Page 20 of Sinister Intentions

But this…images of Jemma Donnelly randomly invading my mind and unwantedly occupying my thoughts…this was a first.

“It’s a woman, isn’t it?” he said.

I glared at him. “Never in my life have I been troubled because of a woman.” Because in all seriousness, considering Jemma Donnelly a woman was just plain wrong.

Dom chuckled. “True. You forget them as soon as you’re finished buttoning up your dress shirt in the morning.”

I wiped my forehead against my shirt. “Not true. I always send flowers afterward.”

Dom scoffed. “Oh yes, I’ve forgotten the Vincenzo Salvini legendary let’s-not-overcomplicate-things signature move.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Well, how’s your love life working out for you?”

He glared at me. “At least I’m putting myself out there. Whereas you…you’re a lost cause.”

Now it was my turn to grin. Putting himself out there meant he had a new “love of his life” every week. The sad thing was that most of the too-young guys he took home left equally as fast as they’d entered his life.

Maybe it was an age thing; maybe it would work out if Dom went for someone our age.

Jemma was that young, as well. One more reason why thinking about the way she sucked in a breath, or how the skin of her forehead felt warm to the touch, or how her addictive scent of soap mixed with something uniquely her was completely unreasonable.

And I was neither unreasonable nor in the business of entertaining unproductive thoughts like that.

As a rule.

“Are you up for round two?”

Dom scoffed. “If you need to release some pent-up aggression, I’m holding the punching bag for you, but I’m not willing to be it.”

I shook my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dom stood, and I grabbed his outstretched hand. “I’m talking about you and your mental state being a menace to society.” He handed me a pair of gloves. “I respect that you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m not letting you leave here like this.”

I put on the gloves, and together, we crossed the room for the punching bag. “You’re just getting old.”

Dom grinned. “We both are, Fratello. And love still eludes us.”

I narrowed my eyes, then slammed my fist against the punching bag, the impacts reverberating through my bones.

The bag swung and knocked into Dom, who caught it with a satisfying “Uff.”

“Damn, you’re even more of an asshole than usual.”

“Stop whining. You suggested this.”

He held the damn thing while I unleashed a flurry of hits, trying in vain to get rid of the thoughts swirling through my mind.

Jemma fucking Donnelly.

No matter how hard I trained or how many business meetings I endured, that infuriating woman refused to leave my head. Her defiant green eyes haunted me, and her fiery spirit taunted me at every turn.

“Fuck!” I growled, landing a vicious uppercut that sent shocks through my arm.

This was unacceptable. I was Vincenzo Salvini, head of the most powerful crime family in New York. I didn’t lose control like this, not over some punk kid who thought she could play games with me.

And yet…

I took a step back, keenly aware of Dom’s furrowed eyebrows.

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