I walked off the elevator and into the foyer. Anna looked up from where she sat behind the desk studying her screen. Her eyes weren’t as vibrant as usual, her body not as tense. I knew the feeling; it had been a late night at Vesuvio. We were drinking and playing cards till well past 1:00 a.m. when Carmine’s wife called and gave him an earful, forcing us to go home.
“Good afternoon, Mr. DeVita.”
“Anna,” I replied, trying to soften my usually gruff voice. “Any calls while I was out?”
“No.”
Good. I didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone. The low-grade headache from all the whiskey made me irritable.
I took quick strides to my office, but when I reached for the door, I stopped short, caught in the net of Anna’s legs. Sheer black tights hugged her shapely calves, and a seam trailed up their backs from the spikes of her heels to where her little black dress met the middle of her thigh. Its long sleeves hugged her arms, and the square neckline was cut low, revealing the tops of her breasts. I tongued a fang, willing it to retreat, but the sight of all that creamy skin and tight, black silk made me ache with hunger and need.
She’d smelled so fucking good yesterday, the hint of rose she always wore amplified by the steam room. I’d been bold in my advances, but she’d played along, and the untapped passion in her eyes beckoned. She wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
I hadn’t been drawn to a woman like I was drawn to Anna in decades. Not since Lucia died. Watching her waste away as fear ate at her like a cancer… Watching Tony lose the love of his life because of what he was… I never wanted to know that kind of pain.
This flirting was a risky business. The way things were going, there was no way we weren’t going to fuck. Problem was, it couldn’t be more than that. As much as I craved her companionship, I refused to bring her into my world and put her in danger, not even accounting for the possibility she might crumble under the weight of learning I was a blood demon. And if she didn’t? Would she be willing to give up her life and everyone she loved to be with me? Was I selfish enough to expect that?
With all my issues, I couldn’t feed from her unless we bonded. And that was a step I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to take.
She looked up to where I hovered outside my office door staring at her while I spiraled.
“You dressed for dinner,” I said.
“I did, but…” She leaned on the arm of her chair and ran her necklace between her thumb and forefinger.
“But what?”
“You could have asked.”
“Asked what?”
“Asked if I wanted to have dinner with you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Instead of telling me.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Her lips trembled, fighting a smile, but amusement danced in her eyes. “Yes, Mr. DeVita,” she said in a coy, subservient tone undercut with sarcasm.
“You can call me Marco, Anna. I think we’ve moved past the business-only portion of our relationship.” I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
She had a mischievous glint in her eyes and bend to her mouth. “That wouldn’t be professional, Mr. DeVita. I work for you.”
“It’s not any less professional than me staring at your tits. Or you staring at my naked body.” She looked away, hiding her smile and the flush creeping up her neck. “Please. Call me Marco.”
She turned back, eyebrows raised. “He does know the word!” I scowled, and she laughed. “Okay. Marco,” she said breathily.
I wanted to skip work and dinner and drag her into my apartment. Instead, piles of paperwork forced me into my office.
Between organizing my notes for the quarterly and finalizing the permits for my new property, I was staring down the barrel of a busy Friday. And then there was Luca.
I leaned back in my chair and swiped a hand down my face. That kid was a ticking time bomb of rage. My fault, probably. I wasn’t cut out to be a father. The Lord knew I hadn’t asked Tony to get himself killed. I didn’t know how to deal with a kid who’d lost both his parents, but I sure as shit never tolerated him hanging around Vinnie’s nephews. That much I’d been able to control.
Kid. I snorted. He was a forty-two-year-old man. If he wanted to fuck around with the Valenzanos, there was nothing I could do to stop him. But he wouldn’t be part of my crew.
Something bugged me about our conversation at Vesuvio. He’d pushed the issue with the Shaughnessys, said they were aggressively expanding their territory, getting more cops on the take. But how much was true and how much was Luca’s pent-up hostility?
Boston’s blood demon population couldn’t survive without Valenzano Sources. I didn’t want to think about the consequences of an all-out war between the Irish and the Italians, especially if the Irish won. My people needed to feed, and I knew better than most what happened to your moral code when you were hungry.
I took out my phone.
The afternoon flew by, my attention occupied with financial reports, city hall, and the escrow company.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen; 6:30 p.m. and a text message from Vinnie.
He meant Vesuvio. Texting was dangerous. I had no doubt the feds monitored Vinnie’s communications, and the last thing I needed was Agent Johnson hanging around Vesuvio like he hung around Terme.
