CHAPTER ONE

"Why do you have to leave us?" Aleysha asked with just a hint of a whine to her voice. Her smile was that of a tipsy woman who had enjoyed perhaps one too many white wines in the hot summer sun. "We're a fun group. See?"

Vica smiled at her coworker, the only other female engineer in her department at Croft Engineering Ltd. "I know. I wish I was staying too. But this was just a one-year term, and the firm in New York is sponsoring my new visa. I need to go where the sponsorship is if I want to stay in the country."

Aleysha pouted and sipped more wine, leaving a faint, dark-red lip print on the rim of the glass. She turned to Track, their boss and the son of the firm's owner. "You're the baby boss man. Why can't you offer Vica another year? Sponsor her visa for a second term? She's the best engineer this firm has ever seen. You're idiots for letting her go."

Brows around their tall table at the Westhaven Winery tasting room shot up to hairlines. Nobody spoke to Track Croft that way. Not even when drunk.

But Track brushed it off with a lighthearted laugh even though Vica could see the way the lines around his eyes remained tight like he was forcing himself to take Aleysha's drunk tirade in stride, but really, he wanted to fire her ass for such insubordination. "You know I'm not the real decision maker," he said, deflecting the blame to his father like he always did. "I might run our division, but Dad runs the show." He turned to Vica, genuine remorse now coloring his dark-gray eyes. "I tried, Vica. I did. I wanted to keep you."

The way he said "keep you" made something icy drip down Vica's back. And given the heat of the August day, that was saying something.

Carefully, to not piss off her boss, Vica took a half-step to the side to put just a bit of distance between her and Track.

For the last year, he'd quietly pursued her while also flaunting his nightly, and weekendly, bedroom conquests in her face. He wasn't a closet playboy with a "good guy" veneer. He was a rake and almost seemed proud of it. And yet, he still thought he deserved a shot with her.

She was grateful that he was her boss though, because it made for a very easy excuse to turn him down every time he suggested they go out for dinner or grab a drink after work. She simply said that she didn't think it was smart to date her boss, and that she needed to focus on work and maintaining the respect of her coworkers. He never pushed, but he would wait a few weeks and then try again. It was exhausting deflecting his advances, but now that her job term was up and she was leaving Seattle for New York in two weeks, she figured a group outing was safe.

Track was kind enough to organize this goodbye party for her and their division. He paid for their ferry rides over to San Camanez Island, an island located just outside of Seattle, and he'd been covering the costs of all their excursions.

So far, they'd all been to the Twisted Sisters Cidery where they sampled flights of cider; then the Hardwood Distillery where they sampled various gins, vodkas, and whiskeys; and now they were at Westhaven Winery. Last on the docket was Sound Bites Pub, which was where the San Camanez Brewery was located.

Vica was not a big drinker—well, besides good Italian wine, because she was Italian and not liking wine was like not liking pasta—but an entire day filled with nothing but alcohol was not exactly her idea of fun.

Her coworkers, however, were a fun crowd, and she would be sad to leave them. So she was grateful for this goodbye party, even if it was being thrown by her boss.

"New York is so smelly," Hugh said, taking a sip of the Sauvignon Blanc from his tasting board. "I had to go once for a school field trip back in high school and all I remember was rats, garbage, skyscrapers, and way too many people. We went in the summer too, and the smell of hot garbage overflowing from a trash can is something that will be forever burned in my brain." He made a face before reaching for an olive from the charcuterie tray.

Vica shrugged. "Well, I'm excited to smell it myself."

Her other eight coworkers chuckled.

Aleysha wrapped her arm around Vica, pulling her into a side hug embrace, and a bit further away from Track. "Well, we're going to miss you. It's such a sausage fest in our division. It's been nice to have another—"

"Taco in the mix," Rhys said with a chortle.

Both Vica and Aleysha glared at the super socially awkward genius with an IQ of 170. Just because he was brilliant didn't mean he was smart .

"I was going to say, it's been nice to have another woman on our floor," Aleysha said, boring holes into Rhys's forehead with her pretend laser vision of destruction.

