Page 73 of Mafia Target

“How you met Paolo, you mean.”

“That is a boring story. He worked as a bouncer at the club where I went dancing in Bruges. We became friends. See? Boring.” He grinned and pointed at me. “But you . . . I saw you on the street outside the club. I told everyone I found my future husband and he was a tall brown-haired man with bright blue eyes. Imagine my surprise when I learned you were partnered with my friend.” He put a hand to his heart. “I was crushed, bello.”

I remembered that night well. Paolo had been so jealous. I’d fucked him in a supply closet in the club just to calm him down.

“Did you flirt with Theo?” Paolo growled, his eyes filled with suspicion.

“Che cazzo! Of course not.” I moved in closer and put my hand on his hip. “I am in love with you, mia splendida bestia.”

“Why? Now that we’re both out you can have anyone.”

“You think I was with you only because you were in my father’s ’ndrina? Because you were convenient?”

This became a recurring argument once Paolo and I left Italy. Frowning, I reached for my wine glass. It felt disloyal to remember these things. Paolo deserved better from me.

Something tapped my foot. Alessio’s boot. I glanced up and found him watching me closely. Concern etched his rough features. “Va bene?”

“Sì, certo.” I attempted a smile and took a long drink of a crisp Sancerre.

Throughout dinner, Theo told stories about the fashion industry in Paris. This was how he met Nic, who’d attended a runway show of Theo’s designs.

Alessio remained quiet, watchful. I knew he hated being unarmed around Nic and his men. He was worried we’d be set upon at any moment.

“I am not letting you out of my sight while we are on this ship.”

It was nice having someone worry about me after being alone for so long. Alessio was sweet and thoughtful, but also dangerous. Seeing his long body stretched out with his attention on his target, shooting those men in the woods? Fuck me. It was like assassin porn. My man was the best shot in Europe and gave amazing head. What more did I need?

A man came in and whispered to Nic. Bratva business, no doubt. I exchanged a quick glance with Alessio, who was watching this unfold very carefully.

Nic rose from the table and buttoned his suit jacket. He was handsome in a rough, older man sort of way, kind of how Frankie described my father. Then the Russian walked over to Theo’s chair and put a hand on my friend’s shoulder. “I must make some calls, so please excuse me. I’m sure you all will have fun this evening without me.”

Theo looked up at him. “We will certainly try, mon grand.”

Nic’s lips twisted into a pleased smile as he bent to say something in Theo’s ear. Whatever he said made Theo bite his lip and turn slightly pink. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

Nic and his men walked out, leaving the three of us alone.

The exchange bothered me. I wished I could tell him who Nic really was. “I can see you are smitten, but—”

“Basta!” Theo exclaimed. “I’m smitten with his dick, bello. You know I don’t do relationships.”

Alessio kicked my leg under the table in warning. I lifted one brow at him. I would stick to the plan. I wouldn’t tell Theo. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to warn my friend in other ways.

I pushed away from the table. “Let’s go on deck for some air and more wine.”

“Excellent idea.” Standing, Theo snatched up a bottle and his glass and headed toward the exit.

Alessio took my hand as we left the dining room. He was rumpled and surly, a combination that appealed to me for some reason. “You don’t have to come,” I told him, “if you’d rather go below.”

“I told you, I’m staying with you,” he said quietly, his stare intense. Serious. Like I was the only thing that mattered to him in the entire world.

I didn’t mind this protective side of him. In fact, it was pretty hot. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Outside, we found Theo stretched out on a deck chair. He toasted us with his full glass. “To good friends and good wine.”

I sat on the deck chair next to Theo and put my feet up. Then I poured another glass of wine. Alessio stretched out next to me, but didn’t take the wine I offered him. He hadn’t had any at dinner, either. At least one of us was remaining sober.

I turned toward my friend. He wore a kilt-like skirt paired with a tight black shirt and military boots. His style was cool and edgy, like a mixture of Harry Styles and Keith Richards. “Are these pieces yours?” I asked, gesturing to his clothes.

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