My pulse jumps. “I know who you are. Or—I think I do. I thought it might just be rumors, but…”
His expression doesn’t change. But the air in the room shifts, like he’s bracing for something.
“But?” he says.
“But when you offered to take care of my boss,” she pauses, holding my gaze. “You seemed dangerous. Even with Gerard. You didn’t hesitate. It was like you’d done it before.”
There it is. The elephant in the room, laid over a tray with a nice drizzle ofway to ruin dinner, you asshatsauce.
Riccardo doesn’t seem bothered, though. He swirls the wine in his glass and takes a long, considered sip. “Maybe I have. How would that make you feel?”
I take a breath. “I’m not sure. It would help if I knew what you actually do for a living.”
The corner of his mouth moves just barely, something close to amusement but darker. “I run things,” he says simply. “Money. Territory. Protection. Influence.”
“That’s a pretty wordy way of saying mafia.”
He holds my gaze. “Does that scare you?”
I should say yes. Fuck that—I should run for the door.
I should think about my mom, the shootout that ruined her all those years ago. That horrible noise of the corner store windows shattering that I still hear in my nightmares. The way her heart has never been the same since. She always had a defect, but after that day, it got worse and worse.
“It… should,” I admit. “My mother’s condition blew up after a turf war between the Bratva and the local mafia. I spent years hating all of it. All of you.”
His jaw tightens with something that looks like anger, but not at me. “That should never have happened,” he says. “Civilians are not part of our world. Ever. Whatever they were doing that day, they broke rules we don’t break.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do.
He sets his fork down and leans back, watching me closely. “So tell me the truth. Am I someone you fear?”
I look down at my plate, then up at him again.
“No,” I say quietly. “Somehow… no. You don’t scare me.”
His eyes soften in a way that makes my breath catch. “Good.”
He reaches for his wine, never breaking eye contact.
“Because I’m not going anywhere.”
It might feel like a threat. Perhaps it should.
But tonight, it feels like a promise to me.
10
RICCARDO
Savannah tries to take the dirty dishes from my hands. One stern look from me is enough to stop her.
“You’re not washing anything,” I say, turning on the faucet. “You fed me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But—”
“No.”
She huffs, folding her arms. “You’re impossible.”
