Page 4 of Lord of Little Italy

But I'm still getting in my car. Still driving to Vincenzo's like she's got me on a leash.

The restaurant is one of the city’s finest Italian establishments, the kind of place where deals are made and broken over plates of handmade pasta. When I walk in, Mario, the maître d', practically trips over himself to greet me.

"Mr. Rivera, Miss Esposito is waiting in the private room."

The private room. Of course. Because this woman is trying to kill me.

I find her sitting at the head of the table, and Christ almighty, she's wearing a black dress that should be illegal in at least forty states. It hugs every curve like a lover's hands, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. She's studying a tablet, a glass of red wine at her elbow, looking for all the world like a queen on her throne.

"The Vitales lost three of their major shipping contracts this morning," she says without looking up. "Apparently, their new partners received some interesting information about their business practices."

I slide into the chair next to her, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume – something expensive and subtle that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

"Interesting how?" I manage to ask, trying to focus on business instead of the way her dress rides up slightly when she crosses her legs.

Now she looks up, a wicked gleam in her eye that does things to my insides. "Let's just say the evidence I planted about their involvement in human trafficking was very convincing. Those companies couldn't distance themselves fast enough."

"Christ," I mutter, impressed despite myself. "You've been busy."

"Oh, that's not all." She takes a sip of wine, her red lips leaving a perfect imprint on the glass. I track the movement, mesmerized. "Remember those two brothers from the coffee shop?"

"Salvatore and Marco?" As if I could forget the way they looked at her, the way my blood boiled seeing their eyes on her.

"They had an unfortunate accident at their gym this morning. Someone tampered with their weight equipment." She shrugs delicately, the movement making the thin strap of her dress slip slightly. "Nothing fatal, but they'll be eating through straws for a while."

I lean back, studying her. This woman is lethal – beautiful and brutal in equal measure. Everything I should stay away from, everything I want to get closer to.

"Your brother taught you well."

"Actually," she sets down her wine glass, tracing its rim with one perfectly manicured finger, "Dominic doesn't know about half the things I can do. He's always been..." she pauses, choosing her words carefully, "protective."

"And now here you are, running the family business like a natural-born queen." The words come out before I can stop them, rough with admiration and something else I don't want to name.

Her eyes lock with mine, and the air between us crackles with tension. "Is that what I am, Tony? A queen?"

"You tell me, princess." My voice is rough. We're sitting too close now, the space between us charged with something dangerous.

The waiter arrives with wine and menus, and I've never wanted to shoot someone more in my life. Isabella orders in perfect Italian, her accent flawless, and fuck if that isn't another thing to add to the list of why I'm completely screwed.

Throughout dinner, I watch her. The way she gestures when she talks about her plans for the family business. The way she laughs at her own jokes, unashamed and full of life. The way she looks at me sometimes, like she can see right through all my carefully constructed walls.

"You're quiet tonight," she observes, taking another sip of wine.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

About how I shouldn't want you this much. About how every smile you give me feels like a bullet to the chest. About how I'm going to hell for all the things I want to do to you.

"About how dangerous this is," I say instead.

She leans in, close enough that I can feel her breath on my cheek. "I didn't ask you here just to discuss business."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "No?"

"No." She reaches out, her fingers trailing along my jaw. Her touch burns like holy water on a sinner's skin. "I wanted to thank you for having my back these past few days. Not many men would let a woman take the lead like you have."

I catch her wrist, my thumb pressed against her racing pulse. "I'm not most men."

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