Taboo Flames (The Sicilian Sins #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Aurora

G iovanni Lombardi is a psychotic, out-of-control, unbearable Neanderthal, and I must have been crazy to have ever thought he was sweet and reserved.

I cannot believe I had been infatuated with the guy. I had spent so many precious seconds of my life fantasizing about him noticing me and suddenly taking an interest in me. Now that he has his attention on me, I must admit it’s not a good feeling, and there is nothing I can do about it.

From yesterday’s fiasco, I have a feeling no matter how far I run, Giovanni will just find a way to track me down and carry me back home like an errant medieval wife. And as much as it bothers me, I try not to think too much about him because the last thing I want is to show up frowning in front of the students from my dance studio and looking like someone pissed in my Cheerios.

Also, my dance studio is my happy place, and I refuse to let dark thoughts of that man ruin it for me. It may be somewhat small in size with a staff strength of one, but it is my most honorable accomplishment, and I love it because it helps serve as a distraction from how messy my family matters can be.

“Good afternoon, kids,” I say with a smile at the sixteen children doing different forms of stretches in the room. One of my favorite parts of this job is watching the children open up. Most of them start out shy and unsure, but over the course of several dance classes, they find their confidence and are able to express themselves better.

It’s like watching a flower bloom in real time.

“Hey, Rory,” they chorus back at me, their gazes wide and eager. I peel off my sweatshirt, leaving me in my tank top.

“Today we’re going to be doing one of my favorite activities,” I tell them, swiping through my playlists to locate the set of songs for today. “Today’s group activity is called syncytium.”

Murmurs go up around the room, and I smile.

“It’s not complicated, I promise,” I say. “But you still have to pay attention if you want to get it. Now, I’ll give the first person a little ball, and all you have to do is pass it to someone else after your forty-five-second dance window closes. The rule is that the receiver has to start with the last move from the previous person.”

“Oh, like a relay race?” Sienna, a platinum blonde kid, asks shyly. She’s one of the latest additions to the class, and I hope to see improvements in her relations with the others soon.

“Exactly,” I respond. “By the third cycle, each of us is going to be able to anticipate each other’s final move.”

“That sounds almost impossible, Rory,” someone scoffs.

I grin. “Well, let’s see about that. Shall we begin?”

Hours later, my whole body hurts down to my bones, but I’m nothing but satisfied by today’s activity. Everybody thought I was crazy when I first set up the studio. And quite frankly, I understood their shock. It isn’t like I need the money generated by the studio or anything. I have an inheritance that’s large enough to ensure I will never have to work again in my life.

But the studio is my passion, and so is dancing and being around children. I’d much rather teach these kids than jet-set around the world with my friends and drink fruity margaritas on beaches of world-famous resorts. Although, I have done my fair share of that over the years before opting to start this instead.

I make my way to my office to grab my purse before leaving. I have a bathroom here for emergency cases, but today, I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere. I intend to go home and dip my sore body into my sunken jet tub full of hot water and soothing bath oil.

I’m making a round to my desk when I notice something. There is a black box on my desk that I don’t remember putting there. With a frown, I walk toward the box, which I assume is a parcel meant for me.

Someone must have left it here and forgotten to tell me. It was probably Elodie, my janitor, who serves as my part-time office assistant and studio bestie for when I have classes and am too occupied with the kids.

There’s a matching black ribbon tied around the box with a black rose and note tucked under it.

Confused but also a bit curious, I undo the ribbon and grab the rose hesitantly, noticing some flecks of red paint on the edge of one petal. I pick up the note and read the message scrawled on it in masculine handwriting.

LITTLE BIRDY, IT’S BEEN FUN WATCHING YOU, BUT IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO PAY THE DEBT YOU OWE.

What the hell? My hands shake in terror as I slowly lift the lid of the box.

