As much as Roman intimidates me, I’m still drawn to him. His masculinity appeals to something infinitely female in me. My senses go haywire whenever he’s in the vicinity. I don’t understand my visceral reaction to him since he’s the opposite type of guy I usually find attractive.
“I don’t know,” Frankie speculates, snapping me out of my musings. “I get the feeling there’s more to it.”
“You’re crazy. I know when someone doesn’t like me.” My heart clenches as I add, “And for some reason, I rub this guy the wrong way.”
Chapter Two
Sofia
Two years ago
A hand settles on my shoulder. Startled, I spin around. As my gaze collides with Franco’s, a big smile spreads across my face. A matching grin lights up his.
“Franco!”
“Long time, no see, Valentini!”
Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around his thin, wiry body and squeeze tight. He does the same. It’s been at least a year since we’ve seen each other. Franco and I grew up together, and we’ve been close friends ever since. He moved to New York after college. We rarely get the chance to spend time together due to our busy schedules. Finding him here is a wonderful surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was heading back from California when Pops asked me to stop home.” He jerks his head toward the wing of the house where my father’s office is located, his jovial expression sobering. “He’s meeting with Enzo.”
“And he brought you along for the ride, huh?” Trying to lighten the heaviness permeating the air, I joke, “Moving up in the world, I see.”
He rolls his mocha-colored eyes and snickers. “Sure, I’ll be running the show in two years, max.”
I smirk as pleasure floods through me again at his unexpected presence. Regardless of the reason, I’m happy to see him. “I don’t doubt it.”
Like me, Franco has no interest in joining the family business. We’ve always had that in common. It’s what bonded us together in the beginning. We’re just two misfits who want to blaze our own trail in the world by choosing different paths for ourselves. Franco graduated with a degree in accounting. He’s a whiz with finances. Unfortunately, his chosen area of study is a useful skill set to his father.
Mine, not so much. Which is fine with me.
“I was hoping we could get together while I’m in town. Are you free?” he asks.
“How about tonight?” I suggest, wanting to nail something down before we say goodbye.
“It’ll have to be after eight; there are family obligations I have to take care of first. Maybe we can grab dinner and drinks and make a night of it?”
I pull Franco into my arms again. I’ve missed his friendship this past year. It’s not the same with him gone. There aren’t many people I can be honest with. Franco is one of the few. Even though I’m surrounded by family, friends, and my father’s men, life at the compound is lonely.
You’re never sure who can be trusted and who can be bought with enough money thrown in their direction. I’ve had supposed friends sell stories to the tabloids regarding my family. Once that happens, you grow cautious as to who you allow into your inner circle. When you do happen to find someone who proves themselves to be trustworthy, you hold on to them tightly with both hands because you understand just how precious a commodity it is.
I grin. “It’ll be just like old times.”
Still wrapped in Franco’s arms, I feel his presence seconds before he clears his throat. There’s no rational explanation for why my body is so finely attuned to his, but it is.
“Your father is wondering where you’ve disappeared to,” Roman says to Franco in a clipped tone.
Franco tenses and turns to face him. When I try to step out of Franco’s embrace, he stakes his claim by tightening his hold. The two men silently glare at each other as the atmosphere in the kitchen becomes oppressive.
Not once does Roman glance my way.
He never does.
To him, I am invisible.
It’s been a year since Roman began working for my father and his dislike for me hasn’t diminished. It’s as if he made a snap decision and has never bothered to revise it.
Franco looks down at me with questioning eyes and tightens his hold. He must feel the tension permeating the air, too.
A muscle ticks in Roman’s jaw, but his mask of indifference doesn’t falter. He reminds me of a predator right before it strikes at prey. I can’t imagine why he would lash out at Franco. They’re not even acquainted with one another. Enzo and Franco’s father formed an alliance decades ago. It would be foolish to create problems where none exist.
“I stopped to say hello to Sofia,” Franco replies. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Roman’s scowl deepens as he folds his arms across his wide chest. My eyes note the way his T-shirt stretches over every contour. His biceps bulge, muscles flexing with each movement. “Your father has grown impatient with your absence. Questions have surfaced that require your particular area of expertise.”
Franco stiffens. He isn’t happy about using his education in this manner, but he has a difficult time denying his father. His decision to distance himself from the family business has caused strife between them. I’m lucky in that regard. I have three older brothers and a handful of cousins to pick up that mantle.
Not so for Franco. He feels trapped in a lifestyle he neither asked for nor wanted.
“Fine.” Looking irritated, Franco shoots me a glance. “I’ll call you later, and we’ll figure out a time and place. Sound good?”
I nod in acknowledgment. The warm comfort of Franco’s arms vanishes from around me. Franco’s eyes shift from Roman to me as if he’s trying to figure out what’s going on between us. He squeezes my fingers and strides through the arched doorway to head down the hall to my father’s office.
