Page 6 of King of Manhattan

I close my eyes, Emily's face flashing in my mind. He’s right. I’ve had the same thought. The idea of her in danger makes my blood boil. But the idea of staying away from her... it's physically painful.

"I know," I say finally, opening my eyes to meet Marco's concerned gaze. "But there's something about her. She's different.” I pause. “Make sure we have men watching her too."

Marco nods, understanding in his eyes. "We will. Discreetly."

"Thank you," I say, feeling gratitude for the loyalty he has always shown, both to me and my family. "Keep me updated on both fronts."

As Marco leaves, I turn to look out over the city. Somewhere out there, Emily is going about her life, unaware of the danger that might be creeping closer because of me. I should let her go, keep her safe by staying far away. But I'm too selfish, too drawn to her already.

Heading to my room, I strip and toss my clothes on the floor before stepping into my glass-enclosed shower, letting the hot water sluice over my back. Closing my eyes, I imagine Emily in here with me, water running down her naked body.

My cock hardens instantly. I picture her hands pressed against the wall, her ass out as she looks over her shoulder at me, mouth open and panting as I ram into her from behind. I picture her perfect ass bouncing with every deep thrust as I make her scream with pleasure.

My hand wraps around the swollen rod of my cock and I stroke myself to the rhythm of my imaginary thrusts. I come faster and harder than I have in a long time, the desire for this woman pushing me over the edge.

Standing under the hot shower, I have to take a few deep breaths. Never in my 34 years have I met a woman that I wanted more than a quick fuck from. I’ve never considered taking a wife, never wanted a woman for more than the release I find with them. But then, I’ve never met a woman like Emily. Never met a woman whose mind intrigues me as much as her body.

When my father was killed and I became boss, I put all thoughts of relationships aside to focus solely on running the business. And I’ve done a damn good job of it.

But later, as I lay in bed, failing to sleep with thoughts consumed by her, I let myself wonder for a brief moment what life might be like if we had met in different circumstances. If I were a different kind of man. The thought lingers for just a brief moment before I banish it. I give myself a mental shake and roll over, punching my pillow. I’m the King of Manhattan, and whatever this is can’t last.

Chapter 4

Emily

I've always prided myself on my ability to compartmentalize. It's a necessary skill in my line of work, separating the emotional weight of my cases from my personal life. But lately, I'm finding it harder and harder to keep my thoughts of Vincent Russo confined to their own neat little box.

It's been a week since our dinner at La Grenouille, a week of quick phone calls between court appearances and late-night texts that leave me both exhilarated and uneasy. And now, as I wait for him outside the Met, I can feel my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread.

The morning air is crisp, carrying the promise of autumn. I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes, wondering if I've made a mistake in agreeing to this... whatever this is. A date? An ill-advised relationship with a man who might represent everything I've spent my career fighting against?

"You look beautiful," a deep voice says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. I turn to see Vince approaching, and my breath catches in my throat. He moves with predatory grace, his dark eyes scanning our surroundings before settling on me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. I don’t miss the way other women on the sidewalk stop and take notice of him. But his eyes never leave mine.

I try to mask how his presence affects me, falling back on sarcasm like a shield. "Don't tell me the great Vincent Russo is impressed by jeans and T-shirt."

He steps closer, invading my personal space in a way that should make me uncomfortable but instead sends a thrill down my spine. His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but there's nothing gentle about the gesture. It's possessive, claiming, and it makes my heart race. "When they fit your curves like this, beautiful, you bet your gorgeous ass they do."

Despite myself, I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Russo," I say, but we both know it's a lie.

His lips quirk into a smirk. "And yet, here you are." He looks me up and down again, and my body reacts instantly. My nipples harden as heat floods my core.

Taking a deep breath, I gesture towards the museum entrance. "Shall we? Or did you bring me here just to stand on the steps and stare?"

"As tempting as that sounds," Vince says, offering me his arm, "I did promise you a tour of my New York. And a Russo always keeps his promises."

As we enter the Met, I can't help but notice how people's gazes are drawn to Vince, then quickly averted. He exudes an aura of power and danger that seems to part the crowds. It's both impressive and unsettling.

"So," I say as we make our way through the Greek and Roman Art galleries, "is this where you bring all your dates? Impress them with your knowledge of ancient pottery?"

Vince chuckles, a sound that's equal parts sensual and dangerous. "You wound me, Emily. I'll have you know my knowledge extends far beyond pottery. For instance, did you know that this statue," he gestures to a nearby marble figure, "was once believed to be a representation of Ares, the god of war? It was later identified as a Roman general, but I've always preferred the Ares theory."

I study the statue, noting the powerful stance and fierce expression. "Let me guess, you relate to the god of war?"

His eyes darken slightly. "In my line of work, it pays to be prepared for battle. But today, I'm more intent on pursuing... other interests."

The way his gaze rakes over me leaves little doubt as to what those interests might be. I clear my throat, trying to ignore the searing heat between my legs. "Well, consider me impressed. Though I have to say, I didn't peg you for an art enthusiast."

Vince's expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across his face before it's quickly masked. "My mother has always loved art," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "She used to bring me here when I was a kid, whenever we could get away from family obligations. It was an escape from... other things."

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