Page 15 of Dangerous Fortune

I catch her hand before she can swat me. “It’s an observation, not a criticism.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll be matched in an arranged marriage because I don’t know how well you’d do on the open market.”

A rough laugh erupts from my chest. “Where the hell did you get your set of brass balls?”

“On sale at Filene’s.” She slides her hand away. “And you’ve seen me play, so you know I use them regularly.”

“That you do.” She straightens my tie and then looks up, making me feel like jet fuel was in my coffee cup this morning, not espresso.

“So tell me, Enzo, where did you find a hacker talented enough to dig up my address?”

“A man never reveals his sources.”

“Must be someone in your family.”

She turns and grabs a set of keys from a dish on a small table, giving me a ball-tightening view of her hourglass figure.

God damn.Is this woman going to be my greatest test?

“I was just about to run over to Bova’s to pick up something for my grandfather. Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” I step back and try to remember if I’ve ever done anything so normal.

We move toward the sidewalk, and I grab her hand as our footsteps echo on the cobblestone. If I’m gonna beJhonny Normal, I gotta make sure to get the full fucking experience.

Lifting our clasped hands, she raises an eyebrow. “Are you afraid I’ll try and run away?”

“No.” I link our fingers more tightly and continue walking as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. I don’t have an explanation for my behavior, and for the first time in my life, I don’t care. Holding this woman’s hand feels good, and for right now, that’s all I care about.

We weave through the neighborhood, and I see several people look at me and then flick their eyes away quickly. “People will soon know that you’re under my protection. That should comfort you since no one crosses a Bianchi and lives to talk about it.”

“I don’t like the idea of being seen as a possession.”

Stopping under a tree, I look down. “If you and I ever get there, I’ll make sure you enjoy every second of belonging to me.” Moving closer, I fill my lungs with her scent. “Make no mistake.”

Her eyes go wide, and for a full thirty seconds, we stare at one another.

“I belong to myself.”

“For now.” I tug her hand and move toward the corner.

Have I lost my damn mind by making such provocative statements?

Possibly, but every word is true.

Glancing over, I see sunlight sliding through her curls and wish like hell I was a guy from the neighborhood and not a man who gets rid of a suit at least once a month because of bloodstains since it would make the path forward not so fucking complicated.

“Enzo—”

“So your Nonno is a biscotti man, not a cannoli one.” She shakes her head at the interruption, and I decide that living with her irritation is better than hearing her objections.

“I’m surprised you could surmise that just from the bakery I picked.”

“Any self-respecting Italian knows where the best pastries come from. Mike’s is for cannoli. Bovo’s has the best cookies, and The Modern Bakery has sfogliatella as good as any in Campania.

“Damn. The next thing you’ll tell me is that you’ve eaten at my brother’s place.”

She waves her hand toward a brick building. “Is Carmelina’s his?”

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