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I lay beside her, most of her naked body exposed above the sheets because she was still warm, even though I was the one who’d done all the work tonight.
No complaints.
She was the kind of woman that made me want to do all the dirty work—no pun intended. Her eyes opened like she knew I was staring at her, and she looked at me. She was on her side, her face close to my shoulder. She held my look for a while but didn’t say anything.
I appreciated her confidence. When she made eye contact, she wasn’t in a hurry to look away and pretend it never happened. She could hold her own against me, never become dwarfed by my intensity. I was very aware of the way I made people around me feel, either intimidated or outright scared.
That didn’t apply to Laura.
“It’s time for me to go.” A full night awaited my attention. My men knew I wasn’t as focused as I normally was, that I showed up late to meetings or didn’t come at all. But no one dared question me about it.
“Is this how it’ll be in Florence?” she asked. “Will you be gone all night?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re like a vampire. Sleep all day…out all night.”
“It’s fitting—because I spill a lot of blood.”
Growing up in an Italian crime family must have made her numb to these sorts of things, because she didn’t give any reaction. She’d initially wanted nothing to do with me because of my criminal behavior, but now she excused all of it because I made her come so hard. “What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”
“Late afternoon.” After I woke up.
“Alright. I’ll be ready.” She left the bed and pulled on a large t-shirt, a t-shirt that fit her like a blanket. It was gray with a V neck. I wasn’t into fashion, but as a man, I could tell it was a man’s shirt—and it wasn’t mine.
A bolt of lightning flashed through me. The heat was searing on my extremities. Even made my eyes burn. I suddenly felt hot everywhere, the same heat before I exploded and killed someone with my boot.
But then I swallowed—and it passed.
I got out of bed and put on my clothes. Slipped on my boots before I tied them tight. She walked me to the door, her hair disheveled from the fucking, her lips a little plumper from all the kissing. Her makeup was now ruined, the tears she’d shed streaking everything below her eyes.
But all I could think about was that shirt.
That fucking shirt.
She opened the door, not caring if someone happened to be in the hallway and caught a glimpse of her half naked. “Good night.” Her hand remained on the handle, and she watched me cross the threshold.
We never kissed each other good night or embraced. All she did was let me out. “Good night.” I moved into the hallway and heard the door shut behind me. The lock clicked a moment later.
But then I halted.
Let it go.
I stood there, looking at the stairs at the very end, willing myself to move forward.
Let. It. Go.
I clenched my jaw, feeling anger I couldn’t control. It was like riding a wild horse without reins.
I turned back around.
Fuck.
I knocked on her door and waited.
It took her a moment to come back to the door, and when she did, her hair was in a bun, like she was about to brush her teeth and wash her face before bed. “Did you forget something?”