I undid my tie and tossed it on my desk, unbuttoned the top of my shirt, and tried to relax. Dinner with Anna and a meeting with Vinnie. I puffed out my cheeks and slowly released my breath. What a night.
I poured a finger of whiskey and tried to convince myself this was okay, that pursuing Anna when I had no fucking clue if I could manage a future with her wasn’t a dick move. But my need to spend time with her, my growing need for partnership, was more powerful than common sense. I shot back the whiskey. As irresponsible as this was, I couldn’t help myself. To hell with consequences; I’d deal with those later.
I walked out of my office. Anna was standing by the windows looking out at the city. Her head turned slightly when the door clicked shut, revealing a sliver of her profile behind the fall of her chestnut hair. The picture she painted, understated class and unparalleled Italian beauty, made my chest tighten with an overwhelming need to possess.
Fresh snow glistened under the bright lights surrounding the Commons and the buildings beyond. I crossed the foyer slowly, allowing myself time to drink in the curves of her delicious body against the picturesque backdrop beyond the glass.
I stood to her left, and we took in the winterscape in comfortable silence.
“What a beautiful view,” she said wistfully.
“When I—” I caught myself and cleared my throat. “When my father built Terme, he had the foresight to line the entire north side of the penthouse with windows. I converted the floor from accommodations to my office and my home because of this view. I wanted to enjoy moments like this every day.”
She turned her face up, and I glanced down to where she looked at me. Surprise colored her appreciation. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “This place is a retreat. The city can be too much at times. Loud and frantic. But up here, everything is much more serene, peaceful even, especially with the snow.”
I placed my hand on the small of her back. “Shall we?” Without thinking, I ran my thumb up and down the curve of her spine, and her skin pebbled with goosebumps.
“Yes,” she said with a shy smile. “Of course.”
We entered the elevator, and the impulse to pull her into me, tilt her head back and take her mouth, was overwhelming. Instead, I dropped my hand and shoved it in my pocket, afraid that if I touched her too long, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Vittoria was a three-star Michelin restaurant on the ground floor. I’d lucked out. During one of my extended stays in Rome, I’d found an up-and-coming chef eager to move to the US but waiting for the right opportunity. He’d jumped at my offer. I’d snagged my sommelier from one of the best restaurants in New York City. He’d wanted to move back to Boston to be closer to family. Done. Between the two, Terme was home to one of the best Italian restaurants in the country, and I couldn’t wait to share a meal there with Anna.
We walked beneath the stone archway and the thin swirl of a wrought iron “Vittoria” nestled among climbing ivy. I nodded to the maître d’ as we passed into the dining room and ushered her up the narrow set of stairs to the mezzanine. The single row of tables lining the exclusive level were all marked Reserved. I pulled out a chair for her at the center table, hoping she’d appreciate the view. It overlooked the dining area, and the French doors provided a grand view of the Commons and the blanket of fresh snow.
“Thank you.” Her voice was shaky with nerves, and my unrelenting need to protect redoubled its efforts.
The warm candlelight highlighted the flush of her cheeks and the auburn highlights in her hair. I’d done nothing in this life to deserve sitting across from this angel.
“Good evening, Mr. DeVita. Ma’am.” A waiter removed the Reserved placard from the table. “I’ll let Chef know you’ve arrived. He has an excellent menu planned for you this evening.”
“I have no doubt. I’d like a bottle of wine tonight.”
The waiter eyed Anna. Kid needed to learn poker.
“Of course, sir. I’ll get Mr. Klein.”
“No need. My private collection is on reserve in the back. Klein knows where to find it. Tell him I’d like a bottle of the 2012 Brunello. We’re celebrating.”
The waiter’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
The corners of Anna’s big brown eyes crinkled when she smiled. “What are we celebrating?”
“Pompeii.”
She tilted her head in question.
“Well, I couldn’t call it Vesuvio II now, could I? Too perfunctory.”
She scrunched her nose, but after a moment, her eyes brightened with realization. “The purchase went through.”
“It did. Escrow is thirty days, of course, but barring the seller pulling out, which I can guarantee won’t happen, you’re looking at the owner of one very large and very expensive piece of historic property in the financial district.”
“Congratulations. I’ll admit, I was skeptical you’d make it happen.” Her expression turned knowing. “But I have a feeling there are very few things you want that you don’t make happen.”
“You’re having dinner with me tonight, aren’t you?”
She smiled coyly and reached for her necklace.
“I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to celebrate.”
