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His company, sure. But I don’t have any sway there. I could try to win Gia over more, see if I can get information from her.
My mind, traitor that it is, supplies something else entirely.
The image of Elio, outside of Luna and my room. His eyes dark, his jaw clenched as he leaned over me.
The way he looked at me like he wanted…
I shudder.
Oh, he definitely wantedsomething.
A horrible, dangerous idea forms in my mind. My heart beats faster as I think about it.
I could seduce Elio for information.
No.
I couldn’t.
I…
Jesus Christ, I don’t hate the idea.
It makes me feel like when I was a kid, and my brothers brought me to the Empire State Building. Mom and Dad were doing something in the city, so Marco brought all of us to the observation platform, and like a total asshole he made me lean over the side slightly.
That same swirl in my stomach, the knife blade of danger and thrill, makes my heart pound.
The prospect of sex with Elio again is, admittedly, pretty alluring.
But how the heck would I keep myself focused?
I watch Luna play for a little longer, stewing on the idea, when I hear rapid-fire Italian. Standing, I shade my eyes and look back over to where Gia and Elio are sitting under the umbrellas.
Gia practically sprints for the road, pulling on clothes as she goes.
I freeze. What’s going on? Do I need to grab Luna?
Before I can formulate a question, Elio is storming over to us. His eyes promise something that looks an awful lot like pain.
Instinctively, I put myself between him and my kid. “Elio, what’s happening?” I say as calmly as I can.
He moves quickly, leaning down like he’s going to grab Luna…
Hell no.
Immediately, I grab her, holding her tightly. “Don’t touch her,” I snap.
Luna squirms. “Mommy what’s going on?”
I don’t answer her.
Elio’s eyes darken again. “Caterina…” he growls.
“If you think for one second that you’re going to come at me and my kid like that, and you expect me to listen to anything that comes out of your mouth now, you’re delusional,” I say in a quiet, stern voice.
Elio takes a deep breath. He shuts his eyes, letting out the air in his lungs at a measured pace, like he’s trying to get control of himself.
My muscles are tense. I’m ready to run, and I don’t care if it’s futile.
