Lust for Danger: A Mafia Romance -- Book One: The Family [Erotic Mafia Romance Book] (2 page)

“Jesus, Jess,” he began plaintively, as if it weren’t his fault this was happening. He’d always been so quick to play that card, even for the smallest misunderstanding – even when she wasn’t blaming him for anything. She’d never understood why he got so defensive, so quickly, over nothing. But now she knew.

It was because he felt he had something to hide.

“God damn it, Tyler, just say it,” she hissed, her anger sneaking through in her words despite her best efforts to stay composed.

“Things just… happened,” he offered lamely, a poor replacement for the confession she was seeking. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head bitterly, the first hint of hot tears wetting the corners of her eyes. She fought them back before speaking.

“Things
happened
,” she repeated flatly. She couldn’t believe him. “That’s all you can say about it?”

Again he jumped on the defensive. “I was drunk, Jess,” he said, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And I’m asking you now for your forgiveness.”

“Of course you didn’t
mean
for it,” she spat. “It’s never your fault, is it, Tyler? It’s not your fault I go away for one night and you end up in bed with some Eurotrash whore.”

The couple at the table next to them looked over for a split-second, but quickly turned back to their conversation – dismissing them, Jessica was sure, as just another couple of tourists having a spat while on holiday. It seemed to be an everyday occurrence in Rome; she didn’t know what it was, but something about traveling together provided the ultimate test of compatibility in a relationship. She and Tyler had been in Rome for just over a week now, and she’d seen more bickering couples than she could count.

She wondered how many breakups this café had witnessed. How many guilty partners had sat at this exact table and confessed their infidelity, with the marble columns of the Palazzo looking over them?

How many cheating bastards had broken their lover’s heart?

But Jessica wasn’t the type to start crying into her espresso over something like this. She knew what she was worth, and if Tyler was too immature or just too plain stupid to see that, then she knew she was better off without him. She’d tried to make it work after being cheated on once before, with an ex-boyfriend who was the first serious relationship she’d had out of college. Three months of bullshit later, she swore she’d never make that mistake again.

She looked up at Tyler, who was still sitting there with that goddamn puppy-dog look on his face like he was the victim. Somehow, that look of his gave her all the strength she needed.

“Tyler,” she said, “we’re finished.”

“Jess—” he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“We’re finished,” she repeated. “It’s like I told you when we first met: I can’t be with a man I don’t trust. I know you feel bad about cheating, but it doesn’t change what happened. I can’t stay with you, Tyler. I’m sorry.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, both of them with a firestorm of emotion written on their faces. Finally, he nodded. Jessica wasn’t sure if he saw something in her face that told him she wasn’t going to change her mind about this, or if he decided it was easier just to cut his losses than to beg for forgiveness.

In any case, he didn’t argue any further. After all, there was nothing more to say.

“I’m sorry, too, Jess,” he said finally, standing up from the table. He moved his hand towards her shoulder, but he stopped himself before touching her as if thinking better of it. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, and his gaze flashed out across the town for an instant.

“I’ll go to the hotel and get my stuff,” he said, exhaling as he spoke. “I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”

She nodded. “Goodbye, Tyler.”

And with that, he was gone; he turned and left so fast that she almost wondered if he was relieved to get out of there. She shook her head slowly, letting her eyes drift in the same direction he’d looked: out over the busy cafés and the bustling street, with the sun just beginning to lower in the distance over what was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.

It was only then that she allowed a tear to fall. It was just one tear, falling gently to the table before it soaked up silently into her napkin and vanished.

Eight months of romance, gone in a heartbeat…

…What was she going to do now?

Chapter Two

“May I join you?” came the question, startling her out of her languorous daydream.

Jessica didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, but the sun had lowered considerably in the sky, and the light had turned a dark pink-orange that reflected brilliantly off the glass of the gaslights lining the streets.

She turned to face the speaker, blinking for a moment as her eyes adjusted.

“I’m sorry?” she managed, flustered by the suddenness of the question. In her ruffled state, she had the brief, surreal impression that she knew that voice from somewhere. But she could see the man standing before her clearly now, and she saw that she didn’t recognize him.

“May I join you?” he asked again, smiling broadly and gesturing to the empty chair in front of her. “Espresso is nicer when you have company.”

“Oh! …Um, sure,” she faltered. “I don’t mind.”

As he settled into the chair opposite her own, she shot a quick look around her; the terrace was deserted, but inside the café she could see a few workers milling around. This man didn’t seem dangerous, but she still knew enough to be slightly suspicious of anyone striking up a conversation with a female traveller on her own. 

A chill had begun to settle in on the terrace, as the sun’s rays had weakened. She pulled her cardigan from the chair behind her and draped it around her shoulders.

“I’m Carlo,” he said, stretching a hand across the table with a broad, easy grin.

“Jessica,” she said, as they exchanged a firm handshake. She’d half-expected him to bend down and kiss her hand; all the Italian men she’d met so far had taken every opportunity to do something flirtatious. She’d already heard more marriage proposals than she could count – and that had been with Tyler at her side, no less.

She grimaced inwardly at the intrusive thought of Tyler and pushed it away immediately, trying to focus her attention on Carlo. To her embarrassment, she realized he’d just finished saying something.

“…I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” she asked him.

He laughed. “No, no, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who took you out of your… what’s the word? Daydream. I think maybe you are still asleep.”

