Page 8 of Lord of Little Italy

I close my eyes, letting my head rest against the shower wall. I'm not just risking a friendship anymore. I'm risking the delicate balance between two of New York's most powerful families.

I'm so fucked.

Chapter 6

Isabella

From my perch by the gym's second-floor window, I watch Tony approach. He's in his usual black from head to toe, looking dangerous and untouchable - every inch the feared enforcer of Little Italy. But he doesn't see me watching, doesn't know I can see the side of him he tries so hard to hide.

A ball bounces into his path, followed by a small boy who freezes at the sight of him. Even kids know who Tony Rivera is, know to be scared. The boy stares up at him, trembling slightly, as Tony picks up the worn baseball.

Instead of the intimidating figure everyone expects, Tony crouches down to the kid's level. He says something that makes the boy laugh, then pulls out his wallet. My heart does a funny little flip as he hands the kid what looks like forty dollars, gesturing toward the sports shop down the street. The boy's face lights up like Christmas came early.

I smile, remembering the time I caught him feeding stray cats behind the social club. He'd threatened to make me disappear if I ever told anyone. It only made me want him more.

Three days. That's how long it's been since I had Tony in my bed, since his hands and mouth made me forget my own name.

And now, watching him ruffle that kid's hair before sending him off to buy a new ball, I realize I'm in serious danger of falling for more than just his dangerous good looks.

"You're late," I call out as he enters my private gym. It's Sunday afternoon, and I've been "practicing" my kicks while waiting for him. The tiny shorts and sports bra I'm wearing aren't regulation sparring gear, but they're definitely getting the reaction I wanted.

Tony stops dead in his tracks, his eyes darkening as they trail over my body. "You're playing dirty, princess."

"Me?" I spin into another high kick, enjoying how his gaze follows the movement. "I'm just staying in shape. You're the one who promised to help me practice."

"That was before I knew you fought dirty." He circles me on the mat, predatory grace in every movement. His jacket and tie are already discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. "Nice outfit, by the way. Not exactly regulation gear."

"What's wrong with my outfit?" I throw a combination of punches, which he blocks easily. "Too distracting?"

"You know exactly what you're doing, princess." He catches my wrist, pulling me close before I spin away. "Using your assets to gain advantage."

"All's fair in love and war." I dance just out of his reach. "Besides, you're one to talk. Walking around in those jeans that fit you like some Italian GQ model."

His laugh is rough. "You been checking me out, Esposito?"

"Please. Like you haven't been staring at my ass for the past ten minutes."

"Fifteen, but who's counting?" He moves lightning-fast, nearly catching me, but I slip away again. "Stop running and fight me properly."

"Make me."

We trade blows, every touch charged with electricity. He's holding back - we both are - more interested in the game than actual sparring. His hands linger a second too long each time he blocks a strike. My body brushes his more often than necessary.

"Getting slow in your old age?" I taunt as I dodge another grab. "The great Tony Rivera, losing his edge?"

"Watch who you're calling old." This time when he moves, it's with his full speed and skill. Before I can blink, he's swept my legs out from under me.

I roll with the fall, but he's already there, pinning me to the mat. His body covers mine, hard muscle pressing me down, and suddenly the air feels electric. One of his thighs is wedged between mine, and every slight movement sends sparks through my body.

"Got you," he growls, his face inches from mine.

"Do you?" I arch up against him deliberately, feeling exactly how affected he is by our position. The evidence of his arousal presses against my hip, and his sharp intake of breath is victory enough. "Because from where I'm lying, feels like I've got you right where I want you."

His eyes darken dangerously. "Playing with fire, princess." His grip on my wrists tightens.

"Maybe I want to get burned." I lift my head, close enough to feel his breath on my lips. "What are you going to do about it, Rivera?"

Something snaps in his expression, and then his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding. I melt into him, wrapping my legs around his waist as his hands slide from my wrists to my waist, pulling me closer against him as his mouth claims mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race. His fingers slip beneath the hem of my top, rough hands gliding up my heated skin, each touch lighting a path of fire. When he presses his hips down, pinning me to the mat even tighter, I can feel just how hard he is, and it’s impossible not to let out a gasp against his lips.

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