I run my palm down my thigh again and steal a glance at Ermanno from the corner of my eye as he flicks on his blinker and checks his side-view mirror.
With every turn he makes, he drives deeper into New York City. My nerves jangle harder with every passing moment.
I never visit the city center and rarely venture closer than the clinic because it’s too risky. I never wanted to run into people my stepsister stiffed, and after Ermanno revealed her nasty scheme of pitting so many ruthless men against each other, I’m even more hesitant.
Plus, I’m wearing sweats. No panties. No bra. Ermanno dressed me, even brushed and braided my hair in some elaborate, chunky design before ushering me out the door.
I’ll never admit the pressure on my scalp feels good. It’s as though I can still feel his hands on me. I’m also silently grateful for the no panties thing. The soreness between my legs rivals the pain of a thousand direct punches to the cooch.
Probably because that’s what I survived this morning. A feral battering from a massive cock.
This time yesterday, I saw Ermanno for the first time.
How can twenty-four hours change a person’s life so much?
I curl my hand into a fist and tuck it beside my hip.
Ermanno hasn’t met my eyes since we left my apartment, and while I understand why he’s vigilant about our surroundings—the world is a dangerous place, especially for him—dread builds in my chest as the distance between us grows.
He was busy on his phone the last ten minutes before we left, too. His face grew more serious as he texted back and forth with someone, and my skepticism grew when he dressed in suit pants and a long sleeve button down, but when he rolled the sleeves instead of donning a suit coat, I decided not to voice my concerns.
Is this it? Was it all some elaborate scheme to break down my defenses before he dragged me to stand trial for my stepsister’s wrongs? Now that he had fun with me, is he throwing me to the wolves?
I push the thoughts aside and curse as I instinctively rub my sweaty palms on my thighs again.
“You must not have many repeat customers,” Ermanno growls.
I jump.
“What?” I ask.
“Sweaty palms. Jumpy. Are you this nervous at work?”
When I realize he’s insinuating I’m a terrible anesthesiologist, fury roars through me.
“Excuse me? Just because we had sex doesn’t give you the right to insult me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And I’m not nervous at work. I studied hard for twelve years to learn everything I needed to learn to become one of the best anesthesiologists in the state of New York. I don’t get nervous at work because I have time to prepare for all outcomes.” My heart jolts as he flicks his eyes over me for the first time in what feels like ages. “You haven’t let me prepare for anything,” I accuse.
He sighs and places his hand, palm up, on the center console.
After a moment of consideration, I weave my fingers into his and breathe a silent sigh of relief when he gives me a reassuring squeeze.
“We’re taking my father to a doctor’s appointment,” he says.
The way he keeps his eyes trained on the busy streets and his heavy tone suggests his father’s health isn’t good.
“Oh, I—wait. You’re taking me to meet your father while I’m wearing sweats?” I scold.
“Trust me, gattina, the cute and cuddly outfit is exactly what we need for this meeting.”
I stiffen and groan as I throw my head back against the headrest.
“He met Julieta all those years ago, didn’t he?”
“If mio papà wasn’t such a devoted husband to mia mamma, she’d have tried to get in his bed too, but he saw through her the first time he laid eyes on her. The bastard warned me, but I wouldn’t listen,” he says.
“I think I like your father already,” I deadpan.
He chuckles.
“I hope so,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Is he sick?” I ask.
“Stage four lung cancer. A few months at most.”
My heart quails. I swallow and squeeze his hand.
We drive in silence for a few minutes.
It may hurt, but my gut tells me I’m going to love his father more than I love my own. It’s cruel to ask someone to fall in love with a dying man, but for Ermanno, I already do.
This is going to hurt so fucking much.
A familiar landmark catches my attention. I’ve never seen it in real life, but my father made sure I knew how to identify it. In fact, my father made sure I knew everything about the family who owns it.
Ermanno turns toward it. My gut twists.
“Is this… this is the Russo family building, isn’t it?” I try to tug my hand out of his, but he tightens his hold. “No. No way in hell. Turn around.” He quirks a brow. I smack his shoulder. “Take me back to my apartment. I don’t care if you tie me up and shove me in a kitchen cabinet or something, just don’t take me in there,” I demand.
