A small smile pulls at his lips.

“Well, I told that idiot to go fuck himself in a very painful way. Sent him to hell because his brain is in his testicles. Called him an asshole and a dickhead, and invited the pig-whore to eat shit and die. Then, I asked if you were okay.” He stretches his hand and brushes my chin with his thumb. “Are you okay, vespetta?”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

Rafael steers the car to the left and stops outside an old one-story house. A massive shrub, or maybe a small tree, with vibrant purple flowers creeps up the walls of the structure, its vines twisting together to create a natural canopy over the front door. In its shade, curled into a ball on a doormat, sleeps a large calico cat. A woman with a long gray braid, who looks to be in her eighties, is knitting on the nearby bench. The moment she notices us, she abandons her work and eyes Rafael while he exits the SUV and tosses his sunglasses onto the dashboard.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and shuts the door.

The gentle breeze ruffles the hair around his face, tossing a few dark strands across his eyes as he approaches the house with long, confident strides. His shirt accentuates his broad back, the fabric straining across his biceps and shoulders.

Rafael brings to mind an image of a vengeful Roman god, but one who traveled through time to the present. The idea is bolstered by the gun he tucked into the waistband at his back. The scene from last night—him covered in blood—forms before my eyes, and my heart rate surges in alarm.

Is he going to kill the poor old woman?

I grab the door handle and fling it open. I don’t give a fuck what beef he might have with her, I will not sit back and watch as he kills someone’s grandma.

I’m out of the SUV and ready to run over there to stop him when Rafael crouches before the woman. She doesn’t seem to be alarmed by his presence at all. A small smile lights up her face as she leans forward and starts whispering in his ear.

It lasts for nearly five minutes. The woman speaks, and Rafael listens, nodding every now and then. Once she finishes, Rafael straightens and turns to leave. The woman suddenly grabs his hand. I stare, speechless, as she drops a kiss on his knuckles.

When she lets go of Rafael’s hand, her gaze meets mine. Eyebrows furrowed, she watches me silently for a second or two, then says something and gestures to the left. Rafael shakes his head. More serious-sounding words follow in rapid Italian, leaving her lips as she points to the flower pot by the front door. A sprawling plant with bright-red flowers. Sighing, Rafael looks toward the heavens, then approaches the planter and picks a single bloom from the lot.

My heart thumps heavily in my chest as he closes the distance between us and lifts the flower toward me.

“It’s a geranium. Thought of almost as a weed around here,” he says. “I know it will get flushed down the toilet, but she insisted.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, that was the fate of the orchids. Why would a weed fare any better?”

I take the flower from his hand. “Think about it a bit, and the answer will come to you.”

Lifting the flower to my nose, I inhale the mild sweet aroma and get back in my seat.

“So, is she your family?” I ask when Rafael gets behind the wheel.

“An associate would be more accurate. If you want to know what’s happening around here, nothing beats the grandma surveillance network.”

“Hmm, it looked like more than that to me. Do all your associates kiss your hand?”

“It’s a sign of respect. And appreciation for the help I provided.”

“What kind of help?”

“There’s no shortage of corruption throughout Sicily. With enough money, one can get away with many things,” he says. “A few years ago, a business mogul arrived with an intent to level the village and transform the area into a vineyard. He tried to buy the properties and the surrounding land, bribing the local officials left and right to obtain the necessary licenses and permits.”

“But nothing came of it?”

“Of course not. Since I separated the bastard from his head.” He starts the vehicle and glances at the purple vine climbing the old wall that’s covered in peeling paint. “Dead bodies make an amazing plant fertilizer.”

With my mouth hanging open, I follow Rafael’s gaze to the blooming bush, then look over at the grandma, who’s gone back to her knitting with a serene smile on her face. “You buried a body next to her front door? Does the poor woman know that?”

“Of course. She even picked the spot.”

The engine roars to life, and pebbles crunch under the massive tires as Rafael reverses, startling the cat sleeping on the doormat. The furball leaps from its napping spot directly onto the blooming bush. Frantically, it climbs the thick vine and squeezes between the branches just above the door.

“Stop!” I reach out, laying my hand over Rafael’s on the steering wheel. “You scared the cat. It went up the tombstone shrub.”

The rumble of the vehicle dies. I turn my head and our gazes collide, making me forget about the chubby calico. Rafael’s eyes are searing mine, holding them captive, and I find myself leaning toward him. I can feel the scar ridges on his hand under my palm, crisscrossing his skin like some bizarre art deco trellis pattern.

“Tombstone shrub?” Rafael’s gaze shifts down, falling on my mouth, and I belatedly realize I may have drawn his attention by worrying my bottom lip between my teeth.

Is he thinking about the kisses we shared last night? The ones he “paid” me for?

Good God, even after that fiasco, I still want to kiss him again. So bad.

“Um, yeah.” I quickly release his hand and look back at the cat. “Do you think it will come down on its own?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t look that way to me.” The cat looks terrified, testing the branch before it with one paw, but quickly retreating. “Can you help it down?”

“It will jump down the moment we leave, Vasilisa.”

My heartbeat skyrockets like it always does when he calls me by my name. I take a deep breath and look at him. “Please?”

Rafael lifts his hand and lightly brushes my cheek with his scarred knuckles. The air gets caught in my lungs.

“La mia principessa russa,” he whispers.

Another stroke along my chin before he exits the car and heads toward the house where the distraught cat is still crammed between branches heavy with purple blooms.

Mesmerized, I watch as Rafael jostles the bush limbs and flowers, trying to get his hands on the scaredy cat. The calico might have looked like it was eager to get down, but it’s taking Rafael more than five minutes to grab it because the little thing keeps twisting around the offshoots and foliage. When he finally gets a hold and starts pulling the mewling fluffball out from between the tangled vines, the cat scrambles out of Rafael’s hands and leaps back onto the bush. Then, using one of the thicker branches, it expertly dashes to the ground and runs away.

Laughter bubbles inside me, and by the time Rafael gets into the driver’s seat, I’m laughing so hard that tears stream down my cheeks.

“I guess you were right.” I snort, then fall into another fit of giggles. “Sneaky little thing.”

“Of course I was right.” There’s a small smirk on his lips when he starts the SUV.

Rafael reaches for his sunglasses on the dashboard, and while he’s putting them on, I notice faint red markings on the back of his hand. The surrounding skin is turning fire-engine-red.

“Oh my God, the little rascal scratched you!”

“It wasn’t the cat. That’s a bougainvillea bush.” He meets my gaze. “Its thorns are toxic.”

I stare at him—this dangerous, unscrupulous man, who only minutes ago disclosed that he buried a dead body under that same bush. And then, without protest, he went to “rescue” the cat because I asked him to, all while knowing he’d get hurt in the process.