Chapter 7

Dante

My apartment was one floor, as opposed to Dario’s two. Nevertheless, the four-bedroom floorplan was more than enough space for a single man. With access to the capo dei capi’s home, I wasn’t exactly bringing women to my bedroom. Other than Contessa’s once-a-week visit to clean—keeping things from getting too out of hand—rarely did anyone come by. If Dario wanted me, he’d call me to him.

Wearing nylon basketball shorts and a t-shirt, I had my heart set on getting some sleep. More than likely, I’d be called out to the Kansas City streets. As I sat at my kitchen counter with my tablet, reading the day’s reports from the capos on the street, the unexpected sound of the elevator stopping caught my attention, making my ears buzz.

A brief glance out the large windows confirmed what I already knew. It was late, too late for Contessa, or on the rare occasion, Dario, to make an unannounced visit. I assured myself that the bratva wouldn’t be brazen enough to enter my apartment. Then again, they’d invaded the Ruiz home.

Calmly, I removed my gun from my holster and silently moved to a vantage point with visibility to the elevator. With my finger on the trigger, arms locked, and sight set on the opening doors, I was prepared to kill the intruder.

“Fuck,” I murmured as Camila stepped from the elevator and into my sights. I lowered my gun. “Little girl, you were almost shot.” I set the safety and returned it to my holster.

A nervous smile curled her lips as a pink hue climbed from her neck to her cheeks.

Still wearing the long green dress from tonight’s dinner, Camila was absolutely stunning. Thin spaghetti straps draped over her slender shoulders and the material tightened around her breasts and trim waist. The neckline gave me just a peek at her small breasts she hid beneath the fabric. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back.

I’d tried to avoid staring during dinner. Now that she was standing in my living room, I couldn’t look away. I shook my head. “Does your sister or mother know where you are?”

Camila tugged on her pink bottom lip with her teeth as the emerald of her eyes stared up at me. “No. I’m claustrophobic in that apartment. This is the only place I can go.”

“You shouldn’t be able to get here.”

She smiled, lifting a small card with a sensor. “I borrowed this.”

In two strides I was to her, taking the card from her hand. Her cinnamon scent was like Viagra to my dick. I tried to stay focused. “Who let you borrow this?”

“Hey,” she protested. “I need that to get back upstairs.”

I slipped the card into the pocket of my basketball shorts. “Who let you borrow their card?” I asked louder than before.

“No one.” She dipped her chin. “I stole it from Contessa.”

“You stole it?”

“Oh, come on. Like you’ve never committed crimes.”

Murder.

Theft.

Bodily injury.

Disposing of bodies.

Blackmail.

Fraud.

The list went on.

Admittedly, in the right company, it was an impressive record.

“Crimes are what I do. You, on the other hand, are a—”

“Do not say little girl.” Camila took a step toward me, bringing her close, too close. Laying her hands on my chest, she leaned closer, pushed up on her toes and brought her lips to mine.

The hell?

No, heaven.

My body and mind warred as I kissed her back, bringing my hands to her hips and pulling her closer. I’d been intimate with many women, yet there was something about this pint-sized woman that sent sparks and flickers through my bloodstream. Camila tasted like sweetness and sunshine—forbidden fruit. My mind caught up as I pushed her away, my stare drilling into hers. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

She shook her head. “No, never. I wanted to show you that I’m not a child. I’m a woman.”

I felt my cheek rise with a lopsided grin. “And what would your father say if he knew we kissed?”

Her eyes sparkled. “My father doesn’t need to know.” When I didn’t respond, she continued, “Or my mother or Cat. I’ve never been kissed before. I wanted it to be with you.”

“You still haven’t been kissed.” Dario would fuck me over if he knew what I was contemplating.

“Yes, we just—”

Slowly, I shook my head, my gaze locked on her stunning stare. I took a step closer, heat building around us as electricity snapped and crackled with the warning of an impending storm. Camila Ruiz was too young, too delicate, and too pure for a man like me. The Mafia and cartel had two marriages securing our alliance.

Spoiling a cartel princess could ruin everything.

I shut my mind down in considering right versus wrong. After all, I wasn’t a man who was guided by such simplistic standards. A few days ago, my knife was covered in another man’s blood. His body was now dissolving in a vat of acid.

Dante Luciano was as far from a choirboy as they could come.

Yet, there was something more primal at work, maybe even something I could justify as altruistic.

Camila wanted to be kissed.

Another step.

Camila’s eyes grew impossibly larger, and her lips opened slightly as she backed away from me. Our feet moved in sync, one and then the other. Her breathing came faster, causing her breasts to push against her dress. The material tented over beaded nipples.

“You still haven’t been kissed,” I repeated, my tone lower and my words slower. “You’ve kissed.”

She inhaled as she came to a stop, her shoulders colliding with the wall. She straightened her neck and squared her shoulders as if she wasn’t trapped by a man double her weight with a growing hard-on.

Her voice was strong with determination. “I’m almost twenty years old. I want to decide who kisses me, not my father and not el Patrόn.” 

My pulse raced as I laid my forearm on the wall above her head. “Have you been promised to another?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve been told. It’s just watching Cat with Dario…I want to make my own choice.” Camila lifted her gaze, keeping her eyes on me.

The heat of her small body radiated through my cotton shirt, stimulating every nerve ending and rerouting my circulation. There would be no hiding my hardening cock in the damn shorts. “Are you sure you want to be kissed?”

She swallowed and nodded.

Reaching for her chin, I gently angled her face to the perfect position.

Her wide eyes watched as I leaned over her, bringing my lips back to hers. My hand slid around to her neck, fisting her long hair.

Unlike her first attempt, this kiss came with a combination of force and restraint. Her soft lips pushed back against mine. I fought the compulsion to slip my tongue into her warm haven.

Camila’s hands slid up to my shoulders and higher, her fingers weaving through my hair. I closed the gap between us, pressing my erection against her stomach before giving into my desire and sliding my tongue between her lips.

Her moans encouraged me to continue.

This was wrong and felt so right.

With the tension surrounding our father’s death and Dario’s takeover, our constant battles with the bratva, the fight in San Diego, and the trauma of the Ruiz invasion, this—right here—was the first moment in as long as I could remember that made my heart race and set off synapses throughout my nervous system. It was as if the stars aligned, bringing the two of us together in the right place at the right time.

Releasing Camila’s hair, I bunched the skirt of her dress higher until I grasped her thigh and wrapped it around my hip. Camila gasped as I leaned in, pressing my hardness against her core. Pulling away from our kiss, I searched her expression for an indication I’d gone too far.