I whisper.