Alfie blew out a breath as he finally reached her side, running a hand over his messy hair as he regarded them. "He's a little shit is what he is."

  "Oh, he just wants to play," she said, cuddling him close and laughing when he licked her chin and tried to make a quick path to her mouth. "Where've you been hiding him?"

  "One of the boys found him near the restaurant," he said with a slight shrug, digging his hands into his jeans' pockets. "Dumped in the trash actually."

  "And you decided to keep him?" Vera asked, feeling a swell of emotion in her chest she couldn't quite ignore. Of course, this was what got to her.

  Alfie and a puppy.

  "Might have been the other way around," Alfie said as he took a step closer, his gaze on Bronson as he scratched behind his ears. "Once they brought him in, he's been following me ever since."

  "That's so sweet."

  He might have shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but it was to her. She found it endearing.

  "Right, so since this isn't a social call," he said pointedly, gesturing to the open door of the townhouse, "let's discuss business."

  Vera elected to ignore that as she walked around him and back up the stairs, crossing the threshold into his place and inhaling the warm, fragrant aroma of vanilla that wafted in the air. It instantly made her mouth water, and as beautiful as his place smelled, it was just as pleasant to look at.

  Beyond the arched front doors was a staircase that led up to the second level of the townhouse. The ivory paint on the walls offset the black architectural elements, and even the hardwood floors were such a rich dark brown, they looked almost black.

  Abstract paintings in black, gold, and white hung along one wall, and the other wall to the left held a mirror that was as wide as it was tall.

  Usually, when she visited someone's home, there was always something she wanted to tweak or change to better suit the space, yet as far as she could see, she loved everything about his place. That only made her wonder whether he had done all of this himself or if he had hired someone to do it.

  "How d'you like it?" he asked once they reached the mouth of the kitchen. She found herself rooted in place, feeling serious kitchen envy.

  She'd had plans to renovate her own for the better part of two years now, but she'd never gotten around to doing it because something had always taken precedence. Most recently, the old bedroom she had converted into a walk-in closet.

  "You did an amazing job," she said, unable to contain her awe, her gaze fixated on the gold light fixtures above the marble top island.

  "Nah, I can't take all the credit, can I? A lovely woman helped with the semantics."

  Even as she knew it was ridiculous, Vera felt a touch of jealousy knowing that another woman had been here and had ultimately left her mark on everything in this room. Undoubtedly, it had been her job to do so, just as it was Vera's job to make Amethyst amazing, but that didn't stop her stupid, treacherous heart from lurching at the idea of him talking with someone else the way he talked to her.

  Bending at the waist, she set Bronson on the floor, watching as he took off across the floor and around the corner. Probably off to destroy whatever he could sink his little teeth into.

  "Why didn't you go to her?" she asked, turning her attention back to Alfie and doing her best to ignore the knowing smile on his face.

  "Who?" he asked, though she suspected he knew exactly who she was talking about and why she was asking.

  "You could have had anyone design your restaurant."

  "But everyone isn't you, luv."

  It was amazing how that one little remark managed to make her melt. "And you want me?" she asked, realizing too late what that must sound like to him.

  Alfie's expression changed as he regarded her, less casual now and more intense. "More than anything."

  "Alfie."

  "You asked a question, and I answered it."

  "That's not ..." She couldn't find the right words.

  "Why are you being so stubborn?"

  "I'm not."

  "So you don't feel it?" he asked, crossing the floor until he was standing in front of her with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his jeans.

  Oh, how she wished she could deny him—that she could pretend she didn't feel a spark whenever she even heard his name.

  "Deny it," he all but dared her, so close now that it would only take the slightest arch of her neck for her lips to be against his.

  She couldn't deny it.

  At that moment, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

  Squeezing her eyes shut to gather her strength—because she needed all she could get when it came to him—Vera blew out a breath. "It's not always about what we want."

  "Why the hell not?"

  Because her father was a career criminal who delighted in sparking fear in others. That fear gave him power, and power gave him the leverage he needed to become one of the most feared men in the state.

  But how could she explain that? The one time she had, it hadn't ended so well, and the time before that ... Vasily had the last say.

  “It’s complicated,” she settled on saying.

  “Let’s uncomplicate it.”

  “Do you want to talk about the project?” she asked, gesturing to her iPad with a pointed nod, “or not?”

  “We could always finish this discussion upstairs,” Alfie suggested instead of answering her question, and while the remark seemed innocent, she knew it was anything but.

  “Are you ever going to stop trying to get in my pants?”

  “Sorry, love. Couldn’t hear the question.”

  It was a ploy, she knew, to draw her closer. Make her forget why she maintained the distance between them.

  But even as she knew it was in her best interest to deny him, it wasn’t enough to stop her from crossing the floor to get to him.