He flicks a glance over his shoulder before stopping at a gate at the side of the building and meeting my eyes.
“Did you just hit me?”
The menace in his tone arrows straight to my pussy. I fight the urge to shift in my seat, knowing the movement will only highlight my soreness.
“Yes, I did. You told me I could use it however I need,” I snark.
His lashes dip over his sultry eyes and he offers me the most devious smirk.
“Good girl,” he murmurs before lifting our joined hands and kissing my knuckles.
The guard knocks on his window. He turns. The man recognizes him and waves him through.
“You live here, don’t you?”
I can’t take the accusation out of my voice.
“I do.”
It shouldn’t surprise me. He’s Nico Russo’s consigliere. Living in the same building as the family he works for makes sense, but worms crawl in my belly as he rolls up to another security checkpoint.
“I shouldn’t be here. I know what my stepsister did was horrible, but my father also—”
“Nico knows you’re here. So does Dante. Neither of them blames you for your father’s idiocy.”
I suck down enough air to make my lungs ache and hold my breath until my heart stops trying to escape through my throat.
My father created a name for himself in the mafia realm by providing industrial electronic equipment—including hardware like drives, sensors, switches, and more—to powerful men without the hassle of taxes and such. He tried to sneak a foothold in New York City when I was in middle school, but he failed. Spectacularly. He was livid for weeks because he lost a shit ton of money and half his crew.
Maybe his frustration prompted Julieta to try her hand at seducing half the city.
I blow out a breath and shake my head before studying his profile.
“Did you also tell your father I’ll be with you today?”
“No.”
“Che cazzo?! Why not?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You are such a stronzo,” I snarl.
He approaches yet another security checkpoint before he pins me with another panty-melting—if I were wearing any—smirk.
“You’re right, I am a stronzo. I’m your stronzo, gattina,” he says.
I shiver as he lifts our hands again and sneaks his tongue between my fingers. Emotions build in my chest.
He pulls forward and maneuvers into a brightly lit underground parking garage. Security cameras line the ceiling. There are no blind spots.
Ermanno pulls up to the spot nearest the elevators labeled for loading only and turns off the car.
I don’t question his decision, nor do I wait for him to walk around the car and open my door. He scowls when I join him on his side, but his eyes soften when I slip my arm in his.
I may have fighting skills, but I’m in way over my head and Ermanno’s firm body and powerful presence are my only safety. I’m not stupid enough to push him away, even though it’s his fault I’m here.
He rests his hand on top of mine and guides me into the glass room of elevators. I study the elevator control panel and note the logo and colors on his keycard as he slips it into the slot. We step into the elevator and shoot up to a floor much higher than my comfort zone and exit into a posh hallway.
When he stops in front of what I assume is his father’s apartment, I angle myself behind him, hoping his bulky frame hides me from the peephole camera. He quirks a brow down at me, but I don’t care if he calls me a coward or not. His father most likely won’t even open the door if he sees me.
A dog’s deep bark filters through the intercom as a male gives a gruff command to enter. Ermanno twists the handle and opens the door.
I’m not afraid of dogs, but they tend to have the temperament of their owner, and the last thing I want to do is walk into someone’s home without their permission.
I dig my heels into the carpet, but Ermanno hauls me into the apartment, closes the door behind me, and leaves me in the foyer. A sense of abandonment streaks through me until his father’s deep, wet coughing reaches my ears. I fist the bottom hem of my sweatshirt and stand like an awkward interloper just inside the door.
A few seconds later, a low chuff precedes the padding of paws on the hardwood floor, but then a mini horse traipses around the corner. My heart stops at the animal’s massive size.
The beast freezes. Turns his head toward me.
And jumps like I bit him in the tail.
All my fear disappears, and the instinctual urge to erase the big baby’s terror takes over.
Before he can scurry back around the corner, I drop to one knee and offer him an upturned palm as I use the sweet, calm voice I reserve for babies, animals, and patients who need a little more encouragement before surgery.
“Hiya, handsome. Aren’t you a magnificent, majestic boy?” The dog looks over its rump and whines as though requesting backup, but no one comes to save him. “You can come say hi to me. It’s okay.”
