“Ms. Garzolo told me you touched her inappropriately the last time she was here.”
“I di-didn’t!”
“Are you saying Ms. Garzolo is a liar?”
Benjamin’s eyes look on the verge of bursting out of his head. “No, of course not.”
“She said you walked in on her changing in one of these rooms. Did you, or is she lying?”
“I-I-I—” Benjamin’s desperate gaze lands on me. “Ms. Garzolo, I’m sorry!”
Ras punches him in the gut. Once. Twice.
Benjamin bleats in pain. I cover my face with my hands. This is hard to watch, but for some reason, I’m not rushing to stop it. My heart is racing inside my chest.
Ras is standing up for me.
“Please, sir—”
I slide my fingers open and peer through the gap.
Ras heaves him up and slams him against the wall again. “You know, in the old days, we’d cut off your hand for that.”
Benjamin is bawling. “Not my hand. Please, not my hand!”
“No problem. I can be a reasonable guy.”
Ras knees him in the balls—hard—and throws him to the ground.
Benjamin screams in pain, curling up like a shrimp on the floor.
“If you ever as much as look at her again for a second too long, I won’t just cut off your hand. I’ll cut off every limb. I’ll make you into a stump. Do you understand me?” There’s no hint of humor left in Ras’s voice. It’s hard and cold, meant to leave no doubt about whether he’d deliver on that threat.
Ice spreads through my lungs. It’s like I’ve forgotten that Ras isn’t just any man, but the feared underboss of the Casalesi.
He lifts Benjamin’s face with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”
“Yes! I understand.”
“Enough,” I squeeze out.
God, I almost feel bad for Benjamin. Almost. But not quite.
This isn’t like me. I don’t like violence. Especially not violence on my behalf. So why do I feel strangely thrilled at this display?
I lower myself to the crushed-velvet sofa. I can’t remember the last time someone stood up for me this way. Not because of what their disrespect meant to my family, but because of how it affected me.
That’s what Ras just did.
Ras crosses his arms and peers down his nose at Benjamin’s squirming, sobbing form.
“All right, wrap it up, Ben. We don’t have all day.” He prods him with his shoe again. “I need some things as well. Winter wardrobe. I trust your taste. I’m six-four, usually size extra-large. My shoe size is forty-seven. I think that’s size thirteen over here, but do me a favor and check.”
Benjamin manages to peel himself off the floor and mumbles without looking at either of us. “O-of course, sir.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
My gaze snags on the shimmery yellow dress I picked out online for the party next week. It’s Rafaele’s aunt’s fiftieth birthday, and all of the Garzolos are invited. A dinner at a venue downtown followed by a party in one of Rafaele’s clubs, which means I need something that will work for both. When I checked the measurements, they were slightly too big.
I clear my throat. “Ras, he needs to mark the alterations for my dress.”
Ras glances at me, and I tip my head in the direction of the coffee table, where there’s a tray with measuring tape and a pincushion.
Benjamin halts, one foot already out the door and looking desperate to get out of here.
“Nah, I’ve got it,” Ras says, walking over to where I’m sitting and picking up the pincushion.
I cross my arms and press my fist to my nose as Benjamin bolts through the door.
Ras gives the cushion a toss and meets my gaze.
I sigh. “He’s going to need therapy.”
Ras shrugs. “Should have thought of that before he laid a finger on you.”
Warmth rushes over my skin. “I’m going to go change, and you’re going to use that time to Google how to use those pins. I’m not showing up to a party in a lopsided dress.”
He gives me an amused look. “Don’t worry, it can’t be that hard.”
I snatch the dress off the rack, walk into the change room, and draw the heavy curtain closed with a loud swish.
As I slip out of my clothes, my heart starts to dance to an awkward rhythm at the thought of Ras standing just outside with only a curtain separating us. I undo my bra and hang it off a hook.
“Yeah, this won’t be a problem,” Ras calls out, and it sounds like he’s right there. “I found a video on YouTube.”
A thrill runs up my spine. “Okay, great.”
I shimmy into the dress, and when the fabric drags over my curves, everything feels a little more sensitive than normal.
The dress is a smidge too long, and an inch or so of fabric pools on the floor. I bunch it up and decided that with a small heel, the length should do.
The chest area is a problem, though. The neck is a low-cut V, and it’s made for someone with bigger boobs. I do up the side zipper and step out of the dressing room, holding up the straps at my shoulders.
I stop in front of the mirror, and Ras looks up from his phone. He does a double take.
I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. “What?”
Sliding his phone into his pocket, he takes a few slow and deliberate steps toward me. I can feel my heart in my throat.
“I never told you what I think of you,” he says, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip while he stares at me like I’m something edible.
What is he talking about?
Oh. Right. My mind’s so focused on this moment, it’s forgotten all the other ones.
He stops right behind me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body spread across my back. Our reflection makes nerves scatter over my skin. He’s so much bigger. Taller. While I was changing, he took off his suit jacket, and that shirt does nothing to hide the muscular lines of his shoulders and arms.
“Want to hear it?” The words rumble inside his chest.
“Sure,” I say lightly. I’m expecting I’ll get something about how I clean up well or how he likes my haircut.
Instead, his eyes darken. “You’re exquisite. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Suddenly, I’m breathless. I press my thighs together, trying to contain the heat that appears between my legs.
In the mirror, I see his gaze dip lower, noting the small movement. The air in the room presses down on me. I’m so thoroughly stunned, I can’t formulate an appropriate response, although I’m not sure such a thing even exists given the context.
He must notice how flustered I am, because he shows mercy and gives me an out. “How does the dress fit?”
I swallow. “The straps are too long.” My voice is so weak, I sound like I just ran a marathon.
“Let me see.”
He lifts his hands to my shoulders and places them on top of where my fingers are holding the straps. I let go and let him take over.
“I think they need to be adjusted by at least an inch.”
Ras threads his index fingers under the straps and gently tugs on them.
I suck in a breath as the fabric flattens over my breasts, pressing against my hardened nipples. The heat at my center pulses insistently.