Page 61 of Masked Don

Instead, my knees have stopped working, and there’s a hot, shameful pulse low in my belly that has nothing to do with the champagne.

“That,” I say, “was a lot.”

“That was a normal Friday.” But Enzo’s watching the door Luca left through, a new tightness in him. “Manfredi’s right. My father not showing his face is becoming a problem. Luca’s going to use it. The elders are going to use it.” He shakes his head, then sets it aside and turns back to me. “You all right?”

“I let you fight that one for me.” I’m a little embarrassed by it. “I don’t usually.”

“You didn’t let me fight it. You let me stand next to you while you decided not to bother.” He almost smiles. “There’s a difference. I just said it out loud.”

And God help me, I feel the last of my careful resistance to this man go quietly, completely, down the drain.

“Take me home, Enzo,” I say.

Desire flares in his eyes. “Home,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word, like he likes the shape of it in his mouth. He smirks. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

CHAPTER 21

STEVIE

Luca’s presence lingers in the air, but the room settles back into its rhythm. The crowd breathes again, and music threads through the low murmur of conversation.

“Come.”

Enzo takes my hand and guides me to the middle of the dance floor. Everyone around us is doing their best not to watch, but I can feel the heat of dozens of pairs of eyes on me. His hand finds the small of my back just where it was before, his touch as warm and steady as always. I close my eyes and remember that night years ago, when he touched me in the same way, guiding me up to the secret room.

“A dance?” I ask as he pulls me close to him.

“A dance. A dance with tesoro mio.”

“Tesoro?” I ask. “That’s a word I’m not familiar with.”

“Treasure,” he says. “I think it’s fitting.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “I love it.”

The dance is slow, and he holds me close. His palm spreads wide against the green silk, like he’s claiming the fabric and the skin beneath it at the same time. We move in the small space he makes for us, and the rest of the room fades to a soft blur of light and distant laughter.

“You didn’t run,” he says, low against my temple. His breath stirs the fine hairs at my hairline. “Many women wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a man like him after what he did to you.”

I keep my eyes on the line of his jaw, on the faint shadow of stubble I already know the feel of. “I’ve already run from him once. I’m not going to do it again. From here on out, he’s the one running from me.”

Something in my chest pulls, and I feel a tightening, a warmth between my thighs. Without thinking, I dig my fingers into his shoulder and bite my lower lip.

The song ends. He doesn’t let go. Neither do I.

“Do you remember that night?” he asks. “When I took you to the private room at the club?”

I let out a surprised snort. “Are you kidding? I’ve never forgotten it.”

Enzo glances over his shoulder toward a nondescript door with a single guard posted next to it. “This venue has similar features.”

His eyes hold mine, dark and steady, and he asks without asking. I nod once. He takes my hand and leads me off the floor, through the door, nodding at the guard. The door opens to reveal a private staircase that feels like muscle memory and something brand new at the same time as we travel up.

The room at the top is smaller than the one from that night, but the bones are the same. Private. Hidden away from the party. Low lighting, a gorgeous couch. But no mask this time. No pretend claim in front of a crowd. No pretending we’re strangers who will never see each other again.

“Last time, I was gone by dawn. I heard who you were through a door, and I walked out and kept walking.”

Enzo closes the door behind us. “This time you won’t.”