She ran the necklace between her fingers and looked down at her place setting, her face glowing with contentment and her shy smile. “Such flattery.” She traced the shining silver on black linen with her French-manicured fingertip, and her eyes sparkled playfully in the candlelight. “No menus tonight.”
“Chef prepares a special menu when I dine. He knows what I like.”
“And what if your date doesn’t care for the selection?” She looked up, and her lips fought a smile.
I scoffed and leaned back in my chair. “Doubtful.”
“What if I have allergies?”
“There’s an EpiPen in the first aid kit behind the front desk.”
She laughed, a throaty sound that went straight to my heart and made me smile in spite of myself. This woman.
“Your 2012 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva, Mr. DeVita.” The waiter appeared, holding the bottle by its neck, and gently rested it against his forearm so I could inspect the label. A bus boy stood behind him with a crystal decanter and two red wine glasses.
I nodded, and with swift efficiency, he uncorked and decanted the wine, setting it on the table before pouring a small amount for me to taste. Perfection. I nodded again, and he poured both glasses.
He leveled Anna with a serious look. “You’re in for a treat. Enjoy. I’ll return with the first course shortly.”
“No rush,” I told him.
The waiter nodded and left.
“Perfect timing.” I picked up my glass. “Alla salute.”
“Alla salute.”
She took a small sip, and her eyes widened into saucers. She gaped at the contents of her glass as if she might find an explanation for what she’d just tasted inside and took another sip.
“I think—I think that’s the best wine I’ve had in my entire life.” She reverently placed the glass on the table, laying her fingers across its crystal base.
I chuckled. Good taste, too. Could this woman be any more perfect? “Does this mean you’ll trust me to order for you in the future?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No shame.”
“Never.”
She dropped her necklace, and her shoulders relaxed. “Is it expensive? The waiter looked like he was carrying a priceless artifact. I’m surprised he wasn’t wearing white gloves.”
“It’s relative,” I said with a shrug and swirled the glass under my nose. “2012 and 2013 were excellent vintages in the Montalcino region of Tuscany. 2012 is considered outstanding, hence the Riserva label. People buy them up, age them properly, and sell them for ridiculous amounts of money. But I like to drink the wine I buy. I purchased this case directly from the vineyard. They age best at twenty to twenty-five years, but you can drink them as early as ten.”
“So, yes?” She brought the glass to her lips, and I became irrationally jealous of the glass.
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Well, thank you for sharing it with me. It’s divine.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The waiter returned and placed two plates of antipasto on the table. Burrata and basil stuffed tomatoes drizzled in a balsamic reduction. One of my favorites. I took up my knife and fork.
“So, how’s the grand experiment?” I asked.
She blinked. “The what?”
“The grand experiment.” I circled my knife in the air. “Trying out the real world.”
She swallowed her bite and gave me an arch look. “Well, I’ve had a few problems with the management.”
I laughed, hard, picked up my wine glass, and tipped it in her direction.
“Honestly? I’m convinced, now more than ever, that I’m ready to move on.”
“I’m that good of a boss, huh?”
She chuckled and took another bite of burrata, chewing slowly, a pensive expression on her face.
“For the past twenty-some years, I shaped my career, in part, based on what other people told me I could and couldn’t handle. Believe it or not”—she pointed at me with her fork—“I wasn’t always the outgoing life of the party you see sitting across from you.”
“I’m shocked.”
“I know. Hard to believe,” she said wryly and let out a sigh. “As much as I hate to admit it, after the past couple of weeks, I’m not sure I could have handled the intensity back then. I needed time to gain confidence. Time to develop the coping skills I use when I clam up.”
“I’ve seen the clam ups. They’re not as bad as you make them sound.”
“Trust me—they used to be. Jeff called it deer-in-the-headlights Anna.” She rolled her eyes, and I snorted. “Now, it just feels worse than it looks. Being a researcher and professor gave me an opportunity to develop those coping skills, and I’m thankful for that time.”
“I sense a but coming.”
She nodded while she chewed and washed her bite down with more wine.
“But it’s time to move on. Don’t get me wrong; being a professor has been satisfying in ways I hadn’t imagined, and I’m proud of my research and my publications and the impact I’ve made on my students. But this? This is what I always wanted to do.”
“This being…”
“Working in a corporate office, meeting new people, facing new challenges. Problem solving. It’s exciting. I may be shy and an irreparable introvert, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get bored. I’m excited about coming to work every day, and that hasn’t been true in a long time. And, turns out, I can handle the real world. I may be plagued with sweaty palms and the occasional stutter, but I’ve held my own. Even with the management.”
