MIA
“Calm down.” A man’s deep voice drifted through the crack in the bathroom door. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m tired of this,” a woman said, her speech slightly slurred. “I can’t stand him. The way he talks to me. The way he looks at me. Just listening to him chew makes me want to break a plate over his head. I’m done.”
Crap.
Why didn’t I close the bathroom door all the way?
There was a five-inch gap through which they could spot me if they moved to the other side of the room.
I backed away from the sink until my shoulder blades touched the cold tile wall. I was slightly more hidden here.
“You’re drunk. Go home, Harper. We can talk in the morning once you sleep this off.”
“No! I FUCKING LOVE YOU, ROMOLO!”
My breath caught.
Romolo?
As in, Romolo Ferraro?
The youngest of the three Ferraro brothers, or as my dad called them, Gino Ferraro’s spawns.
Like their father, they were criminals. I didn’t know which crimes they were guilty of, just that there were many. My dad didn’t share his research with me, and I’d never been tempted to ask. It was his passion. His purpose.
I had my own. And it had nothing to do with taking down criminals.
“Lower your voice.” Romolo’s tone was filled with warning.
Cold sweat sprang from my pores. He sounded scary. Dangerous. A little mean.
“Kiss me. Just kiss me.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Get off me,” he snapped.
Okay. He sounded a lot mean.
“The cab just messaged,” he said. “He’s outside. Let’s go.”
“Romolo. Oh, Romolo. Didn’t you hear me? I love you.”
She moaned his name like a porn star.
I winced.
Yikes. I felt bad for her. But also… had she completely lost the plot? The guy radiated jerk energy.
He let out a loud sigh. I’d never heard someone sound more done. “Harper, we’re over. What we had has run its course.”
“No! You can’t do this! I can’t live without you. Don’t you see? I don’t want to live if we’re not together. I’d rather throw myself under a train and just end my misery.”
My mouth fell open. Who needed reality TV when this was your life? Were all mob relationships this dramatic?
“Harper,” Romolo barked. “Smarten the fuck up. All we did was screw for a few weeks. It wasn’t that fucking deep.”
Ouch.
She started to cry.
I pressed my palm over my mouth, mortified on her behalf. He was so cold. So goddamn rude. I couldn’t even imagine talking like that to someone.
Where the hell was Nina? And what was she going to do when she walked in on this?
Footsteps padded closer. A shadow passed the crack in the door.
I flattened myself tighter against the wall.
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t—
The shadow moved back the other way.
“Here.” A dull sound reached my ears, like something landing on the bed. “Clean yourself up. Let’s go.”
Harper’s cries slowly died down. She blew her nose. “Will you walk me out?”
“You can find your own way out.”
She sniffed. “I’ll call you.”
“Don’t.”
A few seconds later, the door slammed.
Finally. Thank—
A sigh.
Crap! He was still here. Why hadn’t he left?
The clicking sound of him scrolling through his phone poured through the air.
I bit on a nail. Was he doomscrolling? How long was he going to stay here for?
A minute of silence passed. “Fuck. Gotta get back out there,” he muttered to himself. He must have been just by the door, because I couldn’t see him at all from this angle.
I heard the door open and then shut.
Gone. He was gone.
I waited a few seconds just to make sure he didn’t come back. When no sound came, I exhaled, peeled myself off the wall, and took a few tentative steps.
Still silent.
Slowly, I peeked my head out.
Big mistake.
A man stood by the door, his powerful frame filling the space, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying me.
My stomach dipped.
This was him. Romolo Ferraro.
Dressed in a suit, he was every bit as huge and imposing as I’d imagined. But what I hadn’t expected was that face.
Strikingly, breath-catchingly handsome. The kind of handsome that made you do a double take.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that rolled over my skin like distant thunder. He didn’t sound even a little friendly. He sounded pissed.
Fear knotted my stomach. I was so screwed.
“Uhm—no. I’m just…uhh…” Words. I used to have those. I used to know how to form coherent sentences. But all that knowledge seemed to have been vacuumed out of my brain, leaving it completely blank.
Romolo arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with my eloquence or lack thereof. “Not exactly a glowing review.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I tried.
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We both know that’s not true. Do you know what we do to eavesdroppers around here?”
Nope. And I had zero interest in finding out.
My adrenaline surged. My gut screamed at me to move. Right. Now.
I lurched toward the heavy lamp sitting on the nightstand at the same time as he moved toward me.
My hands curled around the base. I raised the lamp above my head, and whirled around to face him. “Stay back!”
He took another step.
“I said, stay back!” I lifted the lamp higher.
Another step. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
I hurled the damn thing at him.
God, what was that aim? He barely had to duck to avoid it. The lamp hit the wall behind him, bursting into shards.
Stupid. If it weren’t for the music thundering outside, the crash would’ve drawn every set of ears out in the garden.
He ignored the crunch of ceramic beneath his dress shoes as he prowled toward me, anger flashing in his eyes.
Panic rose up my throat. In retrospect, I should have thought this through. I was boxed in by the bed with nowhere to go.
