Page 21 of Lord of Little Italy

He looks at Tony, who shrugs. "She's got a point."

"Fine." Dom pinches the bridge of his nose. "But we're talking about this. All of it. Including whatever's going on between you two."

I loop my arm through Tony's, feeling him tense then relax. "Of course we are. Over breakfast. You're buying, big brother."

As we head for the door, stepping over my would-be kidnappers, I catch Tony's wondering smile.

"What?" I ask.

"Just thinking about how many hours I wasted trying not to fall in love with you."

"Wasted is right." I lean into him slightly. "But you can make it up to me."

"Yeah? How?"

"Well, first you're going to tell me exactly what you said on that phone call. Then you're going to explain why you thought pushing me away was a good idea. And then..." I smile up at him. "Then we'll see."

Behind us, Dom groans. "I'm already regretting this."

But he's not, not really. Because his sister is safe, his friend is finally being honest, and the men who tried to hurt me are going to wish they'd never heard the name Esposito.

As for me? I got to kick ass in a designer dress, finally got Tony to admit his feelings, and I'm getting pancakes.

Not a bad night's work.

Chapter 12

Tony

The ride to Isabella's apartment is silent, charged. My hands haven't stopped shaking since the warehouse - since seeing her standing over those men, split lip, victory in her eyes. Alive. Safe. Perfect. These aren't words in my usual vocabulary. I'm the man who makes problems disappear, who speaks in threats and commands. But with her...

The memory of Dom’s voice telling me she had been taken. Then silence. Hours of not knowing. Hours of imagining every possible outcome except the one where she saved herself.

She keeps stealing glances at me from the passenger seat. The streetlights catch the bruise forming on her cheekbone, and something dark twists in my gut. I let Dom deal with the kidnappers, and got Isabella out of there as fast as possible.

Right now all I can think about is her. Alive. Here. Mine.

Earlier, at the warehouse, I'd maintained control. Had to - too many eyes watching, too many people counting on me to be the cold, calculating boss they feared. But my hands had trembledwhen I touched her face, checking for injuries. When she smiled and called me late to the rescue.

We reach her building and I barely remember to put the car in park. The elevator ride is torture - her shoulder brushing mine, her perfume mixed with gunpowder and that damn warehouse. She unlocks her door with steady hands. Mine are still shaking.

As soon as the door closes behind us, I have her pressed against it, mouth crashing into hers. She makes a soft sound that shoots straight through me. All pretense of control shatters.

"Tony..." Her fingers dig into my shoulders, grounding me.

"I thought—" I can't finish. Instead, I kiss her again, harder. She responds with equal hunger, pulling me closer. The taste of her, the feel of her, alive and warm and here...

"I'm okay," she whispers against my lips. "I'm right here."

My hands shake as I unzip her dress. Her skin is warm, alive, marked with fresh bruises from the fight. I kiss each one gently, reverently, while she works on my shirt buttons. Every mark is a reminder of how close I came to losing her. Every breath she takes is a miracle.

"Shower," she says softly, fingers tracing the scars on my chest. "We both need..."

I nod, unable to speak. Unable to stop touching her, making sure she's real. The men who tried to take her will suffer, but that's for tomorrow. Tonight is just us.

Steam fills her bathroom as we shed the rest of our clothes. I've imagined this moment a thousand times, but never like this - desperate and tender all at once.

Water cascades over us, washing away tonight and everything except this - her hands on my skin, my mouth on her neck, thesmall sounds she makes when I press her against the shower wall, the water beating down around us, every drop seeming to intensify the feel of her against me.

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