Page 107 of Maddest Temptation

“I’m drowning, Cassio, I’ve been drowning for a long time.” I sobbed, fighting the tears. “I can’t breathe. I’m dying,” I repeated, complete desperation taking over me.

He spun me around and grabbed onto my cheeks.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and somehow, I managed to do so. “You’re not dying, Francesca. I’m never going to let that happen. Do you hear me?” He spoke with conviction. “Hold on to me. Let me fight the current for you.”

I broke down, tears that had been painfully pressing against my eyes now fell freely, they blurred my eyes and wet my cheeks. He kissed my forehead and brought my head toward his strong chest where I buried my face. I grabbed onto him as if he were my lifeboat.

“Let me help you,” he spoke against my hair as his hand caressed my back in soothing circles. “Let me save you.”

I couldn’t breathe. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, afraid that at any moment he would let me go and I would drown in the darkness. Please, I begged with each cry. Please.

“Breathe, Francesca. Breathe for me,” he soothed me. “Please breathe, Principessa.” The words caused me to become still.

One word and my fears abated, the tidal wave was drawn back, and I was once more left on the beach. Simply. Just like that, I was breathing. Air filled my lungs as I inhaled and exhaled following the rising and falling of his chest pressed against me.

When I finally looked up, the summer sun was shining through the trees, lighting him up as if drawn to him. The person who stared down at me was the same person I fell in love with all those years ago. The same considerate, compassionate, loyal, protective, and perhaps a bit possessive person, was looking at me through bright green eyes. The person I am in love with. Always was, always would be. Even when I hated him, that hatred was fueled by love.

I felt drained, the events of the past few days finally took hold of me, and with the addition of my panic attack, my energy was depleted. The words left my mouth, but I was too tired to take them back.

“Don’t let me go.” It was a desperate plea which held so many meanings.

“Never again.” He held me tighter. “Never. Again.” He repeated. A promise. An oath. “Let’s go home, Principessa.”

32

CASSIO

It pained me to leave Francesca so soon after her mother’s death. A week wasn’t nearly enough. Francesca had been doing well. She had been taking her meds and visiting her therapist and now, I feared she was going to spiral again.

“I heard you refused my proposal,” Romeo Ferraro stated. He meant the arranged marriage between his cousin and me.

“I’m afraid I’m taken,” I said simply.

Romeo looked at me with those disconcerting blue eyes, as though he was trying to get a read on me. “Good, Livia refused you as well.”

I couldn’t help myself, I chuckled. “Probably a wise choice.”

“That’s what I said,” he deadpanned. I was a stone-cold bastard, but Romeo Ferraro was something else.

“I believe a marriage is not needed for our alliance,” I pointed out. “I’d say our friendship would be enough.” I extended my hand.

Romeo stared at it for a while and took it, shaking it hard. “To our alliance,” he remarked. “To new friends.” He said the word as though it was bitter. He looked like a man of few friends if he even had any. In that aspect we weren’t so different. Maybe that was why this alliance between the Outfit and the Cosa Nostra would work out.

My phone rang and I sighed in frustration. Although our meeting was at an end, I disliked being interrupted. I picked up my phone because it might be Francesca, but when I saw my brother’s number on the screen, I cursed.

I ended it without picking it up. Vitelli and Apollo were outside since Romeo, and I had decided to meet Capo-to-Capo. A few moments later, Apollo Ferraro came into the room, my brother pushing him aside.

“I need to talk to you.” He tried to mask his emotions, but I saw concern shimmering in his eyes.

“Can’t this wait?” I glared at him despite the hairs on the back of my neck rising. He shook his head.

I excused myself and headed outside with him. We were in a small restaurant in Little Italy, New York. Once I stepped out, the scent of trash, pollution, and piss hit my nose. I couldn’t wait to go back.

“Vitelli, I swear to God,” I warned him.

“The cargo from Mexico was stolen just now,” he said. “Luciano just called, said he was going to move the product as you ordered them to do, but the Russians intercepted us before we could make the move.”

My chest inflated and I tried to breathe out slowly, but the air didn’t come out. I turned around and stared at the brick wall of the alley. “How many dead?”

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