Page 5 of Unforgettable Underboss

“Your home is gorgeous,” I continue. “The view from my room is something I want to sketch later.”

Enrico narrows his eyes at me, studying my every move. He knows I’m being evasive about my reasons for seeking him out, but he takes the bait anyway. “You draw?”

“Mostly candid portraits of city life, but I’ve also dabbled in landscapes.” I take a huge bite of the pastry in my hand, looking for an excuse not to answer any questions.

“My mother always had a sketchbook,” he replies, his voice low and wistful. “She drew these intricate flowers with colored pencils and somehow made them look exactly like a photograph. I could almost reach out and touch the water droplets on each petal.”

Enrico is focused on the tablecloth as if lost in a memory. The longing in his features tells an entire story. One marred in tragedy and pain. I don’t know what happened to his mom, but I can tell she’s no longer with us.

“Do you draw?” I ask, hoping to bring him back into the present with me. I don’t like seeing him sad.

Enrico chuckles. “Not even a little.” He grabs a carafe of coffee I didn’t notice before, filling his mug and offering it to me. “I never grew out of the stick-figure phase of art, despite my mother’s best efforts.”

I grin at him, loving the way he smiles back at me. “If you ever want to try again, I can give you a lesson. I usually work with charcoal, but the principles are the same as using pencils.”

“I don’t know if I’m capable of handling something so delicate.” His deep velvet voice and darkened gaze make me wonder if he’s talking about handling art supplies or handlingme.“I haven’t thought about my mother’s sketches in a long time. I still have her sketchbooks in the basement if you want to take a look.”

I don’t know who’s more surprised at his offer, him or me. Enrico clears his throat, and I can tell he’s about to backtrack and rescind his offer.

“I’d love to see the sketches,” I say softly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Enrico gives me a small smile, though my heart sinks. I haven’t given him any reason to trust me.

He opens his mouth to say something else but is cut off by his phone. Frowning, he looks between me and his phone on the table. He reluctantly grabs the noisy device and steps into the kitchen, though I swear he looks like he’d rather ignore it and keep talking with me. Or maybe I’m just projecting my feelings onto him.

Nothing good can come from hoping for things that will never happen.

When Enrico returns, he’s all business. “I have an urgent matter to attend to at work,” he says, each word measured. I can tell he’s gauging my reaction to see if I know the true nature of his work. I simply nod, letting him take the lead. “It won’t be long, I hope. Stay here, finish breakfast, and make yourself at home.”

Stupid tears prick the back of my eyes, and I blink them away before he can see them. But Enrico is by my side in the next second, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Sorry,” I murmur, cursing myself for the confusing rush of emotions. Guilt, gratitude, and doubt swirl in my mind, making me dizzy and overwhelmed.

“Don’t cry, angel,” he whispers.

Did he just call me angel?He has no idea. If he knew who my brother was… he might think I’m the devil.

“Sorry,” I say again, apparently unable to think of another word.

“You’re safe here, Valerie. My house has the best security system available, including staff on call twenty-four-seven.”

How can I tell him I’m concerned not only about my safety but also his? I’m crying because I don’t deserve his kindness, even if it’s what I was praying for all along. Now that I’m here in his presence, I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I trust you,” I say, meaning it with my entire being.

“Good girl.”

His praise sends another shiver down my spine, this time making my thighs twitch and my core throb.God, why is that so hot?I want to be his good girl. I want to please him in every way.

Enrico’s eyes glint with a look I can’t quite place. He sounds like he’s growling, but he covers it up with a cough before standing to his full height once more.

The magnetic, handsome older man walks toward the front door, looking over his shoulder at me one last time. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me,” he promises.

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. My stomach is in knots as he steps outside. This man has protected and provided for me twice now, and it wrecks me to harbor a secret from him.

How did I fuck things up so spectacularly already?

And how do I fix it?

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