I let out a shrill scream at the contents of the box. A single black bird is inside, and someone has mutilated it so thoroughly that it is now just red pulp. My hands immediately let go of the rose of their own accord.

I stare down at the rose in horror, realizing that the red flecks on it were not paint. It’s very far from paint, in fact. It’s blood from the already dead bird.

My throat closes up, and it feels like I cannot breathe. I look around frantically, wondering if whoever delivered this message is still somewhere around, just waiting to ambush me.

All of a sudden, I don’t feel that safe in the studio anymore. This place that I consider my safe place has now been tainted, and that’s the thing I’m angry about the most.

How dare they? But my fury is still shrouded by horror, confusion, and now fear.

But who would do this? How did they get in without me noticing? Could it be a mistake? For a second, I wonder if maybe there’s been a mistake or something. They must have mixed up the addresses or something. Deep in my chest, though, I know that no mistake has been made.

Hastily, I slam the lid of the box back down, grab it, the note, and the rose, and hurry out of the studio to where my SUV is parked. I’m glad I ended today’s class early so I don’t have to fumble my way around in the dark and possibly get assaulted by some waiting psychopath.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I remember Gio still has someone watching over me. I will never admit it, even under threat of death, but I’m suddenly glad Gio is such a controlling dick.

Speaking of Gio, I climb into my car and pull out of the parking lot before heading in the direction of his house. I have no idea why, but I feel safe with him. Sure, he is an imposing and dangerous mafioso, but he also sees me as someone he needs to protect, and I know for a fact that Gio doesn’t mess around when it comes to issues like this.

Who the hell is even going to be stupid enough to mess with a man like him?

It’s that rush of danger wrapped in a finely-tailored suit that is so addictive. It’s also that very sensation that’s propelling me toward him now, despite every fiber of my being screaming against seeking refuge with a man potentially far more perilous than my most recent threat.

“Miss Vitale, welcome,” the guard at the gate says in greeting and nods at me, but I can see some surprise etched into his expression.

I never come to Giovanni’s house. Never have, and if not for the unlikely turn of events lately, I doubt I ever will. I only memorized his address by heart from those stupid teenage years I had a crush on him and when I spent my holidays here in Sicily, stalking and learning everything I could about him.

“Is Gio in?” I ask, trying not to show the panic and fear I’m feeling at the moment.

“Yes, shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“No. And I’d rather my brother not know I’ve been here either.”

“Signora, you know I can’t?—”

“Please?” I use the eyes I reserve for the towering, grizzled mafiosos in my life, the ones with hearts as soft as butter under their tough exteriors.

He sighs and nods. “Okay. You can go in. He should be in his office.” He waves my car through.

I drive up the long, stony driveway that is quite a distance from his beach villa. Cutting the engine when I reach the front, I make my way up the steps until I finally get to the house.

His office, along with his bedroom, faces the sea on the other side of the building. Unless he’s not in those rooms, he won’t hear me pull up.

Soon, I’m punching in the password for his automated door—a relic from my days of intense stalking. I’m surprised he hasn’t changed it, though I wager he’d relish the challenge of someone breaking in. Giovanni Lombardi isn’t known for second chances or lending an ear to those who’ve earned his ire.

The evidence from the package weighs in my hands as I enter the door and into his house.

At that very moment, I realized I’d never been in here on my own. Why would I? Giovanni and I aren’t exactly pals. Plus, I’m not supposed to have any business with my older brother’s friend, who happens to be over a decade my senior—thirteen years, to be exact.

My phone rings as I walk through the foyer, and I consider letting it go to voicemail. I’m not in the right state to have any sort of conversation, but then I look at my screen and see that it’s Sienna’s mother. I sigh.

“Hello,” I answer.

“God bless you, Rory. You’re a gem,” she says in a choked-up voice.

“Are you okay?” I ask worriedly.

