Page 22

I stopped dead.

Because my eyes had just landed on the black matte portfolio sitting on the marble console. The one I'd tossed there last night when I'd been too impatient to care.

I held the phone with one hand and picked it up with the other, flipping it open.

"Daddy, are you even listening?" Isabella complained. "He went too far! My friend almost broke down last night! I just want to give him something to remember. No deaths, I promise. Please!"

I didn't answer. My eyes were locked on the photos.

Fucking hell.

Last night in the dim hallway and in my haze of lust, I'd only caught glimpses—a flash of red, dangerous curves. But now, in the unforgiving morning light, I was seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them.

The girl in the photos wore that crimson lace set, her full breasts pushed into maddening cleavage, her waist soft and tapering into hips that curved like ripe fruit.

But it was her eyes that killed me. Those amber eyes staring through the lens—nervous, trying to be seductive but betraying her fear.

Honestly, I wasn't obsessed. But letting prey slip through my fingers pissed me off.

And I couldn't deny it—this body, unguarded and ripe, paired with that clumsy innocence, was a drug you could mainline straight into a man's veins.

"Daddy?" Isabella's voice pulled me back.

"I'm listening." I stared at the photo, my throat working, my voice suddenly rough. "Rocco will call you this afternoon. Pick whoever you want. Do whatever you want. Just don't bring the cops to my door."

"Really? Oh my God, thank you, Daddy! You're the best! See you Thursday at the estate!"

Isabella hung up, squealing.

The apartment fell silent again.

I tossed my phone aside and held the portfolio, eyes roaming over the images.

Logic told me to lock this thing away. Shred it. End this ridiculous one-night stand.

But the Sicilian blood in my veins was screaming something else.

I remembered how tight she'd been around me. How she'd cried from the mix of pain and pleasure. How her skin had smelled like sweet milk.

My fingers tightened on the edge of the photo, my thumb tracing the wild rose blooming on her chest.

I picked up my phone and called Rocco.

"Don? Something else?"

"Find me a girl. Brown hair, amber eyes. NYU art school. Just graduated. Went to a frat party last night." I stared out at the Manhattan skyline. "I want everything on her."

I hung up and locked the portfolio in the most secure safe under the bar.

So. We'll see each other again, won't we, little rose?

Chapter 5

Ruby

If someone had told me that being an adult meant slapping foundation over your dark circles after a catastrophic disaster, then clocking in with a smile, I'd have called them a cynical lunatic.

Turns out, I'm that lunatic.