His ears perk and tail lifts. He scents the air a few times, then takes a few tentative steps toward me.
“What a good boy. Come here.” I pour pride and excitement into my tone.
He decides to trust me and trots over with his tongue lolling and his tail wagging. I reward him with pets, and when he sits down—halfway on top of me—I laugh and scratch his ears as I mock whisper, “I promise I only bite big, mean mafia men, so you’re safe with me.”
“Is that true?”
The raspy voice sucks all the joy from me, and I snap my attention to the end of the hall.
An older version of Ermanno stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a look so similar to his son’s it’s eerie.
I swallow my fear and give the dog a parting ear scratch before dropping my hands.
“Is what true?” I ask.
“That you only bite big, mean mafia men?”
“I…”
Ermanno’s broader frame fills the hall behind his father, but when he doesn’t save me, I shrug and say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Only one big, mean mafia man has ever given me a reason to bite him, but there’s nothing this sweet boy could ever do to deserve that.”
The dog’s tail thumps on the floor and he licks my face when my voice changes as I talk about him.
The old man grunts and starts down the hall toward me. His eyes give no hint as to his thoughts, so I rise and shuffle to the side, putting my body between him and the dog.
My heart pounds as Ermanno’s father continues toward me as though he has no intention of stopping. When he lifts his hand, I shift into a slightly wider stance to improve my balance and prepare for a backhand.
Ermanno’s eyes darken and he stalks forward, but I focus my attention on the immediate threat.
“Pops, wait—”
Ermanno’s father reaches past me and takes the dog leash off the wall hook.
I blink and lift my hand off the dog’s head in wary apprehension as the older man stoops down to connect the leash onto his dog’s collar. Ermanno’s puzzled expression still holds echoes of his cold fury, but he skirts around his father and grabs my arm. I knock his hand off and meet his father’s gaze as he rises.
“What’s your name, girl?”
And now I know where Ermanno gets his growly voice.
“Loretta.”
He grunts and takes his wallet off the entryway table and shoves it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
“Quit gawking and open the door,” he demands.
I look between him and his son before turning, opening the door wide, and propping it open with my heel.
Pops, as Ermanno called him, strides through with a familiar gait. Full of prowess and menace, he gives off the same lethal vibes as his son, so when he doesn’t side eye me on his way past, the tension in my chest eases enough for me to take a full breath.
He doesn’t see me as a threat.
“Pops, how did you—”
“Scraps may be a toothless dummy, but he’s an excellent judge of character,” Pops interrupts Ermanno. “And any woman who does that to your face,” he lifts a gnarled finger to the bruise my bite left on Ermanno’s cheek, “and still sticks around after is worth keeping.”
I follow in stunned silence as Ermanno tucks me against his side and ushers me after his father.
We ride the elevator up to the rooftop without a word. Pops studies me in the mirror, not hiding his perusal, so I study him in return, unwilling to show an ounce of weakness when the moment feels so heavy.
He steps out of the elevator. Scraps—which is the most ridiculous yet cutest name for such a big dog—leans against his owner’s hip, but not enough to disrupt the older man’s balance, and looks around with dopey, uncertain eyes.
When he spots the people gathered around the picnic table, his ears lift and he gives a happy chuff.
A young lady, probably in her early teens, jumps up and rushes toward us with open arms and eyes only for the dog. My heart contracts. She must be Bella, Nico’s half sister. Her excitement and joy fill me with wonder. How can a teenager look so carefree and happy when she’s surrounded by so many dangerous men? Scraps gets permission from Pops before bounding forward and jumping around like a puppy with his leash dragging behind him.
Ice sinks into my veins as Nico Russo rises from the picnic table and pins his eerily dark eyes on me.
As Ermanno’s father greets Dante Russo and his second wife, Kara, I fill my fist with the back of Ermanno’s shirt, needing to ground myself as all the oxygen escapes my lungs. Despite the big, puffy clouds drifting across the sky and the refreshing breeze, I struggle to breathe as the weight of the moment settles over me.
