Page 58 of Her Dark Salvation

She’d smelled so fucking good yesterday, the hint of rose she always wore amplified by the steam room. I’d been bold in my advances, but she’d played along, and the untapped passion in her eyes beckoned. She wanted me as badly as I wanted her.

I hadn’t been drawn to a woman like I was drawn to Anna in decades. Not since Lucia died. Watching her waste away as fear ate at her like a cancer… Watching Tony lose the love of his life because of what he was… I never wanted to know that kind of pain.

This flirting was a risky business. The way things were going, there was no way we weren’t going to fuck. Problem was, it couldn’t be more than that. As much as I craved her companionship, I refused to bring her into my world and put her in danger, not even accounting for the possibility she might crumble under the weight of learning I was a blood demon. And if she didn’t? Would she be willing to give up her life and everyone she loved to be with me? Was I selfish enough to expect that?

With all my issues, I couldn’t feed from her unless we bonded. And that was a step I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to take.

She looked up to where I hovered outside my office door staring at her while I spiraled.

“You dressed for dinner,” I said.

“I did, but…” She leaned on the arm of her chair and ran her necklace between her thumb and forefinger.

“But what?”

“You could have asked.”

“Asked what?”

“Asked if I wanted to have dinner with you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Instead of telling me.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Her lips trembled, fighting a smile, but amusement danced in her eyes. “Yes, Mr. DeVita,” she said in a coy, subservient tone undercut with sarcasm.

“You can call me Marco, Anna. I think we’ve moved past the business-only portion of our relationship.” I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

She had a mischievous glint in her eyes and bend to her mouth. “That wouldn’t be professional, Mr. DeVita. I work for you.”

“It’s not any less professional than me staring at your tits. Or you staring at my naked body.” She looked away, hiding her smile and the flush creeping up her neck. “Please. Call me Marco.”

She turned back, eyebrows raised. “He does know the word!” I scowled, and she laughed. “Okay. Marco,” she said breathily.

I wanted to skip work and dinner and drag her into my apartment. Instead, piles of paperwork forced me into my office.

Between organizing my notes for the quarterly and finalizing the permits for my new property, I was staring down the barrel of a busy Friday. And then there was Luca.

I leaned back in my chair and swiped a hand down my face. That kid was a ticking time bomb of rage. My fault, probably. I wasn’t cut out to be a father. The Lord knew I hadn’t asked Tony to get himself killed. I didn’t know how to deal with a kid who’d lost both his parents, but I sure as shit never tolerated him hanging around Vinnie’s nephews. That much I’d been able to control.

Kid. I snorted. He was a forty-two-year-old man. If he wanted to fuck around with the Valenzanos, there was nothing I could do to stop him. But he wouldn’t be part of my crew.

Something bugged me about our conversation at Vesuvio. He’d pushed the issue with the Shaughnessys, said they were aggressively expanding their territory, getting more cops on the take. But how much was true and how much was Luca’s pent-up hostility?

Boston’s blood demon population couldn’t survive without Valenzano Sources. I didn’t want to think about the consequences of an all-out war between the Irish and the Italians, especially if the Irish won. My people needed to feed, and I knew better than most what happened to your moral code when you were hungry.

I took out my phone.

We need to talk.

The afternoon flew by, my attention occupied with financial reports, city hall, and the escrow company.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen; 6:30 p.m. and a text message from Vinnie.

11 tonight. The usual.

He meant Vesuvio. Texting was dangerous. I had no doubt the feds monitored Vinnie’s communications, and the last thing I needed was Agent Johnson hanging around Vesuvio like he hung around Terme.

Ci sarò.

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