Page 12 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

My thighs clench, the wild animal under my skin scratching toward the surface, howling for him like a called dog. Please, please, that hungry monster in me sings, begging him to make good on that quiet threat. I stand up just to get away from him, but he just pulls me back into his lap. I gasp as his hand curls between my legs, rubs hard and rough against the denim of my jeans.

“I bet I could take your fucking pulse between your legs, you want me so badly,” he whispers.

I pull myself off him and whip around, only to find him already on his feet, crowding me back against the metal fencing between us and the water.

“Why is this the one thing that still makes you run?”

“Who says I’m running?”

I linger in the moment, my breath locked in my chest. Finally, I step forward, closing in on the distance between us little by little. I run my hand over his shirt, feeling the strong outline of his chest beneath that thin cotton. We close in on each other, caught in this constant push-and-pull.

“You think you can scare me?” I ask, trailing my fingers lower, down the tight slope of his belly. My fingers brush against his belt. Nico’s gaze burns, a constant challenge. He doesn’t notice anything amiss until my other hand is already clutched around the keys in his pocket, our eyes meeting in one moment of realization. This time, it’s my turn to smile.

I snatch his keys right out of his pocket and push past him.

He reels around with a dangerous grin of realization.

“You better come on, Nico,” I call after him, twirling his car keys around my finger. “Or you’re walking home.”

4

Nico

I feel like a kid playing with the chemicals he finds under the kitchen sink. Ava steals my keys and storms off into the night, and I realize I kind ofwantthe girl behind the wheel of a 3,000-pound sports car with a top speed of over 200 miles per hour—just to see what’ll happen when those elements combine.

Ava threatens to send my car careening into the ocean or a brick wall more than once. Revenge for her phone. It’s a useless threat. Unlike mine, her crazy has limits, and I know there are lines she won’t cross.

Like a good little girl, she drives us straight back to the familiar gated community where her brother is doubtlessly pacing the floor, anxious for her safe return.

“Keep the brights on,” I tell her as she approaches the gate.

“Why?” she asks.

I don’t answer, but she keeps them on, blinding the two guards posted up along a gate stretched across the road.

Two such gates stand between us and our destination, each manned with a guard. This first gate opens to the private, walled community that both my close and distant relatives alike call home. Those who have stayed close to the Mori family, keeping in the business, occupy the houses running along either side of the lane. The walls and the gates keep out prying eyes and troublesome people—likeus, it seems.

They aren’t even trying to be sly about it.

And at the end of the street, beyond the second gate, waits our destination. The main house. The mansion where I grew up, and the heart of our family’s power.

One of the guards approaches the door. The beam of his flashlight passes over Ava first, then lingers on me. I smile at him, see past the glare to the caution in his eyes. He’s been warned. He’s not just going to let us through. I can already see it in his expression.

He reaches for the radio on his vest to call it in.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I tell him. “I have an invitation.”

I pop open the glovebox, where a .380 drops down to greet me. An old friend. I take the pistol, grab a fistful of Ava’s hair, and pull her head back to press the barrel right against her temple.

The girl goes still, frozen in my clutches, held at a sharp angle that twists her at the waist. The car lurches momentarily as her foot feathers the brake, but she holds the car still. The enginerumbles in the silence. The moment suspends, slow and heavy, as we all regard the new balance of power. The guard’s hand hovers just near the button on his vest.

“Nico…” Ava says softly, warning me through her gritted teeth. “You betterthinkbefore you do something stupid.”

“I’m not waiting for anyone to let me into my own home,” I tell her lowly. My eyes shift to the guard, who stands stupid and motionless, a deer caught between a wolf and a ravine. No good choices. “Openthe gate.”

His jaw works, eyes uncertain.

Ava sounds calm enough, but I feel the tension in her body, the quiet seething of her breaths. I wonder what she’s thinking behind that cold mask—is she calculating her odds of getting out of this alive? Wondering if I’ll really paint the inside of the car with her brains if they don’t cooperate? Does that even matter to her?

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