CHAPTER FIVE

brAXTON

I 'm in.

Gianna Baldassare can't take her eyes off me. In fact, she looks like she wants to eat me for dessert.

I'd happily let her, too.

While this might be a serious undercover operation, using the Italian mafia princess is going to be far less painful than if it was anyone else.

I'm seriously fucking attracted to her.

Despite her family being involved in one of the most despicable industries on this planet, Gianna is a beautiful and intriguing woman. Her long, dark, wavy hair frames her big green eyes, but it's those long lashes which dip away playing hard to get, which has my cock interested.

Too interested.

She's wasting her time playing with me.

Sorry, sweetheart, if I have to fuck you to find out where Amy is, I will.

And by the looks of things, we will both enjoy it.

Her stained burgundy red lips are full, and I can't take my eyes off her little black dress, imagining it falling to my hotel suite floor before I taste her.

She presses those lips against the rim of her glass and watches me. My cock twitches.

I turn back to Mia, impressed with her acting abilities, aware we're surrounded by Barrett Security and Gianna's own personal guards.

They're all watching every move the three of us make.

"I meant to thank you for the flowers," Mia says, as planned. "I know my father would've been grateful for you reaching out."

Gianna's eyes widen briefly and then drop to the table in an attempt to hide her surprise. Too bad for her I'm a US Marine, trained to notice everything.

She now believes I'm affiliated with the crime families in New York. Or was. The fact I've never met her father or any of the members of crime families in America is beside the point.

One Gianna will never know about.

"The entire thing is a tragedy, Mia." I shake my head. "So many lives lost. I'm glad you have Connor."

"Thank you. I'll tell him you said hello."

Another blink.

She's confused as fuck.

"Please do," I reply.

"What business are you in Mr..." Gianna asks, letting the question hang in the air.

"Rossi." I answer slowly, sliding my gaze to her breasts and then return to her almost perfect face. "Please call me Braxton."

I don't answer her question.

"Braxton." She smiles, sliding her empty glass along the wood of the table.

Suddenly I wonder if she might leave.

"To answer your question, I'm a trader," I answer, lifting my ankle to my knee confidently.

"Of?" she asks.

I glance at Mia, and she waves her hand out. "Gianna is Frank Baldassare's daughter."

"Ah, I see." Smiling and relaxing as if we are in friendly territory.

Hardly.

"I trade with buyers in, shall we say, the same industries your family does commerce in."

Gianna doesn't look impressed. In fact, she now looks uncomfortable.

Fuck. I wasn't prepared for this, but I keep my cool.

"Do you know my father?" she asks.

"I do not." I give her a sexy grin. "I'm sure you're much more interesting to spend an evening with."

She blushes and hates it.

"I didn't pick you for a flirt?" Gianna says as Mia's phone rings and she excuses herself to answer it.

I hold Gianna's stare and drop my smile, taking the private moment while we have it. Then I lean closer to her. "You'll know when I flirt with you, Ms. Baldassare. It will be just before I rip your panties off."

Her mouth falls open.

I lean back.

"Sorry about that," Mia says as if she's completely oblivious to what had just taken place. "My best friend is pregnant and has been taken to the hospital."

"Oh, that's terrible." Gianna gasps. "You should go. Please, you must."

I'm impressed by her compassion. Not that I expected her to be a cold-hearted killer just because her father is.

She might be, though.

Mia bites her lip. "No, I can't do anything. Braxton is here. We haven't caught up in forever."

"You should go," I tell Mia. "I will stay with Gianna until she finishes her drink."

I lift the bottle from the ice bucket and fill her glass.

Gianna's green eyes are full of fire and I'm not sure if she's going to tell me to fuck off or is still thinking about me tearing her lace panties off with my teeth.

I'm not sure I'm not thinking about those things either, if I'm honest.

But I know why I'm here.

To get Amy.

"I'll make it up to you," Mia says, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "You're in good hands with Braxton."

She shoots me a glance and I'm surprised she's sending me a warning.

Mia cares for this girl.

"Make sure she gets home safely," she adds.

Gianna squeezes back. "Do not worry. I have my security team, who are twice as big as Mr. Russi."

No, they're not.

I know exactly which two men they are.

