Page 63 of Phantom Mine

“Coming right up.”

The drink fortifies me, putting some much needed color back in my cheeks.

Unease slithered like thick venom into my veins the second I walked into the VIP room and saw three Leones staring back at me, knowing that either Rocco or Augusto is responsible for Adriana’s murder.

Nausea swirls with dread thinking of what must have happened to her. What might have happened to me if Matteo hadn’t been there to intervene.

Being in that room had felt like experiencing what some of her final moments might have been like.

As layered as my feelings about what happened to Adriana are, none are more complicated or confusing than those I have for Matteo, now knowing he’s the Phantom.

When I’ve allowed myself to think of him over the past year and half, it’s been to see him as the very embodiment of everywhat ifandwhat could have been. Of the life I might have lived if things had gone differently that night.

The more I tried not to think about him, the more he solidified a place for himself in the dark recesses of my mind where I couldn’t get him out, no matter how hard I tried. For someone who I couldn’t want, who I was actively trying not to think about, he’d been taking up an aggressive amount of space in my mind for far longer than I was willing to admit.

“Is it wrong of me to say I find your obvious anger very attractive?”

A man stands behind the open barstool next to me, his face split in a charming grin. He’s attractive in a recently-reached-manhood-and-excited-about-it kind of way. Not my style, but I’m looking to clear my head and a distraction won’t hurt. Plus, I told myself I’d hook up with the first man I saw and it’s about time I deliver on that promise.

“Not as long as you know it might be aimed at you next.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replies easily. His grin turns suggestive. “Or, even better, I can help you work through it. You know physical exercise helps release endorphins, right?”

Smooth.

“What kind of exercise are you suggesting?” I ask, closing my mouth around the straw of my drink.

His gaze drops to my lips and he clears his throat loudly. “Happy to tell you all about it. Then maybe you can come back to my place and I can demonstrate.” Pointing at the barstool next to me, he asks, “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” I reply at the same time as goosebumps erupt at the back of my neck and Matteo’s sinister voice snaps, “Yes.”

He stands so close that his chest brushes against my back everytime he breathes. A fire ignites low in my gut, rising to a simmering boil when one palm comes down on the bar and the other grabs the edge of my stool as he curls his large body territorially around mine. A glance at his face reveals a storm gathering in his eyes.

Stiffening, I throw Matteo a glare and turn back towards my new friend. “No, it’s available, uh…?”

“Brian,” he supplies helpfully, reaching for the barstool.

I don’t think Brian realizes who he’s dealing with. He probably thinks Matteo is just another guy trying to poach his catch for the night, not someone who’ll eat him for breakfast and use the bones of his spine to pick the leftovers out of his teeth.

I smile. “Brian.”

A furious glare sweeps my way. It pales in comparison to the black look Matteo then turns on Brian, one full of such outright hostility that it’s palpable in the air.

The brutal sound of metal hitting metal splits the air, drawing mine and Brian’s gazes down.

Pinned to the center of the barstool beneath Matteo’s massive palm is an even bigger glock.

It’s turned so the barrel is aimed at Brian’s groin.

Matteo doesn’t say anything; he lets his pistol do the talking. It’s an effective technique.

“Looks like the seat’s taken after all,” Brian squeaks, the color leaching from his face. He turns on his heels and runs away. I watch him hightail it out ofFirenze, but Matteo doesn’t.

His livid gaze pivots back to me. There’s something dark and primal in his eyes, a potent something that sends a violent shudder through my body, warning me to toe the line.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been someone to heed a warning, even a very obvious one.

I wouldn’t be here if I was.

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