Page 4 of Autumn Ritual

I hadn’t realized she was even in town.

I’d gone to the seasonal attraction to take care of business, not expecting my world to be flipped upside down when she stepped out of the haunted corn maze.

Her costume was adorable. Those twin braids were tempting, and I’d had to physically restrain myself from closing the distance and reaching out to tug one. From the group picture Maria Santonelli took, Sara’s costume was Wednesday Adams. I didn’t know what that was until I looked.

It fit.

Sara’s obsession with the macabre and her stoic demeanor made her stand out even when she was the quietest one in the group. Sara was always watching. Her mind calculated what others couldn’t begin to fathom.

Slipping through the dark, careful to avoid the door camera, I brushed my fingers over the handle of Sara’s car. It was unlocked. I smirked. The little ghoul thought the Cove was safe. She hadn’t been this way in the city. She kept everything locked there. Thanks to the trust fund her parents set up, she had a secure apartment with a doorman, security checkpoint, and a lower-level parking garage. It was hard to sneak into her place there, but I was always up for a challenge. Here? It was too easy—if it wasn’t forbidden.

I slid inside the interior, inhaling deeply. Hints of floral tickled my nose. Roses. My girl loved them, wore them as a dusky scent. I turned and took a deep breath of the fabric upholstery. The scent shot straight to my dick.

With a sigh, I twisted and dropped my forehead to the steering wheel. She was back. Right here, easily within my reach. But still so far away that she might as well have stayed in New York. Now I would have to walk the streets of San Pietro Cove taunted by the life that could never be mine.

A text message made my phone buzz.

Lucian: You’re officially off the hook. Maria’s dad accepted the offer, and Giulio will marry her at Christmas. I hope you’re happy.

I was.

I never wanted that match, and the don fucking knew it. He thought it would be a great joke. The bastard. Someone needed to marry Maria before she imploded our operation. The girl had one dream. Since she was little, she planned her wedding to a Made Man but making her my bride would have been disastrous. Giulio was still a Ravello, which would content her ambition, even if he was a distant cousin on the family tree.

I turned so my cheek rested where her hand would have been just a few hours ago when she drove home from the haunted maze. This was as close to having her touch as I would allow myself for tonight. I gazed up at her window. Sara was a good girl, and life had spared her being recruited into our world, despite her proximity to it. Childhood cancer was a bitch. But she survived. Thrived. And then…she left to forge her own path, leaving the rest of us behind in the criminal underworld.

She left…me.

Like I didn’t mean anything to her. It took years before I saw that her decision was for the best. The Ravellos were mercenaries, lethal assassins who were hired around the globe. But I was worse. I was the dog who kept them in line. A visit from me taught the hardened killers they weren’t invincible. It was my job to put them down when they strayed. In a horde of monsters, I was the devil himself.

But even the devil had a guardian angel. And mine had black hair and soulful midnight eyes that saw through the blood and still smiled at me. Calling her mine would be a sin.

Like that was going to stop me. I was already damned. There was only one path to my salvation, and she was right there. Tucked in bed.

A wicked plan began to form in my mind. I pictured Sara caught in my arms. It was so real, it hurt. I rubbed my chest. She would never of her own free will choose me. That would be insanity. She had her chance at a different life. She fled. She lived away from all of this.

But now…she was back.

And I knew how to make her mine.

Chapter 3 – Sara

The kitchen was filled with rich, aromatic scents and warmth. Mamma made the best chai tea lattes. She didn’t believe in containers of premixed syrups but kept a blend of the right spices in a jar. I took a scoop, put it in the tea diffuser, and let the mesh ball steep in a mug of hot water, while I turned my attention to the milk frother.

The mug was a smiling jack-o’-lantern.

Mamma loved fall. She was a basic girl, and she started decorating and eating the seasonal flavors the moment the Fourth of July was done. An artist, she said the color palette of autumn was the most vibrant, the best inspiration.

Papà and I just shook our heads at her whimsical ways.

While I took after him in a lot of ways—detail oriented, logical, and stoic—Mamma gave me her creative flair in that I wrote. Words were my tools, not numbers.

“Morning, sweetie.” Papà ambled into the kitchen and pulled a pumpkin mug off the wire rack. “How’d you sleep?”

My thighs shifted together. I quickly hid the movement by reaching for the glass pan filled with cinnamon rolls—which were of course pumpkin spice. The last thing I wanted my father to know was that I dreamed of a pair of light brown eyes that captured the setting sun. Running into my muse last night set a flutter of feelings loose in my blood that no amount of reasoning could shake.

“Fine!” My voice sounded unnaturally high. I cleared my throat. “I forgot how comfortable my old bed was.”

Papà chuckled as he took out the coffee grounds. “That’s great. Say! You weren’t going to the harvest ball with anyone, were you?”