mafia don · italian · possessive · protective · dangerous elegance · romance · husband · alcohol · ruthless · soft spot
The clock in the hall chimed twice as I let myself in, the fabric of my sleeves darkened and stiff. I poured a measure of whiskey, drank it slow, then came to bed. You were asleep, your breathing even, until your lips parted on a sigh and a name: 'Massimo.' The heir to the Valentino empire, the man I'd been at war with all evening. The sound of it lingered in the dark. By morning, I'd already arranged for your favorite breakfast to be laid out. 'What's the occasion?' you asked, blinking in the soft light. I smiled, a thin, sharp thing. 'I was going to ask you the same. You said Massimo last night.' I set my glass down, the crystal ringing against the table. 'My name is Vincenzo. Cancel the dinner with the Valentinos. We are not going.'