Page 12 of Taboo Flames

What the hell? My hands shake in terror as I slowly lift the lid of the box.

I let out a shrill scream at the contents of the box. A single black bird is inside, and someone has mutilated it so thoroughlythat it is now just red pulp. My hands immediately let go of the rose of their own accord.

I stare down at the rose in horror, realizing that the red flecks on it were not paint. It’s very far from paint, in fact. It’s blood from the already dead bird.

My throat closes up, and it feels like I cannot breathe. I look around frantically, wondering if whoever delivered this message is still somewhere around, just waiting to ambush me.

All of a sudden, I don’t feel that safe in the studio anymore. This place that I consider my safe place has now been tainted, and that’s the thing I’m angry about the most.

How dare they? But my fury is still shrouded by horror, confusion, and now fear.

But who would do this? How did they get in without me noticing? Could it be a mistake? For a second, I wonder if maybe there’s been a mistake or something. They must have mixed up the addresses or something. Deep in my chest, though, I know that no mistake has been made.

Hastily, I slam the lid of the box back down, grab it, the note, and the rose, and hurry out of the studio to where my SUV is parked. I’m glad I ended today’s class early so I don’t have to fumble my way around in the dark and possibly get assaulted by some waiting psychopath.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I remember Gio still has someone watching over me. I will never admit it, even under threat of death, but I’m suddenly glad Gio is such a controlling dick.

Speaking of Gio, I climb into my car and pull out of the parking lot before heading in the direction of his house. I have no idea why, but I feel safe with him. Sure, he is an imposing and dangerous mafioso, but he also sees me as someone he needs to protect, and I know for a fact that Gio doesn’t mess around when it comes to issues like this.

Who the hell is even going to be stupid enough to mess with a man like him?

It’s that rush of danger wrapped in a finely-tailored suit that is so addictive. It’s also that very sensation that’s propelling me toward him now, despite every fiber of my being screaming against seeking refuge with a man potentially far more perilous than my most recent threat.

“Miss Vitale, welcome,”the guard at the gate says in greeting and nods at me, but I can see some surprise etched into his expression.

I never come to Giovanni’s house. Never have, and if not for the unlikely turn of events lately, I doubt I ever will. I only memorized his address by heart from those stupid teenage years I had a crush on him and when I spent my holidays here in Sicily, stalking and learning everything I could about him.

“Is Gio in?” I ask, trying not to show the panic and fear I’m feeling at the moment.

“Yes, shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“No. And I’d rather my brother not know I’ve been here either.”

“Signora, you know I can’t?—”

“Please?” I use the eyes I reserve for the towering, grizzled mafiosos in my life, the ones with hearts as soft as butter under their tough exteriors.

He sighs and nods. “Okay. You can go in. He should be in his office.” He waves my car through.

I drive up the long, stony driveway that is quite a distance from his beach villa. Cutting the engine when I reach the front, I make my way up the steps until I finally get to the house.

His office, along with his bedroom, faces the sea on the other side of the building. Unless he’s not in those rooms, he won’t hear me pull up.

Soon, I’m punching in the password for his automated door—a relic from my days of intense stalking. I’m surprised he hasn’t changed it, though I wager he’d relish the challenge of someone breaking in. Giovanni Lombardi isn’t known for second chances or lending an ear to those who’ve earned his ire.

The evidence from the package weighs in my hands as I enter the door and into his house.

At that very moment, I realized I’d never been in here on my own. Why would I? Giovanni and I aren’t exactly pals. Plus, I’m not supposed to have any business with my older brother’s friend, who happens to be over a decade my senior—thirteen years, to be exact.

My phone rings as I walk through the foyer, and I consider letting it go to voicemail. I’m not in the right state to have any sort of conversation, but then I look at my screen and see that it’s Sienna’s mother. I sigh.

“Hello,” I answer.

“God bless you, Rory. You’re a gem,” she says in a choked-up voice.

“Are you okay?” I ask worriedly.

“You’ve worked miracles with Sienna, and I cannot thank you enough.” Then, she continues, “She came home today, and she hasn’t stopped talking about her new friends. She’s never made a friend before. I know it might sound trivial, and I hate to bother you?—”

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