Reign (The Syndicate_ Crime and Passion Book 2)(30)

“You can go now,” I said, my perception that Vincent had potential confirmed.

He frowned. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” I replied.

He nodded, looked almost disappointed, and then he stood but he didn’t immediately leave.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re really married to Daniela?”

I studied his expression, and for the first time it was inscrutable. I didn’t like it one bit.

“Why is that a concern of yours?” I asked.

“We used to know each other,” he said.

I stood then, projecting a calm I didn’t feel, and for the first time all day, Vincent looked slightly nervous.

He shook his head. “Not like that.”

“Good to know,” I said, relief loosening the tense anger that had tightened my chest.

Vincent didn’t linger this time and I was happy to finally be done.

But I wasn’t happy about my instinctual reaction to the mention of Daniela, how angry I’d been at the thought of Vincent having been her lover. He hadn’t said that, but his question, one that suggested a familiarity with Daniela that went beyond business was one I didn’t like one bit.

I didn’t begrudge her her past, but I didn’t want a reminder of it either.

Another sign of how she affected me, how much I cared, despite my desire to stay distant.

I left the bar and met back up with Adrian, who had been waiting.

“Anything of interest outside?” I asked.

“No,” he responded.

He paused, then turned, looked at me. “It’s a little disappointing,” he said.

“That Santo’s men seem to be so docile?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Yes,” I said, and then I got into the SUV and drove back to Santo’s house.

Most would be excited about living in a grand estate, view it as a symbol, but the only thing that moved me about that place was the fact I knew Daniela would be there waiting for me. My excitement at seeing her was something that I could barely contain.

Which was messed up.

This was business, and while I welcomed having a little pleasure mixed in, these feelings were more than that. That they rose to the level of feelings said it all. I didn’t have those, but instead of focusing on my work, far too often, my mind had strayed to her, the expression on her face when she’d told me to lose the tie, how her lips felt against mine, the way her breath warmed my ear as I drove into her.

A dangerous development, one made worse if I let myself admit I had started to care for her, a risk I wasn’t sure I was willing to take.

One that I might not have a choice in.





Thirteen





Sergei



When I got to Santo’s house, I found Daniela in the kitchen, and she was so breathtaking, so beautiful, that for a moment I wondered if I had conjured her from my imagination.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, Daniela,” I replied, managing to get the words out without giving away my reaction to her, which I had furiously tried to suppress.

She gestured toward the refrigerator. “I wanted something light today, so there’s salad for dinner.”

“Two home-cooked meals in a day? That might be a record for me,” I said, smiling.

She returned the expression. “Well, congratulations, I guess,” she said as she opened the refrigerator door and removed a large glass bowl covered with plastic wrap.

I watched as she filled two plates and headed toward me.

“Do you know Vincent?” I asked.

Her eyes flashed, but she covered quickly and placed one plate in front of me, the other in front of her place, and then she sat.

“Too well,” was her cryptic response.

“You know, that reminds me of what he said,” I said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice. “You should be more specific.”

She frowned again and put down her fork, looked at me through lowered lashes.

“Whatever you think, it’s not that,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what happened. What was that?”

“Nothing happened. And you’ll be happy to know that Vincent and I have hated each other forever,” she said.

I stared at her, considering. “That was not the impression I got,” I finally said.

She chuckled. “That makes you a first then. I was seven or eight when I met Vincent, and we’d only been with the Carmellis for maybe a year. He was three or four. He walked right up to me and kicked me in the shin. It went downhill from there,” she said.

“Sounds like Vincent,” I said, thinking that he’d probably wanted to do the same, or worse, to me. At least the years had taught him some self-control.

“Yes, so, we never hit it off. My sister, though. Different story,” she said.