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He looked magnificent when he’d finished. The belted trousers and the waistcoat were tailored to accentuate his tall, muscular physique. The bright white of the fitted shirt contrasted with his tanned skin and the swirl of tattoos on his neck. He added a silk tie, which he knotted before strolling to the dresser. He winced for the first time as he added a leather holster, attached under his arm by a strap across his back. I didn’t really register the significance of it though until he opened a polished wooden box and produced a gleaming revolver. He checked the gauge and slammed a clip of bullets into place before sliding the gun into the holster. Lifting the suit jacket, he slung it on.

I stood transfixed, brutally aware of the brush of velvet against my thighs and the damp patch forming in my panties. The situation felt intimate, because watching him dress himself made us seem almost like a couple, even though I knew we weren’t.

His gaze connected with mine in the mirror. My face flamed as those cool azure eyes roamed over me.

‘Bellissima,’ he murmured.

His approval had my heart butting my tonsils—while also plunging deep into my abdomen. I frowned, knowing I should not be so aroused—or happy to have pleased him—when I was here against my will.

But as he strolled over to me my heart continued to pound deep in my sex in hard heavy thuds. He placed his palms on my shoulders, turning me back to face the mirror. A large, dark presence behind me, he lifted the hair off my neck and brushed his lips across my nape.

I shivered even though I was the opposite of cold, and he chuckled, the sound strained but also smug.

He tugged the gown’s zip up the last few inches I hadn’t been able to reach. The gesture felt personal, private, the action of a lover rather than a man who had brought me here by force. I tried to shake off the seductive thought even as he fastened the hook at the top of the dress and my thunderous heartbeat drowned out the sound of my ragged breathing.

Then he smacked my bum. Hard.

I jerked, shocked by the contact, and the sizzle of heat spreading across my buttocks like wildfire. But almost grateful at the same time, because the derogatory slap had knocked any romantic thoughts out of my head.

He didn’t see me as a lover, or a partner, he probably didn’t even see me as a person. I was just another thing he had stolen in a lifetime of crime, and I needed to remember that.

But when he offered me his arm and said, ‘Andiamo,’ in that curt, commanding tone, I placed my fingertips on his sleeve without an argument.

He escorted me from the room, stopping briefly so I could slip on the heels—which fitted perfectly—and he could put on a pair of expensive loafers. His long strides once we had left the cabin forced me to rush to keep up with him, but when we walked out onto the top deck I realised for the first time that the superyacht had docked.

How could I not have noticed we had stopped moving?

A scatter of lights led from the quayside to a grand five-storey villa on the hill above. Unlike Vito’s home on Isla Donna, which was glaringly modern, the mansion here had the elegant centuries-old grandeur of the palatial homes of Italy’s southern princes before the country had become a republic. I recognised the Neoclassical Mediterranean architecture because I’d marvelled at similar homes on the tour of Naples I’d taken eight months ago with my friends Becca and Jess, and Mia… The day before my sister had first met Vito.

This mansion was considerably larger than those historic villas, though, and in much better condition. Built in the traditional stone and red plaster of the period, the villa had ornate floor-to-ceiling windows on the ground floor which were lit by a dazzle of coloured lights. The punching bass beat of dance music floated towards us on the evening air, signalling what sounded like a raucous party going on inside.

The path down to the sea from the villa was lined with armed men, to add to the army of men on the yacht who bowed as Dante led me down the spiral staircase towards the gangplank.

I shivered as we reached the lower deck. Dante snapped his fingers and another steward appeared with a long designer coat. Dante draped it over my shoulders. I grasped the lapels, thankful for the extra layer of protection, not just because of the chilly evening air but because the revealing dress made me feel so exposed in front of all his men.

As we made our way down the gangplank together, the men raised their pistols and rifles and let off a volley of shots, shouting and yelling, to herald the safe return of their Capo.

The storm hadn’t followed us here, the night was clear and not that cold, but even so I wondered how I was going to get up the rocky path in the heels, especially as Dante was so much taller than me. But as soon as he stepped off the gangplank, he swung round and lifted me effortlessly into his arms.

My heart swooped into my throat. ‘What about your wound?’ I asked.

He glanced down at me, those pure blue eyes widening. And I had the oddest sense that he’d understood me this time. But he didn’t respond to my question.

He carried me effortlessly up the stone steps, past a series of terraces. The air smelled of citrus and earth, buffered by the sulphur of the gun smoke billowing around us.

The chorus of cheers and gunfire became deafening as we passed the jubilant men.

I pressed my face into his shirt to escape the noise, flinching at the rat-a-tat of the assault rifles. But while a part of me was terrified, another part of me felt insulated from the raucous celebrations with him holding me so securely.

Once we reached the top, he marched up the villa’s stone steps and into a palatial entrance hall. He placed me on my feet then clasped my hand to lead me up a wide marble staircase through a crowd of men, this time in eveningwear, but also women—all of whom were expensively attired in designer party dresses, their hair in elaborate styles, their make-up immaculate. My anxiety increased at the judgemental stares, which made me feel like even more of an outsider. Despite the expensive minidress I wore under the coat, I didn’t have a lick of make-up on, and my hair was probably a frizzy mess from my shower.

It reminded me of being at school when I was a teenager, hideously aware that Mia and I couldn’t afford the cool brands, or any fashionable styles, our whole wardrobe foraged from charity shops or market stalls.

I swallowed down the familiar embarrassment, grateful when Dante escorted me onto a balcony that overlooked the huge ballroom seething with partygoers celebrating his arrival. There was an outdoor terrace beyond the balcony, filled with more people, but with the men there dressed in tuxedos and the women in colourful designer ballgowns, this group looked more sedate and sophisticated than the people below us.

The rowdy ballroom party was already in full swing, lasers and strobe lighting illuminating the smoke furling from the DJ’s console. But the music cut off abruptly as a spotlight picked us out on the balcony. I attempted to shield my eyes from the harsh light, but Dante grasped my wrist to pull my arm back down to my side.

More shouts and cheers rose like a wave to envelop us as the boisterous crowd spotted us and the DJ made an announcement about Il Capo in Italian.