I chuffed and gave my head a shake. “You certainly have.”
The waiter swooped in to pour more wine and remove our empty plates.
Anna swirled her wine, took a sip, and let the glass dangle in her fingertips. “It’s been refreshing working for such a capable businessman. You’d be surprised how many CEOs don’t follow the financial performance of their own companies. I’ve worked with a lot of data sets over the years, and you, Marco DeVita, are an anomaly.” She tipped her head and her glass toward me.
When you come up in the Mafia, one of the first things you learn is to count your money. Too bad that line of defense didn’t protect you from snakes and cheats.
“If I were such a capable businessman, the performance of my European branch wouldn’t be tanking.” The bitter words left an unpleasant taste on my tongue.
She frowned, no doubt wondering how her compliment had gone sideways. “If there’s a leak, if it isn’t just the economy, you can’t blame yourself.”
“Can’t I? If there’s a leak, it means I brought someone into my family I shouldn’t have. That or someone I trust betrayed me. Either way, the blame lies with me.” The sting of failure burned my chest, and the look on Anna’s face made it worse. I didn’t deserve her sympathy.
“Sweet ricotta ravioli with an oxtail ragu,” the waiter announced.
Anna’s eyes widened, and she shifted her focus away from me and onto the steaming plates the waiter placed on the table. Grazie a Dio.
“Buon appetito,” he announced and left us to our meal.
“This looks amazing.” Anna closed her eyes, and a contented smile brightened her lovely features. “The smell…”
Warmth replaced the needling in my chest. The satisfaction of providing for her, of making her smile… It filled me with a sense of purpose and completeness.
“Knowing Chef, it’ll taste even better.”
We enjoyed our meal, and after several bites, Anna paused and lifted her fork. “Family is important to you.”
I nodded mid-bite.
“Luca isn’t really your nephew, is he? He’s your best friend’s son?”
I swallowed, relieved she wasn’t heading back to the previous topic, and washed ricotta and ragu down with more wine. “That’s right. But Tony and I considered each other brothers. Tony had Luca calling me zio as soon as he could talk.”
“He doesn’t look that much younger than you.”
“Tony was older than me,” by a year, “and he had Luca when he was very young,” by blood demon standards. “And I’m older than I look,” by almost forty-five years.
“How old?”
“Older than you,” I said and winked.
Her sexy laugh floated across the table. “And a sister?”
“Yes.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger, although you’d never know by the way she talks to me.”
“I’d pay to see that,” she said through a devious smile. “Siobhán mentioned your sister is involved in your family charity? The one benefitting from the gala next weekend?”
“She is. Especially the ESL programs. Papà struggled with English.”
Her smile warmed. “It’s such a good cause.”
“Speaking of which…”
I set down my knife and fork and held out my hand. She glanced at it, confused, then tentatively placed her hand in mine.
“Come with me to the charity gala next weekend.”
Her eyebrows shot to her forehead. “I—uh—” She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
I ran my thumb over the backs of her fingers. “Of course, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Won’t there be, you know, a lot of important people there? Won’t they—won’t they wonder why you brought your assistant?”
“You’re an important person. To your students, to your field. To me.”
She lowered her eyes, and a flush crept across her cheeks. Her hand twitched as if she meant to pull it away. I tightened my grip, and she seized her necklace with her other hand instead. “Thank you,” she said shyly. “But you know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean. I never bring a date to these things, much to my sister’s chagrin, but no one will be wondering why I brought you. They’ll be wondering how I got so lucky.”
She looked up, beaming. Her eyes sparkled beneath the candlelight and made my heart ache with affection.
“With an invitation like that, how can a girl say no?”
I squeezed her hand, fighting the urge to smile like I’d just been crowned Emperor of Rome.
We finished our meals with comfortable, easy conversation about the chef’s talent, the sublime wine pairing, and the peaceful ambiance. Anna picked up her napkin, dabbed the corners of her mouth, and placed it on the table next to her empty plate.
“That was so good. I feel like one of those raviolis—totally stuffed.”
“No room for dessert?”
Her hands went to her waist. “Even if I could, I’m not sure anything else would fit in this dress.”
“You look stunning.”
The color rose in her cheeks again, but this time, she didn’t turn away or fidget. “Thank you. I rarely get a chance to dress up.”
“You’re welcome to wear that dress to the office any time you’d like. I won’t complain.”