He pronounced every syllable with careful enunciation, as if he were trying to remember the English words he’d learned in a schoolbook a long time ago. She couldn’t help but smile at the way he formed the words so precisely.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I was just… thinking about something. But I’m awake from the daydream now.”

He smiled and took a sip of his espresso. “I was asking, are you new to Roma?”

It was a simple question, but it caught her off-guard for some reason.

“…I guess you could say that,” she said after a pause. “I mean, I’ve been here a few days now – and I was in Venice before that. But it feels like I’ve hardly scratched the surface.”

She declined to mention that she’d been there with her boyfriend – well, her
ex-
boyfriend, to be precise. There was no sense in airing her dirty laundry unnecessarily.

Carlo nodded. “One week… It is a good start. This is a very old city; you cannot see everything so quickly. But still, many tourists come here for only two days, and when they leave they think they know Roma.”

He took another sip of his coffee, gesturing with the cup to punctuate his words. “Me, I have lived in Roma all my life, and still I don’t believe I know all of her secrets.”

As he spoke, she got a better look at his face. He had your typical Italian features: big brown eyes, almost amber in the light of the setting sun, with a serious expression in them that belied his warm, genuine smile. He had coal-black hair, with a neatly trimmed goatee framing his jawline, and wore a simple faded leather jacket over a plain white V-neck t-shirt.

He was undeniably handsome, but he didn’t carry himself with the cockiness or the swagger she might have expected. He just seemed like a guy who was genuinely interested in a conversation – and something in his demeanor put her at ease instantly.

She thought it was his chivalrousness: it didn’t seem forced, or false in any way, but rather it was a genuine quality that was as integral a part of him as the color of his eyes. Jessica somehow knew she could trust this man, instinctively.

And yet there seemed to be a sadness to him, too; some deep-seated melancholy that his best efforts failed to mask.

He’s been hurt before,
she realized with a start, and she felt it so intuitively that she knew it to be true. 

He’s been hurt before… Just like me.

“You are here on a holiday?” he asked, again interrupting her thoughts.

“Well, no,” she replied hastily. “Not exactly. I’m a painter… I’m here for two months, to study the old Renaissance masters.”

Carlo’s face lit up. “Che bella!” he cried. “A painter! You must allow me to show you my father’s museum.”

Jessica’s ears perked up. “Museum?”

“Si, si!” he exclaimed. “It is beautiful… you will love it! I will be honored if you will allow me to accompany you.”

She had to laugh at how excited he was, not to mention his courtly etiquette. “Well, okay, sure!” she said. “But which museum is it?”

“It is small,” he said, “but beautiful. It is the Museo dei Sconosciuti Pittori Italiani.”

She blinked twice. “Umm… translation, please?”

He touched his fingers to his brow. “Ah, of course,” he laughed. “Excuse me. I am becoming too excited. In English, you would say it is the Museum of Unknown Italian Painters.”

As soon as he said the name in English, she had a flash of recognition. “You’re kidding!” she gasped. “Of course I’ve heard of it.”

The Unknown Painters’ Museum was one that she’d been dying to visit; it housed a small but well-regarded collection of paintings by anonymous Italian artists, mostly from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It was supposed to be one of those off-the-beaten-path destinations that was as rewarding as it was beautiful.

And all the guidebooks praised the delicate eye and aesthetic sensibilities of the curator, who’d managed to assemble a truly one-of-a-kind collection.

“Carlo,” she said, “I would be delighted to visit the museum with you. And I’d love to meet your father.”

But as soon as she said the words, his face clouded over with a look that she knew could only mean one thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “Has your father… passed away?”

He nodded softly. “Six months ago,” he said. “It was… not expected.”

She put a hand on his wrist. “I’m so sorry, Carlo,” she said.

He seemed surprised at her touch, but looked up at her with gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank you, Jessica,” he said finally. “It is nice of you to say. You have a… how do you say it? A gentle heart.”

She was touched. A big smile lit up her face in spite of herself; there was something so sincere about the way he’d said it. After all the dishonesty and deception she’d had to deal with from Tyler, talking to Carlo was like a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you, Carlo,” she said seriously. “That means a lot.”

“I will be honored to show you my father’s museum,” he repeated. “And when you see the paintings, perhaps you will feel something of his spirit.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I will.”

The light had faded to dusk now, and the streetlights were flickering on like two columns of fireflies. The two of them lingered a few minutes longer at the café, but both of them sensed that it was best to let the conversation end for now.

They exchanged phone numbers, and made plans to meet at the museum the next day; and as they said their goodbyes, that kiss on her hand finally came.

“Take care, Jessica,” Carlo said, as his lips pressed against her skin. “It is a beautiful evening.”

And, as she looked back at him with a blush that she hoped wasn’t too obvious, she had to agree.

It
had
been a beautiful evening. The breakup this afternoon seemed a million miles away, small and insignificant.

And as she walked home down those cobblestone streets, it wasn’t Tyler she was thinking of, but of Carlo: the warmth of his smile, the sound of his laughter, and the melancholy that had crept suddenly into his eyes at the mention of his father.
He’d described Rome as a mystery, and it was true – there were layers to this city, layers of history and humanity, love and despair. But Carlo, she saw, had some mystery of his own. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on; she wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow she couldn’t wait to get to know him further.

Maybe this city had some romance left in it after all…