“You’ve worked miracles with Sienna, and I cannot thank you enough.” Then, she continues, “She came home today, and she hasn’t stopped talking about her new friends. She’s never made a friend before. I know it might sound trivial, and I hate to bother you?—”

“You’re not bothering me. This is literally music to my ears.”

She laughs. “You may have set out to just teach them how to dance, but I have to say you’ve achieved much more. Thank you.”

My heart warms at her resounding praise, but it’s quickly replaced by ice at the thought of whoever it was that left me this clear warning coming after me and messing with one of the children.

I don’t want any of the children to be caught in the crosshairs of whatever this is. They have to be my first priority right now.

“Well, I may actually have to shut the studio down for a while,” I say nervously.

“Oh God,” she exclaims. “Is there a problem? Is it a financial problem? We can help you. You charge almost nothing for the lessons, Rory. You should make it worth your time.”

I smile. “Seeing the children happy is worth more than money. And don’t worry. I’m not shutting it down forever. Maybe just a week.” Or two. Or more. Who knows how long it’ll take to catch the bastards?

“But why?”

I don’t want her to panic, but I have to give her at least something, so I say, “It’s nothing too serious. I’ll draft an official email for everyone as soon as possible.”

“I hope you’re not in any trouble. Sienna absolutely adores you.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” Or at least I’ll be.

“Okay. Take care then.”

“Bye.” I hang up with a sigh and tuck my phone into my back pocket. I know Gio’s office is upstairs, so I head up there.

His office is impeccably clean and well-organized but empty. I don’t exactly want to barge into his bedroom, but this is very urgent, so I head deeper into the house. There are three bedrooms on the top level, and I guess the one at the end of the hall belongs to him.

I knock on the door and wait. When no response comes, even after a minute, I knock again. Finally, I push down on the handle of the door and walk right in. My eyes land on the bed. It’s huge enough to fit seven of me, but then again, Gio is a large man.

I frown in confusion at the apparent absence of the man. Where the hell is he?

Just as I turn to leave, my eyes land on the open door of his bathroom, and I freeze in my tracks. My mouth drops open at the sight before me.

The sight of a very naked and wet Giovanni Lombardi with his hand wrapped around his cock.

My mouth goes dry while some other part of me goes damp. Oh, Lord.

I’ve always known he was a fine man. I just didn’t properly understand how glorious he was. His wet hair is plastered around his face, and water drips down from it and trails from his pronounced pecs down the ridges of his abs and further down.

I find myself getting jealous of water droplets. I also don’t realize I’ve moved so close and am standing right at the doorway until his head snaps up and his brilliant brown eyes meet mine.

Without a change in expression, almost like he was expecting me to be there, he continues tugging at his dick, the tattooed muscles of his arms bunched and tense.

I lick my dry lips and fight the urge to reach down into my pants and give my pussy the friction it demands. That will be crossing a line. It’s one thing to gawk at a naked man in the privacy of his own bathroom, but it’s another thing to touch yourself while doing it.

His hands become faster and rougher as his hips push into the hole of his fist. His ass muscles also clench and unclench as his thick and veined length violently slips in and out of his grip. Damn, I wish those hands could be mine.

“Gio,” I whisper, barely loud enough for even my own ears, but somehow, his eyes sharpen imperceptibly on mine.

I drop my gaze down to his thick cock. I had seen the outline of him the other day at his office, but it didn’t prepare me for his size. My pussy pulses at the thought of that monstrous organ pushing into me.

When I meet his eyes again, the intensity I find there makes me shiver.

His lips peel back from his teeth, and he lets out a rough growl. “Mine,” he grunts, and then he comes with a shout, ropes of cum painting the walls of the bathroom.

I’m hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, and I’m this close to joining him in there and showing him how soaked I am, but at the last second, I come to my senses and take one careful step backward.

Then another and another. “I’m s—s—sorry.” Next thing I know, I’m flying down the stairs and zooming off in my car like a bat out of hell, all thoughts of the threat to my life relegated to the back of my mind.