Page 40 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

My thighs clench together, moistening at the thought of his tongue on my clit. God!

I’d texted Annora last night so she could talk some sense into me and help me clear my head, but she didn’t help one bit.

Instead, she texted: Finally, my girl has something interesting to tell me!

ME: Shut up, Annora. He’s a guard.

ANNORA: Exactly. Which makes this sound like something straight out of one of my books.

The last time I felt like this over a man, I was a freshman in college.

Shaking away the thought, I log into my Instagram, hoping to find a distraction, when a notification slides into view: Mayor Alex Thompson started following you.

My mouth falls open.

The mayor of New York is following me on Instagram! Squealing excitedly, I press the ‘follow back’ button and instantly get a direct message from him.

My wife is hosting a charity fundraiser for entrepreneurs in New York tomorrow evening and she’d love for you to be there to share your growth journey.

P.S.: Come along with those serums she loves.

Finally! A morale boost and a sign that someone is finally seeing me for what I am. It would be a great opportunity, but why do I feel guilty for wanting to go?

Groaning, I plop my Chanel purse on the bed and my tired self beside it. I feel like I can’t just go about my business, pretending all is well, when Enzo told me the family is in a crisis.

When I arrived, I could somehow tell that something was off. The Irish aren’t backing down. Enzo also said there’s a misunderstanding with a supplier about jars replaced with acid, which is causing chaos. And with the recent raid, there’s limited weaponry left to defend the family.

Maybe I should ignore all this and move back to New Jersey. A soft knock jerks me to my feet.

“Enzo?” I was told he was out trying to sort things out, so I haven’t seen him all day.

“Amore mio (My darling).” His voice is strained and there’s a dark crimson stain on his white shirt. Shit, he’s hurt.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” That’s when I see it, the small gash on his forehead.

He exhales deeply, fixing a tired smile on his face. “It’s been really difficult. The Irish aren’t backing down. Let’s go to my office.”

Enzo only meets in his office when whatever he has to say is extremely serious. Who could possibly be orchestrating all these attacks on us, and why?

I’ve not heard of any major hits on this family in years. So what’s changed all of a sudden?

Enzo pushes open the door to his office but suddenly stops short. I crane my neck, trying to see what the holdup is about when I hear that voice.

“Get the fuck inside.” I freeze at the hostility in the voice. It can’t be…

Enzo turns around to look at me, horror written all over his face. “Run, amore mio.” He pushes me away, but three men appear from the staircase and point their guns at us. From how Enzo’s eyes widen, I can tell they’re not his men.

What the hell is going on?

Enzo clasps my arm tightly and tugs me in, shielding me with his frame. When I take a look at the person before us, my blood runs cold.

Seated in Enzo’s leather chair, legs propped up on his large oak desk, cigar in one hand and silver Glock in the other, is Adrian.

Shock roots me to my spot as I struggle to make sense of this whole scene.

Adrian fixes a cold, blank stare on me. I can almost swear that this is a completely different man from the one who devoured me whole in New Orleans.

What the hell is going on?