She chuckled. “As much as I adore this ensemble—and I never thought I’d say this—I’m looking forward to my business attire on Monday. Much more comfortable. Oh! Which reminds me. I’m going to be late coming in on Monday, if that’s okay?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Sorry for the short notice. It slipped my mind. I’m not used to keeping regular hours.”
“Another date?” I couldn’t help the sardonic edge to my playful taunt.
“No. Not another date,” she chastened with a dramatic eye roll. “It’s my father’s birthday. We’re going to dinner Sunday night, and the Monday morning bus from Amherst doesn’t arrive until nine thirty.”
I laid my hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward, sure I’d misheard. “You’re going to Amherst this weekend.”
“Yes.”
“By yourself.”
“Yes.”
“On a bus.” I tried not to shout, but for all the God-forsaken ideas…
“Yes,” she said quietly, and her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I always take the bus when I visit my parents.”
“Absolutely not.”
She blinked rapidly. “Excuse me?”
“You are not taking a bus.”
“Uh—yes, I am.” Her voice rose with outrage to match my own.
We’d been here before; we both had hot tempers. But there was no fucking way I was letting her take a bus. “No. You’re. Not.” My knuckles went white from gripping the edge of the table, but I caught myself before I damaged it. “And why aren’t you driving?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t drive.”
I sat back, my rage momentarily disarmed by surprise. “You don’t drive.”
“I don’t drive.”
“How do you get around?”
“The T. Walking. Cabs. Buses.”
My fingers dug back into the wood, and I ground my teeth, trying to rid myself of the fear-induced rage she stoked being so cavalier with her safety. “How long has this been going on?”
“Uh—my entire adult life,” she snapped. “And—shocking, I know—I’ve managed to keep myself in one piece since I was eighteen!”
“Well, that’s changing. Starting tonight.”
“What’s that—” Her voice had risen to a pitch and volume so high she glanced down at the main floor with worry, then turned back and finished with hushed ire. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that just because something hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it never will. It means that you are absolutely not taking a cab home tonight. It means that as long as you’re in my life, I’m responsible for your safety, and you will let me make sure you get home safely.” My voice hardened with each declaration, my breath quickening as I tried to contain my frustration.
“Did we not just talk about how I don’t need people in my life telling me what I can and can’t handle? Did we not just have that exact conversation?”
“This isn’t about your abilities, Anna.” My voice boomed across the table and the restaurant, drawing more than a few glances.
Her jaw dropped as if she’d been struck by my voice, and her hand flew to her necklace. She sat back in her chair, looked out the window, and chewed the inside of her cheek.
Cazzo. I’d forgotten a shy, sensitive woman lived beneath the fiery armor of Anna’s temper. And what a loud, demanding asshole I could be.
I swiped a hand down my face. “This isn’t about your abilities,” I said softly.
She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and hers glistened in the candlelight.
“Hey. Anna. Mia bellissima Anna. Look at me.”
She ran her fingers up and down the length of her necklace and turned to face me, but she continued to chew the inside of her cheek like she was fighting tears. That I caused. Fuck. Me.
“This isn’t about your abilities, it’s about your safety. This city is dangerous. You’ve been lucky nothing’s happened to you all these years. A professional, single woman, travelling alone? You might as well have a fucking bullseye painted on your back.”
She let out a shuddering huff and rolled her eyes. “You sound like Jeff.”
“Jeff’s a smart man.” Jeff also knew how dangerous this city could be. Firsthand.
“Hey.” I laid my hand palm up on the table. She stared at it with suspicion but placed her clammy fingers in mine. “Humor me, okay? Let me take you home tonight. I’ll have my driver take you to Amherst tomorrow. I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“You don’t have to be such a—a tyrant about it,” she mumbled.
“Yes, I do. It’s part of my charm,” I said and offered an apologetic smile.
She let out a nervous chuckle, and her shoulders relaxed. The waiter came to take our plates, and she pulled her hand away. I fought the urge to snatch it back.
“Dessert?” the waiter asked.
“No,” I said. “Give my regards to Chef. Excellent meal.”
“Of course, sir.”
I pulled out my phone.
“Shall we?” I asked.
Anna nodded, a tired smile on her face, no doubt because I was a dick.
Regret pinched my chest. She didn’t deserve to be barked at like a member of my crew. But I’d lost control, the overwhelming need to protect her making me crazy with an animalistic possessiveness. She may have needed more from her career, but I needed more from her. My feelings for this woman were evolving way past lust, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t want them to stop.