Rhys, at least, had the decency to go a little pink in the cheeks and avert his gaze. He muttered a half-hearted apology, but anybody in a ten-foot radius knew he didn't mean it.

Vica checked her smart watch. It was nearly six o'clock. She wasn't sure what time they planned to head back to the ferry, but if she had it her way, she'd already be home, on her couch with her feet up and a good book in front of her.

"You have somewhere else to be?" Track asked, glancing down at her.

She smiled and shook her head, taking the smallest of sips from her Riesling. "No. Just like to know what time it is." She motioned to his watch. "Just like you. "

He huffed a small laugh, then faced the rest of their group. "We'll finish up here, then pile into the van and head to the pub." He glanced back down at her. "Are you having a good time?" Casually, he flicked a swath of his dark-blond hair off his forehead. "I wanted to give you a proper send off. The team is really going to miss you."

Vica plastered on a smile. "I am. Thank you, Track. You have all been so welcoming and kind. I'm going to miss the team too."

"When do you start at your new firm in New York?"

"Two weeks. They are just finishing processing my visa. So I am going to drive. Road trip across the country and take my time. I want to go to the Grand Canyon, see the Rockies in Colorado, dip my toes in one of the Great Lakes, and see what all the fuss is about with this Chicago style pizza. What is this deep-dish nonsense anyway?"

Track chuckled. "I dunno. I've always been a New York style guy, myself. You'll have to let us know your thoughts."

The server came around with the bill and, like it was no big deal, Track dug his black credit card out of his wallet and handed it to her.

"This is great," Rhys said. "More employees should leave so we have more goodbye parties with the bill footed by the boss."

They all gave him a strange look. When he realized what he had just said, more pink stained his cheeks, and he cleared his throat before glancing away.

The server returned with Track's credit card and the slip which Track signed. He made sure to scrawl his name with a flourish, drawing everyone's attention to the receipt and how much he was spending, as well as how much he was tipping.

He wasn't a modest man.

In fact, Vica questioned whether there was even a modest cell, or bone, or whatever was the correct idiom, in the man's body.

"Shall we move on to the next venue?" Track asked, stowing his credit card back in his wallet.

"Yes!" Frank cheered. "More free booze, here we come. And finally, it's something I actually like—beer."

Aleysha rolled her eyes before shrinking a little in the embarrassment that Vica felt as well. "Maybe keep your voice down a little, you socially awkward nugget. You're in a freaking winery."

Frank grimaced. "Shit. Right. Sorry."

Track slapped him on the back. "All good, Frankie. I'm right there with you. Unless it's twenty-five-year-old Scotch, I'm more a beer man myself."

Vica and Aleysha hung back while the eight men headed toward the shuttle bus Track had rented for them—along with a driver. Aleysha wrapped an arm around Vica again, affectionately resting her cheek on Vica's shoulder. "Don't leave me with those morons. Please."

Vica chuckled and wrapped an arm around Aleysha's waist. "You could always come with me to New York."

"Do you watch movies? Everything bad happens in New York. Everything. I'm good braving the tectonic plates shifting and causing a massive earthquake over on this side of the country. It could be tomorrow, or it could be in a hundred years. But at least the Avengers won't be destroying my city every three or four years."

Vica laughed. "Ah, I will miss you, Bella. "

They reached the shuttle bus, Aleysha's eyes a little glassy from all the booze. "Ooh, speak more Italian to me."

They'd been at the pub for hours.

Too many hours, in Vica's opinion.

The sun was setting over the horizon to the west and all the guys were getting more and more obnoxious with each pitcher of beer.

Gone were their flights of beer for tasting. Now there were just jugs and jugs of their favorite brews on an endless loop in the center of the table.

Vica had never been a fan of beer.

It bloated her, and she really didn't care for the taste.

But she felt ungrateful and awkward declining, especially after a flight was placed in front of her within moments of their arrival. Track had preordered for all of them, not even asking if she liked beer, let alone which ones she would like to sample.

However, since she appeared to be the only one who was put out by his lack of consideration, she kept her mouth shut and tried the beer.

