Page 12 of King of Manhattan

"Rough day?" I venture.

He glances at me, his expression softening slightly. "Nothing I can't handle."

We end up at a small Italian restaurant in Little Italy, the kind of place that doesn't have a sign out front and probably isn't in any guidebooks. The owner greets Vince like an old friend, ushering us to a secluded booth in the back.

As we eat, I can't help but notice the deference with which the staff treats Vince. The way conversations hush when he walks by. The respectful nods from other diners.

"You're very well-known here," I observe.

Vince smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I've been coming here since I was a kid. My father used to bring me."

I hesitate, then decide to push. "Your father... was he in the same line of work as you?"

Vince's eyes harden for a moment before he visibly relaxes. "You could say that. He built the foundation. I've... expanded the business."

Before I can respond, a commotion erupts at the front of the restaurant. A man bursts in, wild-eyed and disheveled, shouting in rapid-fire Italian while waving a knife in the air. He storms towards our table, his eyes locking onto me.

Vince is on his feet in an instant, but not before the man grabs my arm roughly. I gasp in shock, my heart pounding.

"Let her go," Vince says, his voice low and dangerous. The calm in his tone is somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The man spits out something in Italian, his grip on my arm tightening as he points the knife in my direction. I wince, fear coursing through me.

What happens next is almost too fast for me to process. One moment, the man is glaring at Vince, and the next, he's on the floor. Vince stands over him, his fist still clenched. I didn't even see him throw the punch.

The restaurant falls silent. Vince turns to me, his eyes softening as they meet mine. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, reaching for my hand.

I nod, still too stunned to speak. My arm throbs where the man grabbed me, but I'm more shaken by the speed and efficiency with which Vince took him down.

"We're leaving," Vince announces, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist. As we walk out, I hear him murmur something to Marco, who seems to have materialized out of nowhere.

In the car, the adrenaline finally hits me. My hands shake as I fasten my seatbelt. Vince notices, reaching over to squeeze my knee gently.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I never wanted you to be in danger. I’ll take you home."

I turn to look at him, really look at him. His jaw is clenched, eyes dark with barely contained fury. But there's something else there too – fear. Not for himself, I realize, but for me.

"Take me to your place," I hear myself say.

Vince's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, guiding the car smoothly through the city streets.

The tension in the elevator is palpable. Vince stands close to me, his presence both comforting and electrifying. The elevator doors slide open, and I step into Vince’s penthouse, my heart still hammering from the adrenaline rush of earlier. The city’s lights shimmer through the massive windows, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is the tension crackling between us, thicker than ever. Vince follows me into the apartment, his presence looming large behind me.

The door clicks shut, and suddenly, it’s just the two of us. The air feels charged, heavy with everything we’ve left unsaid. I don’t even have time to process it before his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “You’re safe now, Emily.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, but it’s not fear I’m feeling. It’s something else entirely—something dark and thrilling that has been building inside me for weeks. I turn in his arms, looking up into his eyes, and what I see there makes my breath catch. The need in his gaze is raw, feral, and it ignites something deep within me.

Before I can say anything, his hand is in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is searing, almost brutal in its intensity. There’s nothing gentle about it—it’s all hunger, all need.

He starts walking me backward, and I follow blindly, too consumed by the taste of him, the feel of his hard body pressing into mine. When my back hits the cold glass of the window, I gasp, but he doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He deepens the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, staking his claim, and I can’t help but moan into him.

His hands are everywhere, sliding under my shirt, burning a trail across my skin. Every touch sends jolts of electricity racing through me, making me arch into him, desperate for more. But it’s not enough—not nearly enough. I need him closer, need to feel him against me without any barriers.

As if reading my mind, Vince pulls my dress off, tossing it aside. He steps back just long enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over my body. “You’re mine,” he growls, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through me. I’ve never heard him sound like this, so primal, so commanding, and it’s turning me on more than I ever imagined.

He’s on me again, his lips crashing down on mine. He unhooks my bra and it falls to the floor. The cool surface against my bare skin only amplifies the heat between us, and I can feel the hardness of his body pressing into me, reminding me just how much he wants this. Wants me.

He breaks the kiss, trailing his mouth down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make me shiver. I feel like I’m going to come apart right here, but Vince doesn’t let up. His mouth continues its descent, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping me like he owns me. And God, I want him to. I want him to take control, to show me exactly how much he needs me.

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