Page 8 of Stricken

I close my eyes, picturing the distinct cheekbones and the wry curve of his lips. The crisp lines of his tailored suit, clearly bespoke. A golden chain around his neck with an orthodox cross, hiding beneath his shirt. He's a believer. And those diamonds weren't fake. Old money, or new? Someone's heir or a self-made man?

My mind races with possibilities as I increase the incline. The physical exertion helps me think, helps me strategize. It's a habit ingrained since childhood—stay sharp, stay focused. In our family, letting your guard down is a death sentence.

"Chi cazzo sei?" I mutter under my breath.Who the fuck are you?

The memory of his voice triggers another shiver to roll down my spine, despite the heat radiating from my body. Deep and smooth like aged wine. And that accent only added an edge of danger.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of lust clouding my judgment. If I don't plan on meeting him again, then he shouldn't be occupying my mind. Still, I can't help wondering what those hands would feel like on my skin again or how those lips would taste after sucking my dick.

Gritting my teeth, I punch up the speed. The sting in my legs intensifies, grounding me in the present. This is what I need—the simplicity of physical pain to drown out the unnecessary noise in my head.

I am a Morelli, after all. I'm disciplined. I'm focused. I am...completely fucked if I can't get this stranger out of my head.

The sound of my phone cuts through the pounding of my feet. I curse under my breath, recognizing the ringtone. Claudio. My uncle's consigliere never calls unless it's urgent.

I snatch the phone off the treadmill's charging station, my breath coming in short bursts. "Yes."

"Nicola." Claudio's voice is tense, clipped. I've never liked the slippery bastard. Too smart. Even for a family advisor, but Uncle's been favoring him ever since Claudio started working as an accountant at Primavera. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." I punch the button to slow the treadmill. "I take it it's not just a courtesy check-in call."

"You are perceptive, Nicola."

I'm certain the asshole is mocking me. There's nothing perspective about him reaching out. It's either bad news or more bad news.

"You need to come to Vegas," Claudio finally says.

My jaw clenches for a moment but I take a deep breath to relax. It was bound to happen again. "What's going on?"

"It's not for phone discussion. Your uncle needs you here."

I step off the treadmill, wiping sweat from my brow with the towel. "Let me guess. Roberto's fucked up again and Uncle wants to see what his nephew can offer to fix up the older son's mess."

A heavy sigh crackles through the line. "It's... complicated and I will not get into the details over the phone. Tony wants you here to handle it personally."

"Christ," I mutter. "That bad, huh?"

Claudio ignores my quip. "How soon can you be on a plane?"

"I'll have Costa check for the flights this afternoon."

"This can't wait, Nicola."

The urgency in his tone tells me this time Roberto's fuck up is grandiose. "I'll be there."

I end the call, my mind already reeling. Roberto, thatcazzo, is always stirring up shit. And I always end up cleaning it up. Even though it's Claudio's job technically, but I guess he's just too tired to babysit my cousins.

As I exit the gym, my earlier fantasies evaporate like mist. The stranger with the Russian accent—even if he is in my head only—will have to wait. Family comes first. Always.

I mutter another curse as I head for the shower. So much for my quiet life in LA. Once again, I'm being dragged back into the family's web of dangerous games.

But I can't say no to Uncle Tony.

He's like a father to me, to replace the one I lost years ago.

The hot water cascades over my shoulders. Only it does nothing to wash away the dread settling in my gut. Whatever's waiting for me in Vegas, I know one thing for certain—there will be blood.

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