ella

eshold of the 72nd Street townhouse. The heavy oak doors sealed shut behind us

der of the moment he had thrown his body in the line of fire for me. A fragile, fool

y, stepping closer and reaching for his lapel. "

and snapped up, catching my wrist in a grip that was e

g, absolute authority of a Don echoed in the

I whispered, the warmth

released my wrist, his storm-gray eyes devoid of the protective fire I had seen at the gala. H

rass lock clicked shut. The sound was a physical blow, shattering my illusio

hat had been threatening

ainst my ribs. Another crack of thunder tore through the sky, and suddenly, I was back in the crushed metal of

nged into pitch blackne

ly living soul in this tomb. Grabbing my phone, I

htly ajar. I pushed it open. The red emergency lights of

nd stopped. Damiano was sprawled on the fl

ed, rushing to my

went offline. I tried to use the grabber tool to reach t

tting it illuminate the floor, and slid my arms under h

a wall of solid, coiled steel. His back was incredibly broad, the muscles shifting and flexing with terri

ace of a helpless invalid. What I saw stopped the breath in my lungs. His pupils were blown wide, his ex

al fear blurring my vision. "You could have been seriou

sudden, violent jerk, his voice a harsh rasp that sounded like

in my throat, refusing to b

sudden brightness shattered the heavy, charged intimacy of the dark. Damiano looked away

ordered, not l

ds still tingling with the phantom heat of his skin. As I climbed the stairs, my mind spun with the impossi