Page 22 of Sinister Intentions

“You didn’t think you arranging a marriage between Matt and some girl from the Irish mob wouldn’t be the number one subject of every Italian mama in town, right? There are hopes and dreams dying all over town.”

“Haha, very funny.”

“So, how is it going with that girl?”

“She’s…feisty.”

Dom chuckled. “I’m not surprised. She’s certainly a fascinating one, from what Matt told me.”

“You talked to Matt about her?”

Dom nodded. “According to him, your meeting was interesting.”

“Interesting doesn’t begin to cover it.” I raked a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “She’s like a goddamn riddle wrapped inan enigma, stuffed into a hot body. On paper, she’s this fragile little thing, all big eyes and soft edges. But as soon as you see her in person, you know you’ve been fooled. She’s a force of nature, fierce and unyielding and utterly annoying.”

Unbidden, the memory of our heated exchange re-entered my inner eye, her fiery gaze searing into me as she stood her ground despite me towering above her. That defiant tilt of her chin, the way her chest rose and fell with each indignant breath. It had taken every ounce of my self-control not to close the distance between us and?—

I cut off that dangerous thought before it could go any further and met Dom’s gaze, who was studying me intently, his expression inscrutable. “I see.”

“What does that mean?”

Dom just shook his head, but I could see the tension in his cheeks. The bastard wasn’t even hiding his grin.

“Are you having fun?” I growled.

He burst out laughing. “So, it is a woman after all?”

“Girl.”

“How old is she exactly?”

“Twenty-one.”

“So not exactly a girl anymore. More a young woman.”

“She’s a punk.”

He nodded. “And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because I can’t afford to be distracted right now.” I raked my hands over my face, frustrated. “Not with everything that’s going on. This girl, she’s…” I trailed off, struggling to put my swirling thoughts into words.

Dom waited patiently, giving me the space to gather myself. Finally, I met his gaze head-on. “She’s getting on my nerves. And I can’t let that happen. I need to stay focused, keep my head in the game.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Since when has a pretty face ever thrown you off your game, Vince? You’re not some hormone-addled teenager anymore.”

I nodded. He was right. I had made things bigger than they were. As soon as I had her married off to Matt, I would get to the root of it, and she would be detained and under control.

“Maybe you should take some time to…get your head back on straight? How’s your art going nowadays? You always come out stronger after you spend some time in your studio.”

I scoffed at Dom’s suggestion. Painting had always been my safe space, a way to escape the harsh realities of my world. But I hadn’t allowed myself that luxury in quite some time, hadn’t visited La Dimora, my country home either. “You know I can’t just disappear to the country,” I said, my voice gruff. “Not with everything going on right now.”

Dom fixed me with that knowing look of his. “You’re wound tighter than a cobra cornered by a stray dog. When was the last time you actually let yourself breathe?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died on my tongue. He was right, as usual. Between expanding the family business, dealing with my father’s scheming, Matt’s injury, and the wholemess with the Donnellys and their hacker daughter, I hadn’t had a moment’s peace in a while.

“Painting always helped you find your center,” Dom continued. “Even if it’s just for a few hours, you need to get your head back on straight.”

Part of me knew he was right. I needed to find a way to channel the turmoil brewing inside me into something more productive than obsessing over Jemma Donnelly. But the thought of leaving the city, of letting my guard down even for a moment, made my skin prickle with unease.

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