It was okay.

Not her preference though.

Track, the attentive host and considerate boss that he was trying to be, noticed she wasn't interested in her beer and pressured her to tell him her drink of choice.

She told him it was fine. But he wouldn't let up. So she finally said, "Vodka soda."

He hollered across the pub to their server, ordering her a double.

She nursed that as best she could, but after such a long day, all the alcohol they'd already consumed and so much sun, all she really wanted was a tall glass of water and her own bed.

Track ordered more pitchers, nachos, appetizer platters, and wings.

They weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

She made sure to check her watch inconspicuously, since he seemed put out the last time she did it.

It was nearly ten o'clock now.

It was dark out and wasn't the last ferry scheduled to leave the island soon?

She was still nursing her vodka soda, but she really just wanted— nay, needed—water. So she approached the bar. The handsome bartender with the man bun and blue-hazel eyes smiled at her. "What can I get you?"

"Just water, please. If my boss orders me another vodka, please just give me water."

His dark brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. It's just been a day of nonstop drinking and in the sun. I need water."

"Sure thing." He filled up a tall glass with ice, then used the gun to fill it up before placing it on the bar in front of her. She drained it within seconds, then requested more.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again. "You sure you're safe?"

Vica nodded again. "I am fine. Thank you though. Just out with coworkers. A goodbye party for me."

"Where are you headed?"

"New York."

His nose wrinkled. "Good luck with the rats."

Smiling, she sipped her water, slower this time. "Seattle has rats too. So does Italy. It's hard to find a place without them."

"True. But from everything I've heard, the rats in New York are bigger and bolder."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Even though the pub was packed, it was like a breath of fresh air stepping away from the eight men at her table. None of them were bad guys, per se. But they also weren't people she would have chosen as her friends. Aleysha was wonderful and Vica hoped they remained friends even with Vica moving across the country. The rest of the guys though? She wouldn't lose any sleep or be sad if she never saw them again.

Engineers were notoriously socially awkward. More brains than social skills, and they also thought they were better and smarter than everyone else. Not her people.

Vica was an engineer too and loved working on solar energy—as well as creating new kinds of panels that absorbed more sunshine and converted it to more energy—but she didn't feel as … out of touch with others the way a lot of her colleagues seemed.

She was … "Down to the world"? "Down to earth"?

Either way, she liked the simple things in life. She liked good, solid friendships, good food, and a good book. She also considered herself one of those people who could have a conversation with anybody about anything. She read a lot of articles and prided herself on the fact that she was always learning and bettering herself. So even though she might not be an expert on anything, she knew enough about most things to make small talk.

Her coworkers, however, struggled to carry a conversation and whenever they were thrust into a situation with someone who wasn't an engineer, all they did was talk about themselves or try to prove how smart they were. It was off-putting.

But like any true introvert, she had a breaking point. She could be social and carry a conversation with anyone about anything, but she also liked her alone time.

"There you are," Aleysha said, coming over to the bar. "We thought you left."

"Just needed some water," Vica said, draining her glass.

The bartender was quick to fill it up for her a third time.

"You've gotta come see the sky out here on the deck." Aleysha looped her arm through Vica's. "It's beautiful."

With a heavy sigh, Vica allowed her friend to lead her back to their table. Track's eyes lit up the moment Vica returned, and Vica supressed the urge to curl up her top lip. He'd already maneuvered it so they were sitting next to each other at their long table. And she couldn't even inch away from him since she was in the middle. So if she moved away from Track, she moved closer to Rhys, and he wasn't someone she was interested in cozying up to either.

It was another forty minutes that they sat there. More beer. More food. More … obnoxious, sexist jokes by the idiots she worked with .

She excused herself to the bathroom when those three waters told her she needed a break.

"Do you need to use the washroom?" she asked Aleysha, hoping that her friend got the clue to accompany her.

But Aleysha was drunkenly flirting with Sam and shook her head.

Exhaling in defeat, Vica took off to the washroom on her own, weaving through all the people. She spent more time than was necessary in the washroom, but there came a point where she knew she needed to rejoin their group.

