Page 10 of Lord of Little Italy

"Exactly." He finally meets my eyes again, and the heat there contradicts his words. "You deserve better than a man with blood on his hands."

"In case you haven't noticed, my hands aren't exactly clean either." I release his arm, stepping back. "But fine. Run away. Pretend this never happened. Just remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"I felt how much you want me." I let my eyes drift meaningfully down his body. "And I know you felt how much I want you. That's not going away just because my brother's coming home."

He doesn't respond, just leaves me standing there in my gym, feeling like I've won and lost all at once.

Chapter 7

Tony

The drive to Queens feels longer than usual. Maybe because I've spent the last week avoiding this moment - the moment I have to look Dom in the eye and lie about his sister.

Traffic crawls along Canal Street, giving me too much time to think. Seven days since the gym. Seven days of avoiding my usual haunts, knowing Isabella might be there. Seven nights of dreaming about her anyway. Even threw myself into work, spending hours at the club going over books that didn't need reviewing, just to keep busy. My captains think I'm planning something big. If they knew I was hiding from a five-foot-four woman in Louboutins...

It's hard to believe I only met her six weeks ago. That first day at the gym, when Dom asked me to keep an eye on things while he was away, I thought it would be simple. A favor for an ally. Watch his territory, make sure his sister didn't have any problems running things.

Simple. Right.

The setting sun glints off the Queensboro Bridge as I cross over, painting the East River gold. Manhattan's skyline stretchesbehind me like a reminder of everything I'm leaving behind. Everything I'm running from. Some tough guy I turned out to be.

A cab cuts me off, and I slam on the brakes. The driver gives me the finger until he sees who I am. Then he's all apologies, waving frantically. Any other day, I'd make him sweat. Today, I barely notice.

Dom's building rises above the Queens skyline, all glass and modern angles - nothing like my old-world brownstone in Little Italy. He's always embraced the new, while I keep to tradition. It's what made our alliance work so well these past five years - his innovation, my stability. Two different approaches that somehow balanced each other out.

Until now. Until Isabella.

The doorman recognizes me, waves me straight to the private elevator. As I ride up to the penthouse, I straighten my tie, check my reflection in the mirrored walls. The man looking back at me appears composed, in control.

Good. Because I'm anything but.

The elevator opens directly into Dom's living room, where floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Manhattan skyline I just left. Modern art hangs on stark white walls, probably worth more than most people make in a year. Everything screams new money, new power. Everything except the small bar in the corner where we hammered out our first territory agreement, back when neither of us knew if we could trust the other.

"Tony!" Dom's voice booms across the massive space. He looks tanned and happy, honeymoon clearly agreeing with him. "Get over here!"

We shake hands, clapping each other's shoulders - the greeting of allies who've become friends. "Welcome home. How's married life?"

"Amazing. Wait till you try it." He leads me to his private bar, all chrome and backlit glass. The bottles are arranged by color, creating a rainbow effect. Very Martha Stewart. Very un-mob boss. "Speaking of which, when are you gonna settle down? Can't be the eternal bachelor forever."

If he only knew.

"You know me," I say, accepting the scotch he pours. Single malt, aged longer than we've known each other. "Married to the family business."

"Yeah, about that..." Dom settles into one of his ridiculously modern chairs, gesturing for me to sit. "Something's different. You seem... I don't know. Distracted?"

I take a careful sip, buy myself time. "Just busy. Lot of moving pieces lately."

"Tell me about it. Speaking of moving pieces..." He leans forward. "How'd things go while I was away? Really?"

"Smooth. No problems with operations. Isabella handled everything perfectly."

His eyebrows rise. "Really? Not the response I expected from you."

"She's... competent." The word feels inadequate. Brilliant, fierce, incredible - those would be more accurate. But I can't say those things. Can't tell him how quickly she's gotten under my skin, how she commands a room, how she sees three moves ahead, how she... "Better with the books than expected."

Dom laughs. "High praise coming from you. When I first mentioned having her help run things, you looked at me like I was crazy."

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