My sister and I vowed to never get involved with the mafia ever again, yet here I am, meeting New York City’s most ruthless don and his entire family. Livia will never forgive me for this, even if I didn’t have a choice.
Even Nico’s pregnant wife sits at the picnic table. She must be new to the family, but she looks familiar. The moment the thought forms, the sun streams through a break in the clouds and she lifts her face to the sky.
I recognize her from photos my father was studying so long ago. She’s Serenity Vivaldi, the youngest daughter of Matteo Vivaldi, another renowned mafia don in New York City.
I’m in way, way over my head.
A gorgeous, vibrant woman stands from the far side of the picnic table and walks toward us. By her slight limp, I know she’s Nico’s sister, Natalie, who lost her foot in the car accident that killed their mom a long time ago.
Nico sticks his arm out and blocks her from approaching us. She gives him an annoyed look before rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.
He looks down at her and thins his lips.
“I told you to wait with Serenity,” he says.
Natalie lifts a brow and tilts her head.
“Well, Nitty told me to rescue the poor girl, and you know I’ll always choose your wife over you, so…”
Nico lifts both brows and intensifies his glare.
She huffs and shakes her head.
“Look, you either trust Ermanno or you don’t—” Alarm courses through me, and I glance at Ermanno, worried for Natalie’s safety, but he doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. In fact, mirth glints in his eyes. It’s almost as though he expects nothing but chaos from Nico’s sister. I turn my attention back to Natalie and almost sink to the floor as her eyes pierce my soul as she continues. “—and since she survived whatever shit he threw at her, I’m voting on Loretta.”
My heart skips a beat. She’s standing up for me. We’ve never met before. She doesn’t know me.
What the hell did Ermanno tell them?
“Natalie,” Nico scolds, but she drops the sassy attitude and lifts overly wide, faux innocent eyes at him.
“Nico, haven’t you learned the best way to see a woman’s true colors is to toss her in with the local gossiping hags?”
His nostrils flair, but no storm clouds build in his eyes, and when Serenity clears her throat at the picnic table, he sighs.
“Don’t call me a hag, Nat. I prefer swamp witch,” Serenity calls over the breeze.
Bella laughs and avoids Nico’s glare by leading Scraps into the grassy part of the roof for a round of fetch with a big red ball. Kara’s gentle smile as she looks up from pouring Pops a glass of ice water is so full of love and adoration for Bella my chest aches from bittersweet memories of my mother.
“Just admit it, big bro. You’re so head over heels for your wife you just lost another argument,” Natalie says.
“I am. I did. Go,” Nico relents with a sidestep and a sweep of his arm to indicate I follow Natalie.
She scampers forward, grabs my arm, and pulls me away from Ermanno. Relief and worry wriggle through me as he lets me go.
“Don’t mind them, Loretta. Join us. We’re much more interesting to talk to. But also, get ready to be grilled. Nitty is on bed rest, so her outside time is limited and she’s been chomping at the bit to talk to you,” Natalia says as she leads me to the picnic table.
Her chatter would overwhelm me if it weren’t for her arm looped in mine. The casual touch seeps deep within my bones and calms the angst of the day.
“Oh, so I’m a horse now?” Serenity mock chides.
“The cutest horse with the most precious cargo in New York,” Natalie says.
She guides me around the table and settles me on the bench beside her. Kara breaks away from the older men and sits on my other side. Sweat gathers in my armpits from stress.
“So, which martial arts is it?” Serenity asks.
I reel from the unexpected question.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re from a mafia family, so you probably know how it goes, right?” she suggests.
“Um, I’m from a mafia family, but how does what go?
“The vetting of a person to make sure they’re safe before you introduce them to the family,” Natalie says.
“Oh.”
It’s a lame response, but I don’t know how else to answer. Considering the type of people my father surrounded himself with, I’m not sure he ever did.
Serenity props her elbows on the table and meets my eyes over her interlaced fingers.
“Well, I’m not going to lie. I gave your information to Aurora, my brother’s wife—”
“She’s like our not-so-secret secret weapon. Absolutely slays at hacking,” Natalie interrupts.
Serenity smiles and nods in agreement at the description before continuing. Kara picks up the pitcher of ice water and a glass from the center of the table.
