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ChapterOne
Massimo
“I don't carewhat you have to do. Just get it done.” I hang up the phone and check my Rolex, irritated when I note that Rocco is late once again. I'm really getting tired of dealing with him, but until my father dies and leaves me in charge, I'm stuck taking orders. Unfortunately, it comes with the job description I was handed the day I was born. Still, I don't have to put up with this kind of disrespect.
I drum my fingers against the door of the limo as I lift my glass of Sazerac to my lips. My eyes scan the sidewalk through the dark windows, ever vigilant. Men in my position have to be. It comes with the territory. Once you relax, that’s when you get a bullet in the back of your head.
I’m not looking for anything in particular as I rake my eyes over the landscape below—just observing like the predator I am—when my eyes suddenly light on a figure that makes me go completely still. My chest tightens inexplicably.
Dios mio, she’s the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. She's a petite thing with long chestnut hair that flows down to her impossibly tiny waist. I don't know what it is about her that draws my eyes to her, but I can't seem to tear them away from her. I’m like a magnet being pulled to my polar opposite. Something about her is drawing me to her.
She's wearing leggings and an off-the-shoulder top that’s stylishly too large for her small frame. She hurries along the sidewalk, her hair flowing out behind her. She's effortlessly beautiful with her pale skin that looks like porcelain. I'm dying to see her eyes, and my wish is granted when she suddenly turns and looks in my direction.
Of course, she's not looking at me because she can't see through these windows, but it feels like she is. I run a hand over my aching chest as I look directly into her eyes. They’re a pure green and shimmering like the most perfect emeralds. Framed by dark lashes, they’re sparkling with innocence. My eyes trail down over an upturned nose to sinfully puffy lips.
She gets closer as she crosses the street. My eyes follow her the entire way. I turn my head to follow her path, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walks into a spa.
I can see through the parlor’s window and watch her as she relieves the girl working reception.
I continue to stare at her, watching every movement of her hands as she answers the phone. I watch the way her lips move as she speaks. My own lips tingle as I imagine what those pink lips would feel like underneath mine. What they would taste like.
I stare, mesmerized, as I watch her hair shine and ripple when she pushes it back over her shoulder gracefully.
She’s completely captivating.
I suddenly need to know everything about her. I've never reacted to a woman this way, and I can have any woman I want. I know that, though I’ve never made much use of the privilege. It just comes with the territory. As the prince of the mafia and next in line to inherit the empire, I’ve got enough money and power to have my pick of women, but I’ve never wanted one.
Until now.
With my attention still fixated on my littletesoro, I dial a number on my phone. My head of security answers on the first ring.
“Yeah. Give me everything you can find on the receptionist who’s currently working the desk at the massage parlor on Fifth. I want all the details forwarded to me ASAP.”
I scowl when Rocco finally shows up, and I have to tear my eyes away from mytesoro. It takes everything within me not to glance back over at her, but I know men in our profession look for any weakness, and I don’t want to put my angel on anyone’s radar.
She’s mine, andonlymine.
* * *
Grace. Her name is Grace. Grace Birmingham. My little Gracie. Eighteen years old. Barely legal. Probably too young for my twenty-eight-year-old ass, but ask me if I give a fuck.
She lives alone in a shitty apartment building on a side of town an angel like her doesn’t belong in. I don’t know how she lucked into the job as a receptionist at the massage parlor, but it’s enough for her to pay her own rent and utility bill—barely.
I trail my thumb over my lip as I sit outside her apartment building, staring up at the open window. I can see her sitting on her couch with her feet curled up underneath her. She’s reading a book, and my eyes are trailing over the exposed skin of her bare legs. She’s wearing a pair of shorts that clings to every curve of her ass and legs. Her tank is too short and bares a bit of her midriff.
Part of me is angry that she’s dressed like that and sitting there with her window blinds open for every pervert who walks by to stare up at her. Another part of me is thankful for the view so I can feast my eyes on her.
I keep my gaze fixed on her as I consider the interesting information my man pulled up on Grace Birmingham—or rather, the lack thereof.
I have the best resources money can buy, yet he couldn’t find any record of Grace’s parentage. She’s listed as an orphan. She reportedly showed up at the orphanage when she was barely two years old, and she’s been there ever since. No papers. No nothing. It’s like her parents never existed. It’s likeshenever existed until the orphanage took her in and gave her a new identity.
Who are you, Grace Birmingham?
I watch as she runs a finger through her hair. She finally closes the book, stands, and stretches languorously like a little kitten.
My cock hardens, and I palm myself through my slacks as my eyes trail over her tight, young body.
I could take her right now, but I’ll wait. I know once I make my move, I’ll have to lock her away. There’s a reason a man in my position can’t have a woman. Women make us weak. Women become a pawn to be used against us, and I can’t make Gracie a target.
