“Tomorrow?”

“With Calogero planning retaliation as we speak, I can’t risk putting her life in danger. I almost got her killed once. There won’t be a second time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you believe in destiny, Guido?”

“Destiny? Like shit that was meant to happen?” He raises an eyebrow. “Of course I don’t. It’s just mumbo jumbo for superstitious idiots.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Remember my last job for the Albanians?”

“As if I could ever forget. They told me you probably wouldn’t make it. That butcher they took you to barely managed to stitch you together. I hope that kid survived, because you nearly died playing the hero.”

“She survived.” I nod. “She’s currently sleeping upstairs in my bed.”

My brother’s face pales. He slumps on his deck chair, staring at me in shock. “That’s . . . not possible.”

“Yeah. Fate has a weird sense of humor.”

“Does Vasilisa know?”

“No.”

“You should tell her. You saved her life. Almost died because of her. Use any means at your disposal to keep her. Even Petrov wouldn’t object to your relationship. You know how seriously the Russians take a life debt.”

“And have her tied to me because of some sense of obligation?”

“Why would it matter? You love her. And you want her to be with you.”

“I thought you didn’t like my little hacker.”

Guido looks away. “The way you’ve been acting since she arrived here . . . Having her wear your clothes, getting the staff, leaving damn love notes for her all over the house—”

“Drawings,” I point out. “Not love notes.”

“Please. I don’t recall seeing you hold a fucking pen in the last decade. And you’ve had your assistant booking ‘dates’ with your hookups for longer than that.”

I smile. “Maybe they are love notes, after all.”

“And that!” He points his finger at me. “That dopey-ass grin. You’ve been going around wearing one for weeks. Our men have been scared shitless, thinking God knows what.”

“Why?”

“Because you have exactly two facial expressions, Rafael—agitated and furious. You never smile.”

“People change.”

“Yes.” He sighs and looks toward the horizon. “It was always just you and me against the world. I was pissed at her because I was afraid she’d get you killed. I still am. Petrov is going to go ballistic if you tell him you’ve been holding his daughter hostage.”

“Most likely. I’m sure he’ll be sending someone to put a bullet between my eyes the moment he finds out. I just hope it isn’t Belov.”

“Yeah. Vasilisa would never forgive you for killing her precious lunatic of an uncle.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let her go, Rafael. Make her stay. Offer her something in return.”

“Unfortunately, some things can only be attained for free.” I stand up and look at my brother. “I’m letting her go because she needs to make her own choice. Maybe she’ll decide to come back to me. Maybe not. But even if she doesn’t return, she’ll always be mine and no one else’s. I’ll make sure of it.”

Chapter 17

“I just looooove how it makes the lime taste less sour,” I slur before I lick the salt off my hand and knock back the shot of tequila, then lift the citrus slice to my mouth and suck.

The glow of the tealight at the center of the table reflects in Rafael’s eyes while he stares into mine, making it seem like his irises are on fire. He lifts his tumbler of whiskey and takes a small sip. He’s still working on his first drink, while I’ve downed at least four already. Or maybe it was five?

Rafael said the plane to Chicago is scheduled to depart in a few hours, so I’m not sure why he insisted we come out to this club tonight. But I’m not complaining. The music is awesome, and the drinks are even awesomer. I’ve been so damn nervous the entire day, racking my brain for potential stories we could tell my dad about my absence. The tequila allowed me to come up with options that I hadn’t considered before, and it’s making me think we can definitely pull this off.

It’s also making me wish all these people around us weren’t here. I lean in and take a deep whiff of Rafael’s scent. God, he’s so yummy.

“You should try it with an orange,” he says, beckoning a waiter over with his hand. “It brings out a slightly different flavor.”

“You know . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.” I grin, then grab a fistful of his shirt over his chest because the room started spinning. Can clubs spin?

“And why would I do that, vespetta?” Rafael’s arm wraps around my back, pulling me closer.

He dips his head and looks right into my eyes while speaking in Italian with the server who approached us. Feeling more steady on my feet, I let go of Rafael’s shirt but plant my palms squarely on his chest. I still need that contact to ground me. The heat of his body seeps through the soft fabric of his graphite gray button-down, and it strikes me that he isn’t wearing his usual vest and suit jacket over it. With the top two buttons of his shirt undone and no tie, this is the most casually dressed I’ve ever seen him in public.

“I have no idea. But I think you are.” A snort escapes me. “Are you plotting to have me do a dark deed for you again and need me intoxicated to make it happen?”

“Maybe.”

“I would, you know. Even sober, I would. I’d send all the fucking containers from every damn tanker in the world to China if you asked me to. It would create an international shipping disaster, but I’d do it. For you.”

Rafael just keeps watching me. Why are his eyes sad again? Is he worried about what my father might do to him when we get to Chicago? He shouldn’t be. I won’t tell Dad the truth. We’ll tell him that Rafael and I met by chance. And after I admit to Dad that I’m in love, he’ll understand.

The waiter returns and sets a new shot of tequila topped with an orange slice on our table. Staring fixedly into Rafael’s eyes, I grab the shot glass and throw back the throat-burning liquid.

“You forgot the orange,” he says, lifting the slice of citrus to my mouth.

My lips close on the orange piece and suck the tangy juices off the rind. “You were right. It does taste better.”

Rafael’s eyes flare. The fruit vanishes from my mouth, replaced with his hard lips and tongue. They take. Brand. Consume me.

Rising onto my toes, I bury my hands in his hair, pulling on the dark strands. A mix of flavors explodes across my taste buds. Salt. Him. His whiskey. Him. Orange. Him. Him. Him.

I feel a slight squeeze on my waist as he lifts me and deposits me on the barstool, all without breaking our kiss. His rough palm glides along the inner side of my thigh, bound for higher places. I hook my leg behind his. My head feels fuzzy, like I’m floating, but I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol running rampant through my veins or because Rafael’s fingers are sliding under my panties.