My throat goes bone dry, and air leaks from my lungs as Roman frowns at me. I can tell the interaction we’re about to have won’t be pleasant. It’s the why of the matter that eludes me. A surge of awareness zips through my body. My muscles tighten and lock up, rooting me in place.
I’m powerless to flee.
Powerless to do anything other than stare back at him.
How is he able to do this?
How does he tie my insides up in little knots with one hard-edged glare aimed in my direction?
I’ve never experienced this kind of intensity before. What a huge cosmic joke that the man who makes me feel this way wants nothing to do with me.
“You need to stop being such a distraction,” Roman snaps.
The blood drains from my face. Confused by his reaction, I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“He’s here for a reason, and you’re getting in the way of it.”
“Franco and I are friends. We were just saying hello.”
“You’re a distraction,” he growls. “I don’t think you know how to be anything other than that.”
Before I can protest, he stalks out of the kitchen, leaving me to pull myself together after another disastrous conversation. But I can’t. No matter how much I rack my brain, I’ll never understand why Roman hates me.
Chapter Three
Sofia
One year ago
I hiccup and clap a hand over my mouth.
I rarely drink, but the champagne went down far too easily tonight. I need to lie down upstairs until my head clears. My parents are entertaining guests from out of town, so sneaking away shouldn’t be a problem with about fifty people in the house.
I grasp the railing to steady myself and climb the darkened staircase at the back of the house. During the early nineteen-hundreds, a large household staff employed by the Valentini family used this set of steps to move unobtrusively throughout the mansion. A shadow looms over me when I reach the second floor. Even though I can’t make out his features, my body instinctively senses his presence.
Regardless of my feelings for Roman Santori, I’m fully a
ware of him on a physical level. It’s always been this way and nothing—not his contempt, chilled demeanor, or indifference—has changed it.
My attraction to him feels pathological at times.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out and rationalize my strange obsession with him. Ironically, I’m in the last year of my graduate counseling program, and I’m unable to come to any rational conclusion as to why I can’t move past my attraction for this man.
There’s no logical explanation for it, which only makes my situation more unnerving.
I hastily step back, forgetting that I’m standing at the edge of the landing. Roman’s hands wrap around my forearms and yank me forward until I crash into his body with my palms splayed across his solid chest. My hazy brain registers that his pecs are just as sculpted and chiseled as they appeared to be all the times I sneaked peeks at him during workouts. Before I can catch my breath, he spins us around so that I’m no longer in danger of tumbling down the stairs and shoves me away.
“Are you drunk?” he snarls, accusation and something I can’t identify tinging his voice.
His misplaced anger scrapes at something inside me—the irrational part I keep buried deep down that has been foolishly begging for his attention.
Needing distance, I unsteadily step away from him. I came upstairs hoping to clear my head, and now it feels more muddled than ever. This is the effect Roman has on me. Every damn time. And I’m tired of it. Tired of wishing for something he’s unwilling or incapable of giving me.
“Hardly,” I mutter.
Even in the darkness, his contemptuous glare singes my flesh. “I think you are,” he counters.
“Well, it really doesn’t matter what you think, now does it?” I retort, enjoying my newfound bravado. I’m done with Roman’s tight-fisted hold on me. I want to break free of it for once and for all.
He sucks in a sharp breath and releases it. “You’re right, princess. What you do is of no consequence to me.” Coldness fills his voice. His scorn could shatter me into a million jagged pieces.
I grind my teeth in aggravation.
I haven’t been in his company for more than two minutes, and already my buzz has disappeared. I have no idea why he calls me “princess.” I may be Enzo Valentini’s youngest daughter, but I’m no pampered mafia princess by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t live at the compound. I hold a job. And I don’t take money from my parents. I suspect that he does it to piss me off, which makes no sense.
But, then again, nothing this man does makes the least bit of sense.
I whirl away without another word. All I want is to find my room and lay down for a bit. Roman isn’t my father. Or my brother. Or my boyfriend.
His disapproval means nothing to me.
Well, it should mean nothing to me.
His hand shoots out and snakes around my wrist. I gasp as my back flattens against the wall and Roman’s hard body presses against mine, trapping me in place.
“Do you understand that it’s dangerous for a young woman to lower her guard by getting drunk?”
Of course, I understand that. I’m not an idiot.
If I were on a college campus or at rowdy downtown bar, I’d agree with him. A situation like that has the potential to end badly. I’m one of Enzo Valentini’s daughters, which makes me a walking target for anyone with an axe to grind. It’s one of the reasons I don’t venture out much. Or drink.
“I’m in my own home,” I quietly remind him. “I’m perfectly safe.”
Fury flashes in his dark eyes. “Are you?” He snarls, the guttural sound setting off warning bells in my head. “There are men milling around, people who have been invited here tonight who you don’t know. Any one of them could take advantage of the situation you now find yourself in.”
My throat constricts as his words somersault through my head. I lift my chin. “None of them would dare to touch me.” I can’t imagine any of my father’s men or friends laying a finger on me. Not if they want to keep theirs intact. Most just acknowledge my presence and carry on with their work.