“Aurora did a bit of digging and found you purchased some boxing gear—which, by the way, my brother Giorgio loves boxing, so she wants your gift suggestions for him—but you also have a ton of martial arts equipment in your wish lists. So, which martial art?”
Kara offers me the glass full of ice water. I thank her, take it, and sip while I form my response.
“Honestly, a little of whatever I thought would help me stay alive,” I say with a shrug.
“Obviously it worked, if you’re here after a run in with that guy,” Natalie says with a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder at Ermanno.
He and Nico stand far enough away from the group to be out of earshot, and by the clear tension in both of their shoulders, they’re discussing matters they don’t want us to hear.
“Mio papà e mio fratello insisted I take some self-defense classes, but they were all mind-numbingly basic since everyone is too hesitant to let me do anything with my prosthetic. Will you teach me some moves?” Natalie asks.
I shake my head.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
“Because I only have one foot?” she sounds disappointed.
“That’s not it at all. I just don’t want to overstep or get you in trouble,” I answer.
“I don’t think you can overstep, Loretta,” Kara says.
I stiffen and meet her eyes, confused by both her words and her tone.
This is literally the first time I’m meeting her, and she’s treating me as though I’m one of her daughters.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but the little gestures—smiling at me instead of sizing me up, pouring me a glass of water, and including me in the conversation as though I belong—is not at all what I expected from Dante Russo’s second wife.
My stepmother never treated me kindly. Julieta always came first, then my brother, and sometimes she included Livia, but never me. I was the family curse.
Kara looks at me with a mixture of respect, sympathy, and understanding.
“What do you mean?” I ask, needing clarification.
“If Ermanno brought you here, it means he trusts you. He wants you to be part of the family. You can’t overstep,” Kara says.
I blink at her like a dummy and wonder what parallel universe I fell into.
Natalie laughs and sticks out her pinkie.
“I promise I’ll only use what you teach me to get out of danger. Like, real danger. I don’t want fancy footwork or ‘pull out the pepper spray and run’ shit. I want stuff that actually works,” she insists.
After a moment of staring at Natalie’s pinky, I check with Kara again. She nods. I wrap my pinkie around Natalie’s.
“Deal. You use what I teach you sparingly, and I’ll only teach you stuff you can use,” I say.
Natalie beams at me before leaning back and yelling across the roof.
“Yo, Bella! I found us a better self-defense coach!”
“Wait, I didn’t agree—”
“Just go with the flow, Loretta,” Serenity chuckles. “You can’t stop the train that is Natalie.”
Kara pats the back of my hand.
“It’s true. Please include Bella in your lessons.”
Her trust shakes me to my core. I swallow as tears clog my throat.
“Will either of you join?”
Serenity shakes her head.
“Even without a bowling ball for a belly, I hate violence. But maybe Camilla, my sister, might want to once she recovers a little more.”
“Oh. Is she sick?” I ask.
My thoughts wander to Pops and his illness, but Serenity shakes her head. A tear escapes her lashes. She wipes it away with an annoyed swipe of her hand.
“She survived a horrible attack. Lots of traumas. Lots of injuries. Lots to heal from. She’s at a facility upstate and is taking it one step at a time. I’ll ask her when she seems stable enough.”
Her pain and worry for her sister strike me through the chest, and the urge to soothe her pulls my hand across the table without my permission.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
To my surprise, she takes my hand and gives me a firm squeeze.
“Thanks. It’ll be a long road to recovery, but I have a feeling you’ll be around to help, so thank you. Truly,” Serenity says.
I stare in disbelief as her words slowly sink into my psyche.
The men converge on the picnic table.
Pops and Ermanno say a quick round of farewells, and I fumble along like an awkward teen despite how nice everyone was to me. Ermanno tucks me against his side as we head back toward the elevator. Dread settles in my gut as I realize Ermanno is asking me to keep a secret from the most powerful mafia family in New York City.
The Russos don’t know his father is sick.
I school my features as the elevator doors shut, despite the misery threading through me.
My new friendships won’t last once they learn of my deception.
They’ll hate me just like my family does.
It hurts.
A lot.