  She could see it in his expression that he would not let this go—that he would not let her go without reason.

  And a part of her wondered whether she wanted to give in to what he clearly wanted or save him from what she knew could end badly for him.

  “Let’s finish this project,” she said, her gaze trained on his.

  After … maybe after, she could find a way to uncomplicate this.

  Chapter 8

  If she thought telling Alfie to wait until the project was over to even entertain anything more happening between them, she was wrong.

  Vera was learning rather quickly that he could be relentless when it came to things he wanted.

  And he was making it very clear that the thing he wanted most at the moment was her.

  Prime example …

  Roses were beautiful, but they made Vera sneeze.

  For the longest time, she had always been annoyed by the fact that despite how much she loved the flower, they attacked her allergies with a vengeance. Her eyes watered, that tickling sensation erupted in her nose, and if she dared to stay around them for more than a handful of minutes, she’d have a headache.

  Perhaps that should have been the first clue that she and Camden, the man she had foolishly believed was the love of her life once upon a time, weren’t meant to last. Because no matter how often she reminded him that she and roses did not get along, he always bought them for her.

  Anniversary? Red roses.

  Finding the perfect building for her studio? White roses.

  Forget her birthday? Yellow roses and an apology card.

  Each time, he would apologize for forgetting her allergy. Each time, he would promise to remember in the future.

  Each time, he forgot.

  Yet, as Vera entered her office, keys still in hand as she was momentarily distracted by the vase of pink peonies on her desk, she was confronted with the knowledge that not all men were forgetful.

  Some listened even when they seemed distracted.

  She had only ever mentioned her distaste for roses and love for peonies once, and even that time had been in passing while they drove by a florist shop on their way to his townhouse.

  Yet three bouquets of them sat on her desk, the fresh floral scent permeating every bit of her office.

  “Ooh, someone likes you,” Frances said. Walking in behind Vera, she gazed fondly at the peonies. “Are you still playing hard to get?”

  Vera groaned. “Not you too.”

  “You have to admit, he’s persistent. With a face like that, and he sends you flowers? He would have had me at hello.”

  She wished it was that simple.

  That she was just a girl, and he was just a guy, and it didn’t have to be any more complicated than that. It went beyond her working for him, though that excuse had helped her get through the past couple of weeks, in the end, that wasn’t the reason she couldn’t allow herself to fall into him when it was the only thing she could think about.

  The last time she had tried to separate herself from who her father was, he had shown her very clearly that there was no escaping her legacy. There was no pretending she was anything other than exactly what she was.

  A mafiya printsessa.

  “Let’s just try to focus on work,” she said, still eyeing the flowers before she walked over and inhaled the floral scent of them.

  But even as the words left her mouth, she wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to focus on anything other than the man who was currently pursuing her.

  Kicking off her heels, Vera tied her hair back into a low bun and held it in place with two pens.

  The night had crept by rather quickly, and before she knew it, it was going on eight p.m. She was the only one left in her studio since Frances had called it a night more than an hour ago.

  She didn’t mind working late hours by herself since she knew she would be doing more of the same even if she went home. At least here, she had the sounds of the city to keep her company as opposed to the silence of her place.

  It was also one of the places her father steered clear of.

  That was the unspoken agreement between the two of them, though she doubted it was because he respected her place of business and knew having a presence like his wasn’t good for her bottom line.

  Undoubtedly, it was more because it was outside his territory, and since she was the only one of her family permitted within the Manhattan city limits—for reasons she had never bothered to find out—Vasily would be asking for war if he ventured this far west.

  Some days, she hated the invisible lines that prevented her from doing what she wanted—that she had to obtain permission to go certain places in case there was a problem she didn’t know about. But on other days, she was glad for it.

  Because at the very least, it ensured that Vasily didn’t darken her doorstep.

  For that, and that alone, she was a bit grateful toward the Italians.

  Contemplating whether she wanted to call for takeout or just wait until she got home to eat, the sound of the elevator dinging dragged Vera from her thoughts, and her hand immediately moved to the top drawer of her desk where she kept a loaded gun for protection.

  She might not have been a part of the family business in any official capacity, but she was always prepared should anything happen.

  Her fingers were nearly wrapped around the butt of her Sig when a familiar figure stepped out of the elevator, and just the sight of the smooth black cane was enough to quell her anxiety.

  Standing, she walked around her desk, reaching the door to her office before Alfie did.

  “Are you going to make a habit of sneaking up on me?” she asked once he got close. Though she was pleasantly surprised to see him, the large brown bag he carried made her even happier.

  The corner of his mouth tipped up in a lazy grin before he kissed the corner of her mouth. “We’ve all got to eat sometime, don’t we?”

  He stepped past her into her office, setting the bag of food down on her desk before unrolling the top and removing the containers from inside.