By the time she walked past the bar, the pub had emptied significantly and the bartender was telling people who just walked in that the kitchen was closed.

Phew!

They had to be getting ready to leave now.

She reached the table, and an icy shock sprinted down her spine. Besides Track, their table was empty.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, her eyes darting around the pub.

"I sent them to the ferry," Track said, his smile lazy and his eyes hooded from an overconsumption of alcohol.

"But why are we not going with them?"

He shrugged. "The shuttle will drop them off at the ferry, they'll walk on, and he'll come back and get us. There's still one more late-night ferry. I checked the schedule."

"But why are we not going with them?" she repeated.

"It's your last night. I figured you'd want to party a little longer."

"You figured wrong," she snapped, reaching for her purse and cardigan, and glaring at Track. "I want to go home. Now."

"Okay, okay," he said, irritation tingeing his voice. "Let me just pay. But we'll have to wait outside for the shuttle to come back."

Vica's glare intensified and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Track snagged the gaze of the server and asked to pay his tab. Vica just stood by the bar, waiting, fuming mad, and ready to just walk to the ferry herself. But she knew that although the island was small, it had windy roads with no streetlights, and she wasn't in the right walking shoes. It would also take her too long to reach the ferry.

Track knew she was mad though and approached with remorse in his eyes after he settled the bill. "I'm sorry, V," he said, trying to rest a hand on her lower back. "I should have waited."

"Yes, you should have," she said before mumbling insults and curse words under her breath in Italian.

His nostrils flared. "That's such a sexy language. What did you just say?"

She knew better than to tell a drunk man the truth, especially when she'd just insulted him. So she smiled and lied. "I said I miss my pillow and still have a lot of packing to do."

He nodded and his fingers curled around her hip. He had her boxed in against the bar and so to move away from him would probably just infuriate him more.

"Let's go outside and get some fresh air. The sky is so beautiful right now and I think the tide is out."

"I'm fine here," she said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

"Oh, come on, V." He grew more forceful, pushing her with his arm as his hand remained curled on her hipbone. She didn't want to piss him off since he was her ride home, and technically still her boss. So she acquiesced and eventually found herself outside.

The air was warm, but the briny breeze wafting off the water held a chill to it that made Vica's legs break out into goosebumps as the gusts threw the diaphanous fabric of her skirt around her shins.

"Let's go down to the beach," he said, trying again to steer her.

She stepped away. "Let's just wait where there's more light for the shuttle."

"Naw, don't be like that. Come on." His tone held an edge to it, and he tried again to guide her.

Every gut instinct told Vica it was a bad idea, but when Track wrapped an arm around her and dug his fingers into her bicep, she stupidly allowed her feet to follow and him to lead her down to the beach. They were just below the pub deck when he had her up against one of the thick square posts that held up the deck.

"You don't have to say ‘no' anymore, V. I'm not your boss. You can finally give in to what I know has passed between us since day one." His beer-and-nacho-scented breath made her stomach turn and when he went in for a kiss, she turned her head, and she could have sworn he growled.

Pressing her hands to his chest as best she could, she pushed him away—or at least tried to. "I think there's been a misunderstanding, Track. I am very sorry if you think I have any feelings toward you besides friendship." She pushed against his chest harder. "I don't see you that way. I think you are a great guy though."

He still wouldn't budge.

Fear and flight swam through her veins. Her limbs tingled, her gut spun, and her breathing grew ragged. Nobody saw them head down here. Nobody really knew where she was. He could do anything he wanted and there was no one around to stop him.

"Come on, V. Don't be like that. Don't be such a cocktease."

She pushed again. "Track, I want to go. Let me go. Please."

Even though she couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, she didn't have to. The limited light from above, as well as the waning gibbous moon, caused harsh, menacing shadows to darken his face. It was like the devil stared back at her.

He went in for a kiss again.

She turned her head, pushed him, and tried to duck, but he grabbed her by the hand. "Not so fucking fast, you fucking Italian, cocktease bitch."

