Page 21 of On Ice

He smiles. “Obviously.”

I nibble his ear lobe. “The thing is, Luca, you’re not a very good listener.”

He just makes a little rumble of pleasure.

I kiss a trail from beneath his ear to the corner of his mouth. “Despite what you think,” I whisper, “I don’t want you coming by my place. I don’t want you in my life. If I had my way, Luca, I’d never. See you. Again.”

As the last word leaves my mouth, I shove him as hard as I can. He’s completely caught off guard, and he loses his balance. I lunge for the door and yank it open, tumbling out into the hallway. Thankfully, it’s empty, so I don’t have to explain why I was in the janitor’s closet.

With my heart slamming my ribs, I jump to my feet and bolt down the corridor toward the doors that lead to the parking lot.

Chapter Six

Luca

I watch Evan flee down the corridor, scratching my jaw. The little shit caught me unaware. I know he’s into me so I don’t understand why he’s running away. Why won’t he give me what I want? He wants it too.

If I had my way, Luca, I’d never. See you. Again.

I don’t believe him for one minute. He was hard as a rock just now in that closet. I know he enjoyed our night together. That was obvious. He was in a state of bliss with me inside him. Now he’s acting like he wants nothing to do with me? Pfft. Please. That can’t be true.

My phone buzzes and it’s a text from Marco.

Sorry to interrupt. Isabella’s heart has been broken again.

I groan, and text him I’ll be right there. Isabella is my younger sister. She’s a free-spirited artistic type who is constantly falling in love with the wrong men. Tucking my phone away, I go to say my goodbyes to everyone. Unlike Evan, I can’t just run out of the building without saying a few words to the team and management.

Once I’ve done my duty, I leave the building and meet Marco by a black Mercedes. He’s leaning against the car, texting. He looks up as I near, a dark lock of hair on his forehead. “It’s bad, boss. She really liked this guy.”

I exhale harshly as he opens the door for me. “Why can’t she fall in love with you, Marco? It would be so much more convenient.”

He laughs. “I agree, but she only dates non-mafia types.”

“She’s such a traitor.” I slide into the back of the car, inhaling the scent of leather and lemon car freshener.

Marco joins me in the back, and my driver Danny starts the engine and we’re on our way. “ Marco clears his throat. “Apparently this guy was married.”

I snap my head toward him.“What?”

Marco nods. “A wife and three kids.” Marco curls his lip. “He’s not even Italian. He’s Polish or something.”

“He wasn’t even Italian?” I growl, shifting to face Marco. “Since when does she not date Italian men?”

He sighs. “You know Bella, she does what she wants.”

“We’ll see about that.” I clamp my jaw, seething. It’s bad enough that Isabella refuses to date anyone in the syndicate, but now she’s dating men who aren’t even Italian? That’s sacrilege. Father is probably spinning in his grave.

The drive to the family estate takes twenty minutes, the sleek black Mercedes handling the winding road with practiced ease. Iron gates bearing the Barone family crest part silently as we approach. The long driveway curves through manicured grounds until we reach the house.

Late afternoon sunlight gleams off the limestone facade of the mansion, its Italian villa styling a testament to my great grandfather’s determination to recreate a piece of the old country here in Seabrooke. Twin fountains flank the circulardrive, and to the right is Mama’s garden. There, pristine rose bushes and carefully tended lavender are planted to remind her of her family home in Tuscany.

Giuseppe, our groundskeeper for the past thirty years, is trimming the hedges. He touches his cap as I pass, but doesn’t meet my eyes directly. Father was very old school and preferred things like that. He wanted the staff to know their place. I don’t have the same feeling about such things. I don’t care if Giuseppe looks me in the eye. He watched me grow up and has been loyal to my family. He’s like is a fixture on the property, and it would be weird if he wasn’t puttering around the garden. But he prefers to keep to the old ways, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable by insisting he meet my gaze.

We park next to my younger brother Tony’s ostentatious Lamborghini. He’s very different from me, more prone to flashy cars and clubs. My mother always says I was born middle-aged because, even as a child, I was responsible and did what I was told. Perhaps that discipline was simply ingrained in me because I knew, one day, I’d be the head of the Barone Syndicate, whereas my siblings were free to do what they wanted with their lives.

Marco and I hurry up the marble steps to the massive oak front door. It opens before we reach it, and Williams, our butler, greets me with his usual unflappable demeanor. “Welcome home, Mr. Luca. The family is in the kitchen.”

“How’s Isabella?” I ask, handing him my sports jacket.

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