Page 4 of Gilded Princess

My heart settles in my throat and a flush that has nothing to do with the heat rolls over me and settles in my cheeks. My shoulders hitch toward my ears, and I flick my gaze back to Amanda. “I, uh, seem to have misplaced my wallet. Probably left it on my kitchen table or something.” I force a laugh that sounds strained even to my ears. “Let me go grab—”

“Here.” The deep, smooth voice comes from behind me at the same time a hand extends past me and places a black Amex card on the counter. “On me.”

A shiver of awareness skates down my spine, and the small hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Amanda stares over my shoulder without reaching for the card.

Okay, so it’s not only me then.

The man behind me chuckles, the noise soft and rich like melted dark chocolate. He steps forward again, his arm just barely grazes mine as he pushes his card further toward Amanda with his index finger. My gaze zeroes in on his veins like a homing beacon. What is it about those veins on a man’s forearm?

“And an Americano, please.”

The movement snaps Amanda out of her daze and she licks her lips before taking his card and ringing his drink up. “You got it. Seven eighty-four.”

I snag my iced tea off the counter and take a step to the side so I can get a better view of the kind stranger. He tilts his head to meet my gaze, never shying away from my blatant stare. Taking a sip of my drink, I let the taste of crisp blueberries and tart lemongrass quench my thirst as I give him a proper once-over.

The corner of his pouty lips tips up on the side as he holds himself still, almost like he’s encouraging my perusal.

He’s tall—I’d say six-two or six-three with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. Colorful ink peeks out from underneath one sleeve of his black polo shirt, swirling down his arm and stopping at his wrist. I spot a familiar logo on the pocket, and a pair of Ray-Bans hang on the open top two buttons.

Light-brown hair with what look like natural highlights from time spent in the sun. And with the way his biceps strain the sleeves of his shirt, I’d bet he spends a lot of time either on a field or at a gym.

Long sooty lashes frame big dark-green eyes that currently have mirth dancing in them. Something low in my belly clenches when he sinks his teeth into his plump bottom lip and stares at me with an intensity that wasn’t there ten seconds ago. It should be illegal for a man to have lips so plump.

“Here’s your Americano,” Amanda says, breaking the connection. He reaches for it and murmurs his thanks, never taking his gaze from me.

“Thank you. For the drink,” I say after I take another sip.

“It’s my pleasure.” He trails off, and I know he’s subtly fishing for my name.

“What’s life without a little mystery?” I let the mischievous smile I’ve been holding back spread across my face as I spin on my heel and walk toward the exit. I pause with one hand on the door and flash him my most flirtatious and inviting smile. “See you around, Americano.”

I don’t wait for a reply and push open the door and let the thick, humid air greet me.

I swear I hear him murmur, “Count on it.”

Slipping my sunglasses on, I pull out my phone and see that Dolores is ready for me. With a renewed sense of excitement, I make my way across town to pick out a showstopping dress.

Chapter Two

MATTEO

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” Dante, my second, asks. He’s also my best friend, so he’s not afraid to call me on my shit.

“I mean, I’m not going to some fucking ball like we’re in Georgia in the nineteen hundreds.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t have time for this, Dante.”

I loosen the tie around my neck and unbutton the top button. The claustrophobia lessens, but I can’t shake the oppressive feeling of expectation from the meeting earlier today.

A full wall of windows behind my desk displays the stunning views of New York City from thirty stories high. The sun warms a path inside my office, highlighting part of my desk and matching armchairs.

My father said I was crazy to want an office—a proper office—to work out of. He much prefers the old ways of sticking to the underbelly of the city. To his credit, it’s served him well for most of his life.

But that was before the Feds swooped in and started picking us off one by one. The five families used to be gods among men with armies five-thousand deep across the globe, and now we’re down to scraps.

I tried to tell ‘em—fuck, I tried to tell all of them that this wasn’t the right path for us. I sure as fuck don’t want to get picked up on some bullshit RICO charge. And I haven’t done half the shit they have. Unlike so many of them, I have my own rules.

Morality is a gray area that ebbs and flows, but I never cross over my lines.

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