A large hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I shrieked. He tensed, jaw clenching as he grabbed me and pulled me hard against him. My back hit his chest. His arm slid across my collarbone, the other clamping a hand over my mouth.
“Stop,” he hissed into my ear.
I didn’t listen. Of course, I didn’t. My animal instincts had taken over, and I was fighting for my life.
I bucked against him, doing everything I could with my five-foot-five frame to fight him off. My heels dug into the tops of his shoes. I kicked backward at his shins and landed a hit.
He grunted, lost his balance, and fell, taking me with him.
My body hit the bed, and he landed on top of me. He was heavy. The impact pushed all the air out of my lungs.
I bit the hand he still had pressed over my mouth. What else was I supposed to do?
“Goddamn it,” he growled, yanking it away.
He rolled off me and flipped me over. I tried to sit up, but he shoved me back down and stood up. He bracketed my legs with his, squeezing them together, and bent over me, trapping my wrists at my sides.
I couldn’t move at all now. My hair was in my mouth, and I coughed around it. The more I coughed the more hair fell in. I felt like I would choke on it until Romolo let go of one wrist just long enough to swipe the strands away from my face.
And then he stared.
Panting, I tried to catch my breath.
His eyes made a slow descent over my body, stilling on my chest.
I glanced down and felt my cheeks heat. My dress had gotten twisted during our scuffle, and my white lace bra was showing.
His jaw tightened. He yanked the fabric back into place with more force than necessary, but the anger in his expression had been replaced with mild curiosity.
I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was him recognizing me.
If he knew I was Mia Morales… My lungs shriveled at the thought of what he might do to me.
I started squirming, trying to get away again. “Let me go!”
“Enough,” he said gruffly. He moved my arms and pinned my wrists above my head, clamping down on them with one hand.
“No! N—“
He shut me up by pressing his forearm straight across my mouth. I tried to bite him again, but the fabric of his suit prevented me from doing any damage.
“I’m not a chew toy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fucking behave.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I just needed to get him off me. Then I could run. I’d walk back to Manhattan if I had to.
“No?” He raised a dark brow.
Another shake.
“All right then.” He crawled onto the bed and sat down across my upper thighs, his heavy bulk pressing me into the mattress. “I’ll have to call backup. If you think I’m bad, wait until you meet my brothers.”
That froze me. The prospect of two more Ferraros storming in short-circuited my brain.
Satisfied with my reaction, he lifted his forearm from my mouth a few inches, as if he was ready to slam it back down if I made another peep.
It dawned on me that screaming was probably not the smartest idea. Would Nina hear me—where was she?—or would another guest?
Romolo’s gaze drilled into me. “Why were you in there spying on me?”
“I wasn’t spying on you.” My voice came out hoarse and much weaker than I wanted it to.
“Then what were you doing?” He sat up and let go of my wrists, but his body stayed exactly where it was—on top of me.
I pushed at his thighs, desperate to put some space between us, but it was like trying to push a brick wall. He didn’t budge. Not even an inch.
All I could do was huff in frustration. “I was using the bathroom when you and your girlfriend barged in. I didn’t know how to interrupt your fight.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” His eyes swept over my face, lingering, assessing.
It made me feel exposed.
“If you weren’t spying on me, why the fuck did you throw that goddamn lamp?”
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “I just acted on instinct. You were threatening me.”
He raked his fingers through his thick, raven-black hair. “You know who I am?”
I hesitated and then nodded.
“Then you should have thought twice about doing something like that.” His gaze dragged over me again, like he was pondering my punishment.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip. My body practically vibrated with fear. He looked like he was close to my age, but he was twice my size, and I felt like a little kid being picked on by the big bad bully in the sandpit.
“Instead of terrorizing me, maybe you should go check to see if your friend actually made it to her cab,” I said with far more bravado than I felt.
I didn’t think of myself as a particularly courageous person. But if Romolo was a bully, weakness would only egg him on.
He cocked a brow. “Who’s terrorizing who? You’re the one who just destroyed what was probably some Messero family heirloom.”
Whatever blood was left in my face drained. “Shoot.”
His lips made the tiniest quirk. “I’ll take the blame if you tell me your name.”
Did he really think that would convince me? I’d apologize to Fabi about the lamp if indeed it was a family heirloom, but there was no way in hell I was giving him my name.
“No.”
Romolo’s mouth twisted into a smirk, and he leaned down, anchoring his palms on either side of my head, and bringing our faces closer. Thick, dark lashes framed his gray eyes. “See, when you say things like that, it makes it hard for me to believe your story. I didn’t see you down there at the party. What are you doing here?”
The irritation in his voice had been replaced with something smoother. More coaxing. Like he’d decided to use a different tool in his arsenal other than pure intimidation.
Whatever it was, I didn’t like how it made a flutter appear low inside my belly.
“I’m Fabi’s friend.” My hands pushed against his flat stomach, trying to force him away. It didn’t work. He had abs made of steel.
