AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A smile ghosts across his face. “I think you like it more than you’re willing to admit.” He strokes my cut again, his touch as light as a feather. Need rises sharply in me, an aching need that demands the weight of his body on mine.
I swallow again. “I don’t like it,” I repeat stubbornly.
“Okay.” He doesn’t pull away, and neither do I. We stand in the doorway, staring at each other. Make a move, I think urgently. Ask me to invite you inside. Because if you do, I’m going to say yes.
He lets his hand drop.
“Goodnight, Ali,” he says, taking a step back. “Lock this door behind you and get some rest.”
I watch him turn around and walk away. “Tomas,” I call out just as he’s at the front door. “Last night, I might have lied.”
He freezes in his tracks. “About what?”
“About inviting you upstairs. I wouldn’t have regretted it the morning after.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. If it wasn’t for a muscle ticking in his jaw, I’d be wondering if he even heard me.
For one brief, hopeful moment, I wonder if he’s going to turn around and come back to me. Kiss me hard and hurry me up the stairs.
Finally, he breaks the quiet. “Sleep well, dolcezza,” he says.
And then he leaves.
23
TOMAS
Ididn’t like the people I worked with in Valencia. Nobody stood up for me when Alonzo d’Este decided to make me his punching bag; they were all happy his attention was redirected away from them.
That’s not the case in Venice. I’ve been here for five years, and I genuinely like the people I work with. Antonio is a really good boss, always calm and in control of his emotions. Dante, the second-in-command, is cut from the same cloth. Leo, the mafia enforcer, is loyal to a fault. He would give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. Joao, our assassin, is always quick with a joke. Daniel, who is a shark of a lawyer, is impossible to ruffle. Valentina used to keep to herself and was only brought in on special projects, but she’s been playing a larger role in the organization since she married Dante.
I care about my team. I would take a bullet for any of them, and they would do the same for me.
And yet, I’ve never told them about Estela. The wound cut too deep. The only person who knows is Leo, and that mostly happened by accident. Shortly after I joined Antonio’s organization, the two of us found ourselves in a bar after a messy day of work. Long story short: we both got very drunk and spilled our secrets. Leo confessed that he felt responsible for the death of his wife, and to distract him from the excruciating guilt he felt, I told him the real reason I left Spain and moved to Italy.
But today, I bared my soul to Alina without a thought. I told her about the most painful, shameful thing that happened to me, and funnily enough, the memory of Estela didn’t hurt. Not even a little. That episode is firmly in the past.
And in the present, there’s Alina.
I wouldn’t have regretted it the morning after.
She wanted me. I could see the invitation in her eyes and hear it in her voice, and fuck, I was tempted. So tempted. It hurt me to walk away. Every nerve in my body strained toward Alina. Every atom wanted to take a step toward her, hurry her up the stairs, rip off her clothes, and kiss my way down her body. It took superhuman control to walk away.
But she needs rest.
Alina has my emotions all tangled up. I’m torn between wanting to fuck her hard and wanting to put ointment on her cut. I want to smack her ass, and I want to hunt down the person responsible for the bruise on her face.
For the last five years, my relationships with women have been about sex. About getting my physical needs met and nothing else. I don’t date; I break things off before anyone can get involved. I hook up at Casanova and don’t bring them home, so there’s no room for misunderstandings. I don’t buy flowers, and I don’t bring presents. I’m not the nurturing kind.
But when it comes to Alina Zuccaro, I’m tearing up all the rules.
“Hi there.” The American woman who comes up to the membership desk is one of the gym’s regulars. She’s in here every day, sparring with her friend. “I have a problem I’m hoping you can help me with.”
Her Italian is hesitant, so I switch to English. “Of course.” It’s noon, and there’s still no sign of Alina. I don’t care; it’s Sunday, and I don’t have anything to do with my day except grade a stack of accounting quizzes for my cover job. “What’s the problem?”
She gives me a relieved smile. “It’s my membership,” she says in English. “I think I’ve been billed twice a month for the last three months?”
I look into it, and yes, it’s more of Simon Groff’s fuckery. This reminds me that I still have to track down his crooked bookkeeper. “Give me a few minutes to straighten this out. If you want, I can take care of it while you’re working out.”