"Track. Stop. I don't want to do this. Please."

His grip on her arm was that of rough play, it was the grip of a man whose ego had just been bruised and who wanted reparations for that malady. He yanked her backward until the back of her head smashed into the post.

Stars flashed in her mind, and for a second, she thought she might throw up.

"Mira al cazzo. Mira alla gola. Colpisci qualunque cosa lo farà crollare a terra e ti darà la possibilità di scappare. La tua priorità numero uno è scappare. Sempre."

Her brother's words came back to her, "Aim for the dick. Aim for the throat. Hit whatever will make him crumble to the ground and give you a chance to escape. Your number one priority is getting away. Always."

There was nobody else around. Nobody else could save her right now but her.

"Such a fucking cocktease bitch," he said with another growl followed by a bunch of derogatory nicknames for Italians that she tuned out.

He had her pinned against the post with his knee between her legs and his big hands pinning her arms above her head. How could she hit his throat or knee him in the cock now?

He leaned in. "Are you going to be a good girl?"

She glared at him. "Fuck you." Then she spat in his face.

His roar was far more restrained than she anticipated, but she also wasn't anticipating him hauling off and backhanding her.

More stars filled her vision and the pain in her head intensified.

He reached around and grabbed her by the ponytail, planning to spin her around, but she managed to grab his arm and bite down hard.

He roared even louder. "You stupid fucking bitch!"

But this was her window. He wasn't holding onto her anymore. She had to take this opening and run.

Only the sand was so soft and dry, and in her nude, flat sandals she couldn't get the traction. Sand filled the gap between the sole of the shoe and the bottom of her foot, and she wasn't nearly as fast as she hoped.

That gave Track time to wrap his hand around her ponytail again, nearly giving her whiplash when he yanked her back.

She spun around, ignoring the sharp snap of pain in her neck.

Lorenzo was back in her head, speaking to her, "Mira al cazzo. Mira alla gola. "

"Aim for the dick. Aim for the throat."

So, she did that. She hammered him hard between the legs with her knee.

"Fucking bitch," he croaked, buckling forward a little.

She figured he'd release her hair, but he didn't. His grip just tightened.

This was survival mode.

She wasn't afraid of death. Everyone she'd ever loved was dead now.

But like hell would Ludovica Vitale let some monster of a man hurt her. She'd rather die than allow someone to take her power. She wasn't ready to die yet. She wasn't afraid of death, but she also wasn't ready to give up.

She was in fight-mode now. The option to flee, to take flight, was gone. Now she had to stand her ground and fight—for her life.

Even though he had his hand around her ponytail, her hair was long enough that while ignoring the pain in her neck, she could spin around to face him—kind of. That was when she saw her opening. His throat was exposed.

Only for a second.

A second was all she needed.

Her brother, Lorenzo, and his three best friends: Alessandro, Nico, and Matteo, taught Vica all there was to know about self-defense.

She hated it at first and couldn't understand why she needed to know how to throat punch a guy, or where the weak spots were on a person to make the most amount of impact. But they wouldn't let her quit. Not until she successfully took down each one of them. They started her off with Matteo, the smallest of the four—though he was still a muscly mountain compared to Vica. Then she finally worked her way through all of them, ending with Nico who was six foot five and weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds. It took her a few years of not only training with the guys, but also strength training to get there. But she did it. She successfully brought Nico to his knees, earning her brother's stamp of approval that she was ready for the world.

If she wasn't so terrified, she'd laugh.

She honestly never thought she'd need to use the skills her brother and his friends taught her.

But there she was, relying on those skills to keep herself from getting assaulted—or worse.

When Track lifted his head, exposing his neck for that split second, she took her window of opportunity and swung hard and sure, delivering a right jab to his throat.

She barely registered the surprised and pained choking sound he made. She was already scrambling through the sand and up the small incline to the front of the pub and parking lot.

The need to get as far away from her attacker as possible was at the forefront of her mind and she booked it through the parking lot toward the laneway that led to the road, only to run smack-dab into a brick-hard chest.

How did Track catch up to her so fast?