“Okay, Fabi’s friend,” he mocked. “Why are you hiding in a guest room during her engagement party instead of celebrating with her?”
“I wasn’t feeling well when I arrived, so Fabi took me here.” It wasn’t a total lie.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Is that right?”
“It was something I ate. I’m better now.” I pushed my nails into his abs, hoping it would hurt enough for him to ease up a bit.
But it seemed to have the opposite effect. He made a low grunt that sounded more appreciative than pained. “Yeah, you look just fine to me.”
The air between us thickened. My pulse thrummed against my neck. “How long do you plan to hold me hostage?”
“Not sure yet,” he murmured. He still hadn’t recognized me, but I had a feeling he thought I looked familiar. It would explain why he was staring so intently at me.
“Well, I’m done talking to you,” I whispered.
He huffed in dry amusement and sat up, moving his entire weight back onto my thighs. “I’m Romolo.” He offered me his hand.
Was he joking? Did he really think I was going to shake his hand while he was cutting off all circulation to my legs?
A spark of anger flared inside my belly. “Trust me, I got it. If I get dementia and forget everything, your name will still haunt me. Your not-girlfriend’s moans are burned into my brain. Rooooh-moooh-lo. Rooooh-moooh-lo.”
His eyes widened slightly beneath the dark slashes of his brows, like he hadn’t expected that from me.
I hadn’t expected that from me either.
But I was spent, scared, and it was starting to feel like he was playing with me.
A rough chuckle. “Not bad.”
“Can I go now?”
“I think I’m going to need you to moan my name a couple more times just to make sure you’ve got it right.”
My mouth formed an O. He was playing with me. “You know, most men have to earn a woman moaning their name, and you definitely haven’t done that.”
I shouldn’t have said that, because he suddenly seemed very intrigued. “Are you asking me to earn it?”
Oh God. I was provoking him.
I was losing my damn mind.
My fists rained against his thighs. “I can’t feel my legs. Get. Off. Me!”
He smirked and flipped us over in one effortless move, settling me onto his lap. “Better?”
I sucked in a breath and scrambled off him like he was on fire. Halfway to the door, he caught up to me and yanked me against his front.
Heat rolled off him. I was sweating. “You never answered my question,” he said, looking down at me, while my chest rose and fell against his.
“The answer is no.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.” He shot me a very male grin.
“I’d rather die.”
He laughed and lowered his face to mine, his dark gaze burning at the edges. “A little death? That can be arranged.”
My eyes widened at the innuendo. Then narrowed at how amusing he seemed to be finding all this.
The one hour of self-defense training I did a few months ago rushed back to me. I braced myself and drove my knee into his groin.
He made a pained groan and doubled over, letting go.
I didn’t waste a second. I grabbed my purse from where I’d dropped it on the floor and got the hell out of there.
As I sprinted through the house, my heartbeat was louder than the music thudding from the garden. I barely remembered the path Fabi and I had taken, but I had to find my way out before Romolo goddamn Ferraro caught up to me.
Where was Nina? She’d said she’d come back, but it had been at least fifteen minutes—though it felt like a lot longer. Apparently, time slowed when a six-foot-something monster of a man had you pinned to a bed, demanding your name.
I skidded into the foyer and tore at the front door. Beyond it was a waiting cab—thank God. The driver was leaning against the car, casually smoking a cigarette.
“Hi! I’m here! Let’s go!” I shouted, practically diving into the back seat.
The cabbie raised a brow and flicked his cigarette to the ground before sauntering to the driver’s side. He slid into his seat, giving me a glance in the rearview mirror that teetered between concern and suspicion.
“Miss, you okay?”
“Fine. Just drive. Please. I’m really late for something.” I must have sounded like I’d just robbed the place blind. But with only my small purse clutched to my chest, I supposed I didn’t scream thief.
The car rumbled to life. Relief swept over me, so palpable it was like angels singing from above. Then I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and almost screamed.
My hair was a disaster—tangled and sticking out at angles that defied physics. My makeup was a mess—eyeliner smudged into dark streaks that made me look unhinged. But it was my eyes that scared me most. There was a wild, ravenous gleam in them, like I’d just been unleashed from a cage after being starved for days.
I fell back against the seat, choking down an anguished groan.
If my luck hadn’t run out, I would have gotten out of there undetected.
I really, really wish it hadn’t run out, because I had a feeling those assessing gray eyes were going to haunt me for a very long time.
Romolo Ferraro was terrifying.
But it hadn’t been just fear coursing through me in that bedroom.
Or now.
My whole body buzzed like a live wire. I felt hot and alive.
Not the good kind of alive—like the rush after a long run or the icy clarity of a cold plunge. The dangerous kind. The kind that pointed out just how little you’ve been living up until now.
I couldn’t remember ever reacting to a man this way.
And I wanted nothing to do with it.
I stared out the window as the streetlights blurred past, forcing myself to breathe, forcing myself to calm down. I was safe now. He hadn’t recognized me. He didn’t know who I was.
And as long as I stayed far, far away from Romolo Ferraro, he never would.
