He wrapped his hands around my waist, and his warm breath fell on my ear. I wanted to melt into his body, not caring if I was caught. I wished I could forget about Dom and Adonis and give in to my inner turmoil that wanted to devour De Luca and be ruined by him. “I know you feel it too,” he mumbled
LUCIANO The first time I had felt uncontrolled anger was when a man had accidentally bumped into my mother’s chest at a mall. I did not need Ma to say aloud what had happened, but the way her face had reddened, the way she had stammered and her entire body had shaken, I knew what that man had done.
How could Terenzio ask me to ignore those men when he should have killed them for disrespecting me—his fiancé? Gentleman, my ass! Then there was Luciano. I was thankful to him for doing at least half of what Terenzio should have done. However, I hated how this incident had portrayed me as most of t
ROSALINE I opened the door to our mansion and walked in, my head heavy with the events at the arena. A date with Terenzio after everything that had happened? I could not even look him in the eye for longer than seconds. “Thanks for tonight,” I said, turning around to meet Terenzio’s gaze. He had
“That’s not what I meant.” Looking up at him, I smiled and said, “If I had gone on the date, you would’ve called me for the tenth time by now.” He chuckled and sat down next to me, an elbow propped on his knee. “What you did at the arena was the right thing to do. You did your job as a brother, so
ROSALINE It was Friday already, and time for me to leave for my mama’s place. I dreaded today because my guilt nagged me every fucking second. Fabiola was beside me on the couch, her legs folded and hands holding the coffee mug. Bella and Alessia were in the kitchen, the sound of their laughter fi
“I know, brother. Now stop being a creep and go.” I flashed him a mischievous grin and trudged toward Mama, exhausted from the four-hour drive from New York to Boston. Mama wrapped her hands around me in a firm embrace, but I knew she was watching Dom, hoping he would say something to her. But, as
“She is.” Antoine patted the back of my head before moving into the kitchen. He was a professional chef with the maddest skills. I certainly knew why Mama had married him. He cooked, was stable with a lot of patience and he was good-looking and French. What else could a woman want? My phone rang,