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My uncle, Luciano Baldino, greeted me at the hostess stand, kissing my cheeks. “It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Russo. I’m so glad you’re home.”
Notallof my childhood memories were terrible. I kissed him back, smiling warmly at the man who’d hosted many a dinner for my family while growing up. “I’m happy to be home,ZioBaldino.”
I stepped back and pulled Rian closer. “This is Rian O’Conner. He’s a…” I trailed off, wondering how to play this. Despite my horror at the events of the last few minutes, this all had a purpose. I looked over at the darkly handsome man. “He’s a friend,” I finished, forcing myself to relax my face and wink at the elderly man.
My uncle winked back at me. “I’ve reserved a table for you.” One of his waitresses stepped up and walked us past crowded tables to a curved booth in a corner, far larger than we needed. I slid in, and Rian followed me, until our knees knocked together under the table. When I pulled back, he spread his legs further, not letting me escape the heat of the physical contact.
Rian furrowed his brow when the waitress walked off without handing us menus. “Wait,” I said, when he raised his hand as if to signal her.
Before he could say anything, the young woman returned with two espressos, two granitas, and two piping hot brioche buns. He looked at me skeptically while she set them out on the table before us. “Ice cream for breakfast?”
I shrugged. “We’re Sicilian and it’s spring. Try it.”
Keeping his eyes on mine, he dipped his spoon into the berry granita and raised it to his mouth, wrapping his full lips around the spoon as he swallowed. How could one man make eating breakfast look so sinful?The same man stood and watched while his friend assaulted me in an alley,I reminded myself.The same man stood and watched while his friend gave me one of the best orgasms of my life,I couldn’t help but add as I watched him dip his spoon back into the icy treat.
“It’s refreshing,” he exclaimed, as if surprised.
Of course it’s refreshing, you idiot.“Welcome to Little Sicily,” I answered, sipping my espresso.
He narrowed his eyes, perhaps sensing the sarcasm behind my words. “Are you okay?”
I laughed bitterly, surprised at the question. “Am I okay?” I blinked at him, then pointedly glanced around the restaurant, full of couples and families eating breakfast on a Sunday. “My family is safe. That’s what’s important.”
For the first time since I’d met him, Rian looked unsettled. He reached across the table and laid his hand on top of mine, where I was clenching and unclenching my fingers. “Your family is safe,” he said, his voice low and certain, as if he were making a vow.
A woman could drown in those deceptive blue eyes. I dug my spoon into my granita, holding back the moan that threatened to escape as its flavor exploded on my tongue. When my tongue darted out to capture a drop about to drip off my lips, Rian’s gaze shot to my mouth.
“Let me,” he rasped, lifting a thumb to my mouth and tracing the path of the granita, before pushing it inside my lips. Before I could stop to think, I’d captured his thumb in my mouth and sucked on it hard, swirling my tongue around the tip. My breathing grew ragged as he held it there. When he withdrew his thumb with a pop, I shifted in my seat to ease the ache between my thighs before I realized I was broadcasting my desire to him.
Rian gazed at me from hooded eyes, his pupils blown, his breath as ragged as my own. He traced my lips with his wet thumb before sitting back in his seat, seemingly at a loss for words.
We stared at each other for a moment as I struggled to conceal my shock at how quickly that had escalated. I guess I wasn’t as freaked out by Cormac’s actions on the way here as I’d thought.
“Right,” Rian muttered, ripping off a piece of his brioche and leaning back in his chair. “What kind of company do you run, Ginevra?”
Grateful for his turn to less fraught conversation and excited to talk about my babies, I took a deep breath and got my heart rate and pulse back under control. “I’m a serial entrepreneur. I sold my first two, and now I’m building a company that does CGI for Hollywood blockbusters.”
“So you’re an animator?”
“I’m a software engineer, but yes, I also have an art degree.” I tried not to preen under his admiring gaze, but finally gave in to the impulse to grin.
“And now you’re here,” he murmured.
I shrugged. “I can run my company from here, at least in the short term.”
He furrowed his brow. “And in the long term?”
I twisted my lips in frustration. I didn’t know. “In the long term, New York City is a hop, skip, and a jump away. Lots of show biz entrepreneurs are bicoastal. What do you do for a living?” I asked.
Rian snorted with laughter. “Real estate,” he said. Lord, that man’s smile made my heart skip every goddamned time he blessed the world with its presence.
My answering smile was rueful. “Right, real estate.”
He tilted his head to the side, the corners of his lips tilted up into a slight smile. “Like your dad.”
Like Papà. I wondered if Rian had anything to do with my father’s crumbling investment. Had he maneuvered my family into this marriage, these contracts, through blackmail and dishonesty?
I nodded to acknowledge the point, hiding my churning thoughts as I reached for my coffee. The sharprat-a-tat-tatof gunfire and an explosion of glass snatched my attention away from Rian. My heart pounding in terror, I dove to the floor, lying flat on my stomach under the table.