  “Do you do this often?” Alfie asked, glancing back at her as he opened one of the white boxes, the scent of crispy spring rolls hitting her senses and making her mouth water.

  “Do what?”

  “Work such late hours?”

  For as long as her business had been open.

  At first, it had only been because she needed to get her name out there and build her client list. Then it had turned into something of an obsession.

  Her business was her life. She had complete control over this one aspect of her life. It was the thing that brought her peace.

  “Usually,” she answered finally, not quite able to meet his gaze as she joined him at her desk. “And you?”

  He arched a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

  “Do you always bring food to the people who work for you?”

  “Only the beautiful ones.”

  He really did have a way with words.

  The conversation between them stalled long enough for her to help herself to the offerings Alfie had brought along, and before any thoughts as to why sharing a meal with him would be a bad idea entered her mind, she joined him over on the couch, her plate in her lap.

  “Working late tonight?” she asked, glancing over at him.

  “Not as late as you.”

  That was fair.

  Most people didn’t work as late as she did, and usually, that didn’t bother her, but now she was wondering if she worked too much.

  For a while, they ate in silence, though when one of them would ask a question, the other all too readily answered.

  But what was left unspoken was what seemed to charge the air.

  As if they both knew how this night would end, and she was delaying the inevitable.

  Vera could have ended it before it began. Said she was tired and called it a night before they went any further, but every time she readied to say the words, they just wouldn’t come.

  And when he went over to check her office door to ensure it was closed and locked—not that it would make much of a difference considering anyone could see in—there was no stopping it.

  He crossed the floor to her, his intent quite clear, and every idea she’d had about maintaining distance between them went right out the window.

  “Alfie …” She said his name like a warning, not that she expected him to heed it.

  He would do what he wanted regardless. A fact that should have irritated her, but at the moment, the only thing she could feel was anticipation as he started to undo the buttons of his waistcoat and then tossed the material aside.

  Her argument died on her lips once he made it to her. She was a slave to the way he made her feel.

  He yanked her skirt up just enough so when he lifted her off her feet, she was able to get her legs around his waist as he carried her over to her desk and set her down.

  “Alfie, we can’t.”

  “Why the bloody hell not?”

  “Because I don’t sleep with clients.”

  “Good on you because you’re fucking me, aren’t you?”

  She had a feeling she was about to. “You’re still a—”

  “What difference does it make?” he asked, brows drawing together. “Whether today or two weeks from now when the job’s finished, you’re just delaying the inevitable. You have to give me a better excuse than that.”

  Vera opened her mouth, ready to tell him that it wasn’t an excuse, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words because that was exactly what this was.

  An excuse.

  But the truth wouldn’t help either of them, and selfishly, she didn’t want this to end the moment he found out the truth about her.

  She didn’t want to see the look on his face when he learned who her father was and the connections he had. And worse, she didn’t want to think about what Vasily might do if he learned about this new relationship.

  Her father tended to destroy everything he touched. He could corrupt with just a glance.

  “What d’you want me to do? Eh? Forget?”

  Even as she wanted to say yes, that it would be better for them both if they did forget what happened between them, she couldn’t bring herself to say that because deep down, that was the last thing she wanted.

  He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he said, “I can’t forget.”

  “Why not?”

  He was so close now that she could see the way his jaw hardened, how he seemed to be physically restraining himself from touching her. “I know what your pussy tastes like. And when I have my cock in my hand thinking about it, I can even hear the way you come. You really think I can forget any of that, Vera?”

  She wasn’t sure who reached for who first. All she knew was that in a heartbeat, her hands were on his chest, drawing him in, and her lips were against his.

  Before him, she had never been more aware of the way a man’s lips felt.

  Soft but firm.

  The tickling sensation of his facial hair.

  The way everything about the way he kissed her felt right.

  “My office is made of glass,” she whispered against his lips, even as she started undoing the buttons of his vest.

  A single glance around would have told him that, but Alfie didn’t seem to care about that fact as he shrugged out of his vest and tossed it away.

  “I have a man downstairs,” he said before moving on to the row of buttons down the front of his shirt. “I’ll know before anyone even boards the elevator.”

  That was the only reassurance she needed, and for the first time in the weeks since she had crossed paths with him again, she stopped fighting.

  Months had passed since their time together in Punta de Mita. She couldn’t count the number of times she had relived the night they shared together in her head—of how good it had been between them.

  He hooked an arm around her waist as his lips reconnected with hers.

  As they both shoved papers out of the way, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  The only thing she cared about—the only thing she could focus on—was Alfie.

  He gripped her skirt and shoved it up before his hands slipped beneath to hook around her panties and yank them down.

  He didn’t hesitate in dropping to his knees, a flash of heat sweeping down her spine as he roughly shoved her skirt back up, baring her lower half to his gaze.