I’m a queen, and I’m going to act like it.
My cell phone rings as we come to a slow stop at the final floor. The vibration in my purse disrupts the stillness we’ve carried multiple stories up and disobedience ripples through Giovanni’s guys. Giovanni clears his throat while his men shuffle restlessly behind him, and if the doors don’t open soon, tension will blow them off the hinges.
“Are you just going to let that ring?” someone asks.
“I have first dibs on this one,” Luca says.
Sucking in a slow, quiet breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to keep the shaking contained in my fists. But it’s all for nothing when my phone starts to vibrate again, and fear escapes my grip and rattles my entire body.
They’re ready to pounce when a stream of cool air rushes into the elevator cab, sending chills down the back of my neck. I open my eyes and inhale a lungful of air as relief washes over me like cool water on a hot summer day.
As the elevator doors open completely, Wilder Ridge appears and lowers his cell phone from his ear. The vibration in my purse cuts off at the same exact time, and I melt knowing it was him calling me. His gray eyes sweep over the length of my body, looking for signs of distress before returning to my own like magnets.
I smile, hoping he understands that I’m okay.
He directs his attention to the gangsters over my shoulder.
“You’re early,” he says with a bite in his tone. His brows furrow, and the muscles in his jaw clench as he considers them. Wilder’s headful of brown hair is disheveled from running his fingers through it, and the tie around his neck is pulled loose. “Didn’t think to call first?”
“We were in the area,” Giovanni replies absentmindedly.
“Come on.” Wilder offers me his hand, guiding me out of the elevator.
Luca’s eyes follow how Wilder stands as a barrier between me and the men capable of killing without remorse. Wilder treats me with kindness that’s in direct contrast to the coldness he’s greeted the Coppolas with, and they’re curious to find out why. We’re being tested, watched for vulnerability, but Wilder doesn’t need warning. He takes note of Luca’s interest in me and any semblance of kindness disappears as he steps up to the killer like he’s nothing more than a nuisance.
“Do we have a problem?” Wilder asks, standing an inch taller than Luca Coppola.
“I don’t know.” A smile breaks across Luca’s face. “Do we?”
They’re two different types of dangerous.
Wilder is masculine, strong, and courageous, like pure testosterone runs through his veins.
Luca’s dangerous because he has blood on his hands and no conscience.
“Gentlemen.” Lydia pushes through the glass doors etched with Ridge & Sons and joins us in front of the elevators. Her sudden presence commands attention from everyone except Wilder, who’s unmoved by her charisma. “We weren’t expecting you for a few more hours.”
Talent, Wilder’s younger and seemingly more put-together brother, walks at her side with natural-born swagger. His hair is gelled and brushed without a single strand out of place, and his tie is right where it should be at the base of his neck. Mimicking Giovanni’s stance, Talent tucks his hands into his pockets as he approaches the scene.
“Since when do you come through the front door, Gio?” he asks. His tone is accusing and tolerating all at once.
“I wanted to experience Ridge & Sons as the people do. No one saw us,” Gio responds.
Pressing his lips together, Talent nods and says, “That’s good to hear, but not the point.”
The arrival of Lydia and Talent levels the playing field, but while meetings in the middle of the night with the local mafioso is commonplace for Lydia, Talent, and Wilder, this is a first for me. My understanding is there’s a long history between the Coppolas and the Ridges, but I don’t see how they can stand face-to-face with wickedness and not come apart.
“Should we take this into your office, or do you want to have this discussion in the hallway?” Giovanni pats Talent on the back like they’re old buddies, and then it dawns on me.
They are.
Lydia holds the door open, addressing the Coppolas with disinterest, Talent with sincerity, and Wilder with exasperation. Her expression softens as I follow Wilder through to the waiting room, but Lydia stops me short from passing the reception desk with the rest.
“Did they touch you?” Her eyes roam over me like Wilder’s did five minutes ago.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, but what are they doing here?”
She leans against the reception desk as if her legs can’t hold her up any longer and drops her head forward. Lydia’s long hair acts as a curtain between us, and she exhales a heavy breath. Experiencing this rare moment of weakness with her is uncomfortable and heartwarming, and I’m nearly brought to tears when her eyes meet mine and show nothing but concern.
