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The thunder rumbles under the carpet as I bolt out of the library. It follows me through the study, into a living room. When I crash out into the corridor, I stop short.
At the end of it, Rafe’s large silhouette consumes the shadows, his door clicking shut behind him. His gaze finds mine, something too soft to crack my heart dancing in the middle of it.
Somehow, it does anyway.
He steps into the path of light streaming through a porthole, and I realize he’s naked. He holds something between his thumb and forefinger. A single die.
“Choose a number.” A strangled noise escapes me. He takes another step forward, voice firmer now. “A number, Queenie.”
“Five,” I blurt out.
He tosses the dice and catches it. When he opens his palm, he nods in agreement. “Five.”
“Really?”
His eyes flick back up to mine, glinting humorlessly. “No.”
A bolt of lightning fissures the space between us. Before the thunder comes, I run toward him. It’s not until my face is buried in his neck that I realize he’s picked me up, his strong forearms caging me to him as he takes me into his quarters.
A gentle hand runs down my braid. Soothing words touch the shell of my ear, drowning out the next rumble of thunder. He lowers me to his bed, pulls me into his chest, and traps us under the covers.
I press my face against his chest and his fingers find purchase in the base of my hair. His other hand slides down my spine, traces the stupid heart on the small of my back, and a rough noise of approval vibrates behind his solar plexus.
When the next lightning bolt comes, it flashes through the sheets. Rafe brings his palms to my ears, dulling the impending roll of thunder.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I don’t specify what for. For shielding me from the storm, for killing Martin O’Hare. For giving me the two most ridiculous orgasms of my life. For the fuckingkey ring.
But the thunder is loud; my acknowledgment is quiet.
The only reason I know Rafe heard it is that his lips press down on my forehead, giving me the most gentle of kisses.
Ikillthecarengine and turn to Penny in the passenger seat. Amusement warms my chest; she fell asleep an hour ago, and now her half-eaten burger is congealing in the carton on her lap. As I reach to remove it, her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.“Forget about Dante. I don’t need you for that. But I do needyou.” Angelo’s hand squeezes the nape of my neck. “Make a plan, brother. And then come back to me.”
“I’m saving that for later.”
My gaze slides up to the one eye she’s opened. “I swerved to miss a deer earlier, and you didn’t stop snoring, not even for a second. But the moment I come for your food, you’re suddenly on high alert?”
“Don’t fuck with my food,” she says seriously. She pushes herself upright and blinks at the church beyond the windshield. “What’s this? A flying visit to repent for your sins?”
I run my fingers through her hair, before tucking all the loose strands behind her ear. “No, I’m conducting an experiment.” She cocks a suspicious brow. “I’m going to throw you inside and see if you catch fire.”
Her laugh is croaky. “If I burn in the flames of hell, you’ll burn with me.”
Don’t I know it.
“I won’t be long.” My hands don’t know how to leave the girl alone; they run over her body like every curve is still a novelty. I guess they are—it’s been nearly a week since I sunk my dick into her for the first time, and I’ve yet to find an inch of her that I’m bored with. I slip one hand under her blanket and skim it up her thigh; the other grips her jaw and forces her to look at me. My voice drops to a mock warning. “Don’t drink my soda. I’ll be able to tell.”
She twists her head to bite my hand, then rolls over to face the window when I release her. “I’ll think about it,” she mumbles, yawning.
“Sweet dreams, Queenie.”
The night is a blistering contrast to the warmth of my car, making me begrudge Angelo for calling an emergency meeting in the middle of the night even more. I’m the Visconti with the reputation for theatrics, but Angelo has a dramatic streak when he’s pissed. I have no doubt that whatever he wants to bark at me could have been barked over the phone.
As I click the door shut, the headlights casting a glow on my wingtips give me pause. I crunch over gravel and ice to the car parked behind me. After my sharprap-tap-tapon the glass, Griffin reluctantly rolls down the window and stares at me.
“The contract with the Albanians fell through. I’m going to need more eyes on my Vegas casinos. Roen and his men are vengeful little bastards.”
