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She stilled as she processed my words and my confession. Yes, I still wanted her, just like that night. Denying that was pointless. Her eyes stuck to mine, caught there on some emotion I didn’t dare name. I could have looked into her blue eyes for hours. Years.
“When I said I know you like to eat, it was a compliment. You’re natural and unaffected. Genuine. Or so I thought. Whatever you eat, you know you’re a knockout, so stop pretending to be outraged and order. And I remember everything about that night. I remember how you ate with relish. I remember the smell of your perfume and how you’re scared of small spaces. I remember it all. Please order something to eat.”
“You choose. I don’t like these places,” she muttered, dragging her eyes from mine and wrapping her arms around her chest as if she was cold.
I flicked my fingers toward a hovering waiter and ordered in fluent French. This place wasn’t my favorite food either, but it was a high-profile place to be seen, and I’d known the right people would be here. Word would spread from here most efficiently that Antonio Luciano had taken a personal interest and hand in the case of the De Lucas poking their nose into New York business.
As soon as the waiter moved away, Chiara grabbed her glass of water and gulped it. I rolled her earlier words over in my mind.You think I could still want you? Still. That word opened the door to something in me that was new and untested. Something strong and possessive as hell. It was what I had wanted all these months apart. Confirmation that what I’d felt wasn’t one-sided.
“What do you do in Chicago when you’re not playing a virginal honey trap for your brother?”
“He’s my half-brother,” she immediately bit out.
Interesting that there was no love lost there. Why had she betrayed me when our connection had been so undeniable? “Right. Different mothers. Where is yours?”
“She’s in Chicago. She isn’t well. I take care of her,” Chiara said, avoiding my eyes.
A small part of the intriguing puzzle of my obsession moved into view. “So, Giacomo allows her to live in the compound?”
Chiara nodded, her secrets crowding in on her. I could see her drowning in them.
“For a price, I assume,” I continued.
Her eyes darted to mine warily. She was worried I was figuring something out, but what was it? “Is this a one-way thing, or do I get to ask you something?”
She was trying to evade my questions, but I wanted her curiosity.
I inclined my head to her. “Ask away. I’m an open book.”
She seemed surprised but pounced, nonetheless. “Why were you getting wasted at a bar in alphabet city that night?”
“Because my eldest brother and his wife had a baby.”
“So, you were toasting them?” Her delicate eyebrows drew together as she tried to reconcile happy news with the terrible mood that night. Well, I had been in a terrible mood until she’d spoken to me.
It would hardly paint me in a good light, but I’d promised her the unvarnished truth. “I was drowning my sorrows before you came along.”
“What sorrows? Aren’t heirs exactly what all dons want? And a son to boot. It was your family’s lucky day,” she muttered.
“Yes. An heir, and a spare, that’s me. The spare. I should have been happy, I know that. Why else do you think I was hiding out as far from my natural habitat as possible?”
Chiara tilted her head to the side, studying me like I was some strange lifeform she’d never seen before. “You were jealous… you’re jealous of his family. Do you love his wife?”
A rough, surprised laugh forced itself from my chest. I might like and respect Suna, but that was it. “No. Not even remotely,” I stated flatly. “Have you ever loved a man?” Changing tact seemed best.
“No. All the men in my life have only ever taken from me. Not one of them was loveable,” she said. I felt those words like a punch to the gut. “Well, maybe there was one, but he wasn’t real.”
“Who?”
I knew what she was going to say before the words crossed her lips, and the disappointment and hope the confession gave me was staggering.
“Tony, from trivia night.”
“Touché,” I muttered, feeling that blow echo through my bones.
The food arrived just then, luckily when my mind was as empty of words as it had ever been. I wasn’t Tony from trivia night, and we both knew it. I had been someone else that night. The question I found myself returning to was could Chiara fall in love with Antonio, the brutal second in command of an infamous dynasty, or was I just another man like her brother to her?
“Don’t play nice to make me go easy on you. It won’t work,’ I warned her, suddenly wondering if her sweet words were another tactic. She had played me expertly before, after all.
