THE MAFIA'S PRICE
I rose on tiptoe and kissed him, slow, lingering, tasting winter air and sweetness on his lips.
By midday we reached Kagurazaka, cobblestone streets winding uphill, lined with ivy-covered teahouses and tiny bistros. We ducked into a quiet café for matcha lattes and mochi filled with strawberry and cream. Dante pretended to hate the green foam on his upper lip; I leaned across the table and licked it off, laughing when his eyes darkened and his hand tightened on my thigh beneath the table.