“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound like it. Apparently, there were multiple rats. I don’t know who, but they gave the Feds a lot of stuff on Papà.”
“So unless I come back, Papà will stay in prison.”
“Which is exactly where he belongs,” she says harshly. “Gemma…” She exhales. “Gem, when he hit you in his office right before you left… That wasn’t the first time, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“I hid it from you.”
“No, I’ve been a bitch. I’ve been so self-absorbed that I failed to notice what was right in front of me. I feel horrible about it. You deserve a better sister.”
My eyes well up with tears. “You were going through your own stuff.”
“I was rebelling just to piss Papà off, while you were getting beaten by him and being forced to marry a man you do not want. We are not the same,” she says, her tone threaded with bitterness. “Thank God for Ras. When I heard the sounds coming from the office, and then when I saw you… God,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve never been so scared, Gem. Not even when Rafaele killed Ludovico a foot away from me.”
I take a deep breath and try to rein in my emotions. “It’s okay, Cleo. I’m safe now.”
“I love you so much. You know I’d do anything for you, right? I see things more clearly now, and when you come back, I promise things won’t be the way they used to be.”
I take a moment to compose myself, letting her words sink in. “I know. I love you too.” Ras will be back soon, so I need to wrap this up. “What do you think I should do?”
“Whatever you want. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
Except Ras. I owe him everything. “If I come back, Vince can go back to Switzerland, and Rafaele will get Papà out. Everything will fall right back into place,” I say, thinking out loud.
“It’s not your job to fix this.”
I know it’s not. But I can go home and help people who don’t deserve it, or I can stay here and ruin Ras’s life.
The choice is obvious, but it’s far from easy.
Swallowing past the ball inside my throat, I say, “Cleo, I’m going to come home. Can you tell Vince? I’ll give you my location. Don’t give it to him until he swears on his life that he won’t send anyone after Ras and that he won’t let Papà harm him either. Tell him to send a plane for me to the closest private airfield. I’ll find a way to be there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Write it down.” I give her our address in Crete.
Cleo blows out a breath. “All right, I’ll take care of it. I gotta go. I think I can hear Mamma coming up. I love you, okay?”
“Love you too. Bye.” I hang up.
Ras won’t let me just walk out of here. He’ll fight, argue, tell me whatever I want to hear to make me stay.
The only way this works is if I tell him I don’t want him.
The thought of doing that makes my chest tight with pain.
I’ll have to break his heart.
Can I lie to his face? Because that’s what it would be—a lie.
I love him.
Which is why I have to let him go.
The sunset is particularly beautiful tonight. The sky blushes with shades of pink and orange, its reflection glimmering across the Mediterranean.
Ras and I made fresh linguine, and from my spot on one of the patio chairs, I see him carefully toss the pasta into a pot of boiling water. He feels my attention on him and shoots me a grin. “Three minutes.”
He sent me out here about ten minutes ago with a glass of rosé after I kept dropping things because I’m on the verge of a breakdown. He misread my distress as clumsiness.
A big bird cuts an elegant arc through the sky just as my old phone vibrates in the pocket of my dress.
I cast a quick glance at Ras to make sure he’s not looking over here and then read the message from Cleo.
Tomorrow, 10 a.m.
My palms grow sweaty. The plane is coming to pick me up and take me back to New York.
I slide the phone under the chair cushion as Ras comes out with two plates and places one on the table in front of me. The linguine is topped with homemade sugo, grated parmesan, and basil.
I pick up my fork. “It looks delicious,” I say, trying to keep my tone upbeat even though I’m crumbling inside. I want to enjoy this one last dinner with him before I break the news.
He takes the seat closest to me, leaving the corner of the table between us, and places a hand on my thigh.
I take my first bite and it’s so damn good I can’t hold back a moan. He’s an exceptional cook.
The sound makes him smirk. “Fuck, you’re going to make me hard before we get to dessert.”
I swallow my food and force a smile. “Liar. You’re already hard.”
His eyes spark. “Why don’t you get on my lap and check?”
“I’m hungry,” I say, waving my hand at my plate.
“I’ve got something I can feed you.”
Even though I feel lower than I’ve ever felt before, he manages to make me laugh. “Stop it. I’m trying to enjoy this pasta.”
He drags his hand up my thigh, pushes it beneath my dress, and stops at the edge of my underwear. He digs into his food, but his fingers brush back and forth over my skin, drifting closer and closer toward my center without ever quite reaching it.
Heat travels up my body in a slow wave.
He keeps his gaze on me, an amused glint in his eyes as he watches me try to pretend like I’m unaffected by his touch.
I’m wet by the time I’m done with my pasta, and my breaths come out in short pants. “Ras,” I rasp.
He arches a brow. His plate is still half full.
“Eat faster,” I beg as he slides the tip of his finger beneath the fabric and brushes it over my sensitive slit.
He chases his next bite with some wine and then picks up a napkin and presses it against his lip. He pulls his hand away, pushes his plate aside, and pats the surface of the table like he wants me to get on it.
Excitement runs up my spine.
I stand up.
“Take off your clothes,” he commands, his voice a low rumble. Fire blazes inside his hazel eyes.
When I slip the straps of the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground, Ras makes a satisfied sound. He waits until my panties fall alongside the dress and then says, “Good girl. Now, get on the table and spread those thighs open. I’m ready for my next course.”
I do as he says, my clit pulsing with excitement and my nipples puckered, eager for his attention. It’s easy to obey him. The thought reminds me that very soon I’ll have to do the opposite… Oh God, I’ll have to tell him—
He wraps his big hands over my thighs, leans forward, and buries his face inside my cunt.
His tongue momentarily chases away the thoughts pressing in on me, the ones that carve out pieces of my heart. Ras feasts on my pussy until I’m begging for him to fuck me, to get inside of me, to fill me up.
My thighs are shaking and drops of sweat are sliding between my breasts when he finally stands up and fists the hair at my nape. “So greedy,” he says against my lips as he deftly undoes his belt. I taste myself on him. Smell my arousal on his beard. “I love when you’re desperate for my cock.” His tongue slides over my bottom teeth, and he deepens the kiss. I feel him prod against my opening. I reach between us and slide him inside of me. He groans and starts to roll his hips, his mouth still locked on mine.