Chapter 122

Mia

"Remember last year?" Sofia says, dipping a finger into the chocolate sauce on her plate. "We tried to act like we knew what truffle tasted like."

"We had no idea," I laugh, licking the cream from my cannolo. "We just wanted to order the most expensive thing on the menu because we were feeling rebellious."

"We still are," Bridget says, raising her glass. "To rebellion. And to Mia, for surviving the mob."

"To Mia," they chorus.

We clink glasses, the crystal ringing out sharply. The wine goes to my head, making everything feel soft and slightly spun. We pay the bill, leaving a generous tip, and move to the small dance floor near the bar. A slow, jazzy number is playing, but the DJ transitions into something with a heavier bass, something that vibrates in the floorboards.

We dance. We move in a tight knot, laughing and singing off-key. Hands touch hips, hair flips out, and for a while, I’m not Mia Vercelli, the mafia wife. I’m just twenty-two, in a beautiful country with my best friends, drunk on champagne, wine and life.

The bass thumps in my chest, a rhythmic reminder of my own heartbeat. I spin around, closing my eyes, letting the music wash over me. I feel free. Unburdened.

Eventually, the pressure in my bladder becomes impossible to ignore. I lean over to Aria, shouting over the music. "Bathroom! I'll be right back."

She nods, waving me off. I weave through the crowd, the cool air of the hallway hitting my flushed skin as I push open the heavy wooden door to the restroom. It’s empty, quiet compared to the thumping bass outside. I use the stall, wash my hands, and check my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are pink, my eyes bright. I look happy.

I fix my lip gloss and head back out into the hallway. But when I turn the corner toward the restaurant entrance, the hallway is empty. The music is a dull throb now, muffled by the distance.

I frown, checking my phone. No messages. Maybe they went to the bar? I walk toward the archway leading back to the main dining room, my heels clicking on the stone floor.

Before I can step into the light, a shadow detaches itself from the alcove near the entrance. A hand shoots out, gripping my upper arm with a force that makes me gasp. It’s not violent, but it’s unyielding. Immutable.

I’m yanked backward, into the shadows, my back colliding with a hard, broad chest. The scent hits me instantly Dior sauvage, bergamot, cigar smoke and that distinct, expensive cologne that belongs to only one man in the world.

I don’t even have time to scream before his other hand is in my hair, tilting my head back, forcing me to look up. Grey eyes bore down into mine, dark and stormy, filled with a hunger that makes my knees weak.

"Alessandro," I breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He doesn’t speak. He just leans down and captures my mouth. It’s not a greeting kiss; it’s a claiming. His lips are demanding, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, tasting the wine and the truffle and me. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s been thinking about this all day, his teeth grazing my bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp.

My hands flutter uselessly at his sides before gripping the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. I melt into him, the earlier fear transmuting instantly into liquid heat. This is the addiction. The danger. The way he can turn my world upside down with a single touch.

He pulls back, his chest heaving slightly. His eyes roam over my face, taking in the flushed skin, the swollen lips.

"You're going with me tonight, wifey," he growls, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than I hear.

Before I can respond, he reaches into his jacket pocket. A flash of black silk catches the dim light. He grabs my wrists, pulling them behind my back. The cool silk wraps around them, tight and unyielding. He knots it with practiced ease—a simple, effective restraint that binds my hands together behind my spine.

"Alessandro..." I giggle, the sound breathless and shaky. The alcohol in my system mixes with the adrenaline, making me dizzy. "What are you doing? The girls are waiting."

He ignores my question, his hand moving to the small of my back, steering me toward a side exit I hadn't noticed. The heavy wooden door opens into the cool night air of the alleyway. A black car is idling there, the engine purring softly, the windows tinted as dark as midnight.

"They can wait," he says, his voice hard. "I am kidnapping you again."

He opens the rear door and practically lifts me inside, following me in and slamming the door shut. The partition between us and the driver is already up. The small space is suddenly suffocatingly intimate.

He’s on me instantly, pushing me back against the leather seat. With my hands bound behind my back, my balance is gone, and I fall back, my chest heaving. He looms over me, a predator in a three-piece suit, his eyes raking over my body like he’s deciding where to start.

"You think you can parade around in that dress?" he mutters, his fingers tracing the neckline of my pink top. "Drinking wine. Laughing. Letting every man in that restaurant look at what’s mine."

"I wasn't—" I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp nip to my earlobe.

"You were," he corrects me, his hand sliding down to grip my thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit in that corner and watch you? To watch you dance without me?"

"You were there?" I gasp, my eyes widening. "I didn't see you."

"You weren't supposed to," he says darkly. "I was watching you. Making sure no one touched you. But watching isn't enough anymore."