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And, screw that.
Irish Mafia, Italian Mafia; it didn’t really make a difference. Violence and hunger for power was what they thrived on.
I sighed. Right now was probably not the best time to contemplate the world I had been born into.
“Fee, you’ve got to admit, this place is beautiful,” Sophie said, stepping up beside me with a wide grin that would have been infectious if it weren’t for the circumstances and my pounding headache.
“Sure, Soph,” I replied, forcing a smile onto my lips. “Just what I need. A vacation…with newlyweds.”
“Come on.” She playfully nudged me with her elbow. “You know Gabe and I want you here. And besides, you could use some relaxation after…everything.”
“Relaxation” wasn’t the word I’d use to describe being dragged against my will to a Falcone-owned hotel by my cousin and her new husband—but sure, why not go with that?
Up until now, being surrounded by their constant happiness only served to heighten my anxiety, not lower it.
When I didn’t react, her smile fell, and I felt like the worst kind of scum. “I’m sorry I’m ungrateful. But I really need to find a place to lie down. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“I’m sorry, Fee,” Gabe chimed in and gave me that innocent boy shrug that he knew made every woman between sixteen and sixty swoon and fall in love with him.
But not me.
I glared at him. By the feel of it, he’d slipped me some horse tranquilizer, not a mild sedative like he claimed.
But anyways, I was mad, and this was not something he could fix with his charm.
Though, by the way Sophie stared at me, I needed to find another outlet for my frustration if I wanted to keep her as my best friend—stat.
“Too bad Alex couldn’t even find the time to welcome us or at least be here for your arrival, after missing the wedding,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
There it was. My outlet. Because, in all honesty, whose at least minimally decent brother would miss his own brother’s wedding without a good reason?
“Guess he was too busy doing God knows what—or doing God knows who—while his brother got married.”
“Fee,” Sophie warned, her eyes darting nervously around the lobby.
“What?” I snapped and pressed my finger into my temple in an attempt to stop the pounding headache. “I’m just stating what a shame it is that the great Alessandro Falcone can’t grace us with his presence.”
Somehow, suddenly, I remembered Gabe telling me how Alessandro wanted to see me. “Hey, Gabe, did you?—”
“Actually, Fiona Donnelly,” a low, dangerous, mocking voice chimed up behind me. “I’m right here gracing you with my presence.”
I froze. Shit.
I locked my jaw, then searched for Sophie’s eyes while she stared just over my right shoulder.
Not good.
Following her gaze, I slowly turned, and—oh fuck—there he was in the flesh—big, bad, brooding Alessandro Falcone glaring at me as if I was nothing more than a fly bothering him.
My stomach dropped—just like it did when I saw him the last time in Dublin—and I turned back around and closed my eyes.
Where was that crack in the Earth, swallowing me, like in the Mama Mia movie, when you needed it? Only, instead of water coming out, couldn’t it suck me in right now?
Please.
I could feel him step closer, could feel the electrical energy until his front almost touched my back, then his hot breath on my neck, which gave me whole-body shivers.
Fuck. I hated the effect this bastard had on me.