Glue them together maybe, but they're both soft around the edges from driving Miss Baldassare around for coffees and shopping. I'm fresh home from the front lines of the Middle East.

There is nothing soft about me.

GIANNA

F INDING MYSELF ALONE with Braxton was the last thing I expected to happen when I first saw him enter the bar.

His comment about ripping off my panties certainly surprised me, and I'm still trying not to fan my face.

Few men grab my attention like this one has.

I still don't understand who he is.

He was involved with the Mancini crime family and knows Mia's husband. Everyone knows who Connor Barrett is—he's a billionaire known the world over. But it seems Mr. Rossi has done business with all of them.

He could be a contractor, and from what I hear, men like him are extremely dangerous.

Which explains his aura.

And why my body is quietly shuddering with need. It's doing things to my panties, which means if I do let him inside them, they're going to be soaked.

I want him to show me just how powerful and dominant he can be. Which is why I'm still sitting here.

Poor Mia. I could see she felt torn about leaving to see her friend, but I wouldn't want her sitting here feeling like she couldn't leave because she felt obligated.

Hopefully, we will catch up again.

Perhaps I will arrange it. I'm grateful she reached out and, frankly, not unhappy to be left with Braxton.

I like that he showed absolutely zero interest in my father.

What a breath of fresh air.

"So, you're in New York for a few months," I say and he nods. "Where do you normally reside?"

"Anywhere I choose." Braxton sips his whisky. His other arm rests along the chair, his heavy watch sparkling in the soft light.

He's stunning.

"Where is your favorite place to live?" I ask when he doesn't fill the silence.

Which I like.

He's not forcing his way into my bed. As if he knows it's a done deal.

It's not.

But I'll let him think it is.

"Italy."

"Are you saying that because I'm Italian and want to impress me?" I smile.

"No," he says, sliding his glass onto the table and a twinkle appears in his eyes. "You're already impressed."

I can't help it; I laugh.

"Are you always this confident?" I ask, because seriously I've never met a man so sure of himself. A man who, goddamn it, should be.

I love it.

And I hate that I love it.

I feel completely out of control and it's wonderful and terrifying and so damn hot.

"When the situation calls for it." Braxton leans slightly to the side, coming closer to me, but not too close. His eyes lock with mine and sexuality pours from him. "I have a question for you, Ms. Baldassare."

Why do I love him using my surname?

It's giving me shivers, and I want to know his question almost as painfully as I need my next breath.

"Go ahead," I whisper.

"Would you rather sit here and make small talk, or should we head to my hotel where I can make you scream?"

It was what I was hoping he'd say.

But never dreamed he'd be that direct.

Then again, Braxton Rossi doesn't mess around.

I hold his steamy gaze for a long moment, swallowing as slowly as I can, then cast my eyes over to where James is nursing a glass of water.

"Have your security check me out," Braxton says. "But make it fast."

I snap my head back to him. "It seems you know how this works?"

He smiles. "You're not my first mafia princess, sweetheart."

Jesus.

I nod at James, and he wanders over.

"Braxton and I are going to head to—"

"The Dufort Manhattan Hotel." Braxton hands him his ID. "I have a video conference just after midnight, so I'd appreciate your speed with this."

James flicks his eyes to mine in surprise.

My cheeks are flaming.

What is wrong with me?

The man I'm clearly going back to a hotel with to fuck just admitted he's got a time frame to fit me in.

And. I. Am. Turned. On.

Is this some weird kink? Or am I just sick of men sucking up to me to get to my father? Either way...I'm here for it and can't wait to be doing all the screaming he promised me.

Fuck being embarrassed.

"Do as he says, please," I say, then turn away from James.

Okay, I'm a little embarrassed.

"Be right back," James says, disappearing.

"I assume you aren't married," Braxton asks, his head tilted.

"Would it matter?"

He nods. "Engaged?"

"No."

"In a relationship?" he continues.

"No. You?" I figure I should ask. The last thing I need is some jealous ex trying to kill me.

"I don't do relationships."

"Really, I would never have guessed." I roll my eyes, but then I stop, because Braxton just broke out into the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen.

He has dimples.

Good grief. Save me, Jesus.

Because I am going to hell.

Straight after he takes me to heaven.

What a way to die.