His fingers manacle my wrists, yanking them above my head and shackling them to the wall.
My breath stutters as my eyes widen in shock. “Roman, what are you doing?”
I never say his name out loud.
I try not to even think it in my head.
The carefully controlled persona he normally exudes falls away.
“Teaching you a much-needed lesson, princess.”
Before I can rein it in, a whimper escapes my lips. I don’t know if it’s because I want him to relinquish the punishing hold he has on me or if I want to push the boundaries to see what will happen next. It’s no secret that I want Roman. I’ve dreamed about what his hands would feel like coasting over my body. I’ve longed for his lips to possess mine. I crave him on a physical level, no matter how menacing his behavior toward me is.
It’s maddening.
Roman emits an animalistic growl and slams his mouth onto mine. His kiss is hard and rough like a violent storm devastating a rocky shoreline. Battering the landscape. Leaving havoc in its place. This is anger and frustration fused together in its most elemental and explosive form.
I realize that I’m consenting to forced submission by allowing him to exert his will on me. I should fight tooth and nail, rebelling against the firm grip he has on me.
But I don’t.
How can I bring myself to push Roman away when I’ve craved this, craved him, for so long?
Those thoughts are so disturbing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Growing up, my parents were loving and affectionate. There is no circle of abuse or violence that needs to be broken. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know I shouldn’t enjoy this rough treatment.
But I am. There’s no denying the adrenaline-infused desire pumping wildly through my veins.
At twenty-six, I’m no virgin. I’ve had my fair share of boyfriends over the past seven years, but no one has ever manhandled me. No one has ever trapped me against a wall and held me captive while taking what he wanted.
Roman’s mouth is harsh and demanding. I’d normally find this frightening, but I willingly open for him. His tongue invades my mouth, plundering the inside. It lashes and tangles with mine until everything in me clamors with frenzied need.
When I try to break free from the ironclad grip imprisoning my hands, he tightens his hold. His mouth leaves mine, blazing a hot trail across my chin and down my neck.
“I want to touch you,” I murmur, baring my throat.
“No,” he mutters, licking and sucking at my flesh. “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, do you?”
I’m not sure what the question means. Does he find me inexperienced or lacking sexually?
With a snarl, he releases me and moves away. I’m more dazed now than I was earlier from the alcohol. My mouth feels bruised and tender. Without thinking, I take a step toward him. I want the warmth of his hard body pinning mine against the wall again as his thick erection presses into my belly.
Knowing he wants me in that manner is a revelation.
“No!” he snaps, the harshness in his tone slicing through the mental fog clouding my better judgment.
His fingers wrap around my upper arm. He drags me down the dark hallway.
I stumble while trying to keep up with him as my heart thuds against my ribcage.
Before I can gather my scattered wits, we’re standing at the threshold of my childhood bedroom. Holding me firmly in his viselike grip, he reaches out with his other hand and grabs the handle. He throws open the door and shoves me inside.
I stagger, catching myself before I fall. My head still spins from the alcohol and his drugging kisses. My eyes dart to the door in shock as he slams it shut, leaving me inside.
Alone.
I don’t move a muscle as the last five minutes play out in my head. Did that really happen?
My fingers fly to my lips for confirmation. They’r
e sore and swollen, which proves I didn’t imagine anything.
If I’m smart, I’ll avoid Roman like the plague.
But I’m not smart. I’ve already proven that time and time again.
Chapter Four
Sofia
Present
“Congratulations!” I pull Grace, my brother’s fiancée, in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you two!”
My older brother, Matteo, has been popular with the opposite sex since he turned fifteen. An endless string of socialites and models have clung to his arm over the years. I don’t remember seeing him with the same woman more than twice. I think my mother gave up on him ever falling in love. It didn’t seem to be in his DNA.
But Grace changed that. I’ve never seen my brother so besotted. And it’s easy to understand why. His new fiancée is kind and sweet. Her easy nature draws people in. I already love her like a sister.
Grace’s smile widens. “Thank you!” She glances around the tent, which is filled with a hundred and fifty close friends and family. “It was so thoughtful of your parents to throw this party for us.”
I pat her on the shoulder. “It’s adorable the way you think you had a choice in the matter.” Snorting, I shake my head. “My mother has so much more in the works for you. This little shindig is just the beginning of the circus that will roll into town. You need to either jump on the bandwagon or get run over by it.”
That statement would scare most women. Or at least make them rethink their decision. But not Grace. She’s embraced our family as if we were her own and seems to enjoy how overly involved we can be at times.
If anyone deserves a storybook happy ending, it’s this woman. Two and a half years ago, Grace lost both of her parents in a car accident. They’d been traveling in bad weather when they lost control of their vehicle. She doesn’t have any siblings, aunts, uncles, or grandparents. It was always just the three of them. I’ve tried imagining what that would feel like—to be completely alone in the world—but can’t fathom it. I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by family.
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