He drove me to Nico’s home in the Bronx in silence and then followed me to the back door. I knew the code to Ace’s alarm system—not because he trusted me with it, but because I’d secretly watched him type it in once.

Allister stepped inside behind me and shut the door.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re in shock,” was his response.

He looked around the place, his shoulders tense. He didn’t want to leave me here. I thought he even hated the idea. The question was, why?

“Why are you here?” I asked, draping his jacket over an island chair. “Feeling sorry for me?”

“No.” The word was hard, and the glint in his eye conveyed that he did not feel sorry in any way.

God, he was heartless.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Don’t lie to me again, Gianna.”

I was too numb to be annoyed by his lord-and-master tone. In fact, it felt like I was hanging by a thread high in the sky, though I was too indifferent to care if it snapped.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

I headed up the stairs, dropping my blood-stained dress at the top, and took a shower. When I went downstairs twenty minutes later, with wet hair and dressed in only one of Ace’s white t-shirts, Allister was still there, leaning against the counter and talking on the phone. His consuming gaze found me, drifting down my body with a mixture of warmth and agitation.

A tremor started beneath my skin, buzzing stronger like an approaching bee that would surely sting.

“Come here,” he said after he hung up.

When I reached him, he handed me a white pill and a glass of water.

“Take it.”

I didn’t even ask what it was; I took it with a sip of water and went to set my glass on the counter.

“All of it, Gianna.”

My eyes narrowed at the edges, but I drank the rest as I was told.

“There’s more in the cupboard for the next few days.” His voice caught a harsh note. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He thought I would try to OD on them. I’d experienced far worse than tonight and had never even contemplated suicide. I didn’t care enough to try and convince him, though.

As I walked past, he caught me by my t-shirt. I looked up at him. I didn’t know why he was here, why he was helping me. Nonetheless, I was suddenly grateful. I didn’t want to be alone.

The touch of his eyes ran over my face like a caress. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but his closeness, the heat from his body, it was penetrating the numbness and warming me from the inside out. My gaze softened, lips parted, as flames licked at my skin.

His grip tightened on my shirt, and I stumbled a step closer. He was too close, and I had to place a hand on his stomach to catch myself from falling flush against him. His abs tightened beneath my palm, but his expression remained unmoved.

“Regardless of what you might believe, Gianna, I’m a grown man. Dress appropriately in front of me next time.”

His words broke me from the warm spell I’d been under. He wanted me to respond, to say something so he knew I hadn’t fallen off the deep end—the sharp sound of his voice had practically demanded it. It was fake concern, I was sure.

Pushing away from him, I headed to the living room. I lay down and flipped the TV on to a soap opera rerun. I watched it mindlessly while listening to his deep timbre in the background as he talked on the phone.

I fell asleep at some point. And dreamed of a light touch on my face and two rough words in my ear.

After taking a trip down memory lane, I lay in bed until noon. The silence that filled my apartment was so loud it hurt my ears. I liked my freedom, but I hated living alone. I hated being alone. It reminded me of my papà. Of the slam of a door and the lights going out.

Vincent pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered in my ear.

I laughed, trying hard to keep an uncomfortable edge from escaping. “You obviously haven’t seen a sunset in the Caribbean.”

“I have, and trust me, it doesn’t compare. Shall I escort you in?”

I nodded.

Vincent placed a hand at the small of my back and guided me into the club.

It was the grand reopening, after the shooting last year. There hadn’t been much damage, and only six casualties—Antonio, his brother, Sydney, John, and two Zanettis. However, Nico had focused his time on revenge and not on opening his club to the public until now.

Vincent’s hand gripped low on my hip, in a possessive hold. I didn’t realize he’d be here tonight, but it seemed wherever I was lately, so was he. I didn’t want to have to turn him down, though I knew it was going to have to happen soon. He was kind-hearted, gentle, and handsome—exactly my type—but I wasn’t the woman for him. I wasn’t the woman for any man.

I didn’t need love in my life.

But I did miss sex.

So desperately that his warm breath in my ear sent a spark between my legs. It’d been six months since I’d pressed my mouth to another’s, felt the heaviness of a man’s body covering mine, lost myself in touch and feeling. The last time had been with a male stripper I’d met at a cantina in Cancún. It’d only taken the brush of his thumb at the hollow behind my ear until I gave in. It didn’t make me feel good emotionally, but physically, it was everything I needed. Hot and sweaty and desperate. I needed human touch like I needed air, and now, I was riding on a thin amount of oxygen.

Vincent led me to a group of our friends at a round booth in a private corner. We joined them with hellos and kisses on the cheeks.

I paused at the man leaning against the booth. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

Sharp features and blue eyes met mine. “I’d say the pleasure is all mine.”

How charming.

The stranger was a few inches taller than me, wearing a charcoal designer suit and tie. He looked like a gentleman, talked like a gentleman . . . but there was something about him I couldn’t put my finger on. Vincent’s possessive squeeze on my hip annoyed me.

“I’m going to fetch a drink.” I pulled away from Vincent’s grasp before he could protest and offer to get me one himself. He would. I thought he might bring me back the moon if I asked for it. He knew who my ex-husband was, the life I was raised in, but, like a true gentleman, he’d never brought it up. If he thought he could survive in my world, he was mistaken. It would chew him up and spit him out before he could even say hello.

I stopped at the bar, realizing Charming had followed me.

“What’s your name?”

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze in the glass behind the bar. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to know the name of the woman I’m fucking tonight.”

The corners of my lips tipped up. I loved straightforward people, however . . . something about Charming rubbed me the wrong way.

“Awfully confident,” I mused, grabbing my drink from the bartender.

My gaze was pulled to the side by some invisible force. I should have known it was him. It was always him. Allister was headed to a table where two other men in black suits stood together, talking. But, as though he’d felt my presence just as I had his, he glanced over and caught my gaze.