He was blond, charismatic, and easygoing. I hadn’t known such light-heartedness existed, and it had charmed me in a way. However, I was raised and deeply embedded in a different world altogether. A world that ended his life.

The most bitter part was that the guilt was fading, like the image out of a rear-view mirror as the car drove away.

I leaned my head against the wall, tilted it up, and twisted the ring on my middle finger. He gave it to me as a lark. However, now it had become a promise to myself to make restitution for my mistake. And I wouldn’t take it off until I had.

A familiar awareness brushed my bare skin.

I rolled my head to the side to see Nicolas standing at the end of the corridor, his hands in his pockets and that lazy stare all mine.

“And here I thought I’d never see you out of pink.”

His deep voice touched my ears, and I shivered from the sound filling the silent hallway. Never see you out of pink. My mind took that to a dirty place, where I wore nothing and he looked on. My breasts tightened as warmth ran a languid path between my legs. I swallowed and pushed the breathlessness away.

I hardly ever wore black, but I was feeling edgy tonight. Maybe because I knew he would be here and I needed the strength black could offer to pretend he didn’t exist. He’d only ever seen me in white or pink—it wasn’t a surprise he looked at me like I was a ridiculous girl most of the time. But that was for the best. If he had returned this fascination, I could only imagine the chaos it could bring, and I wasn’t starting another scandal. Ever.

Still leaning against the wall, I pulled up the hem of my dress until my hot pink heels were showing.

A hint of a smile pulled on his lips, and he wiped at it with a thumb before sliding his hand back in his pocket. Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. If I ever cursed—really cursed—it would be to describe how handsome he was. It deserved a salacious word, otherwise no one could understand the magnitude of it.

“What do you know Sweet Abelli to mean?” I asked, my expression thoughtful. I had to know if I was considered a whore to the entire Cosa Nostra. Living in naivety wasn’t my style, no matter how much I disliked the truth.

He raised a dark brow, maintaining a ten-foot distance. “You want me to say it?”

I gave my head a slow nod, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

How bad was it?

His gaze sparked with dark amusement, though a small amount of bitterness leaked through. “One of the sweetest pieces of ass in New York, easily.”

I blinked. Swallowed. Made a hmm noise to hide my breathlessness. That’s just what he knew it to mean, not necessarily what he believed, right? Still, I couldn’t help a weight from forming between my legs. My dress from feeling abrasive and hot.

This attraction burned, and before it scarred me forever, I needed to treat him differently. If I regarded him like family—which he would soon be—maybe then it would fade away.

I pushed off the wall and walked toward him. The old restaurant’s atmosphere held a charge. I suddenly wondered if the feeling was merely a reaction between two combustible forces, or if my crush had sunk so deep into my skin the air was thicker to breathe in his presence.

With an exhale that could be construed as relief, I said, “Well, that’s not as bad as I was assuming.” I stood in front of him, within arms’ length. A feeling of significance rushed me whenever I was in his company, like I had the attention of the most popular boy at school.

The past still gripped me, enough that the present seemed easy, courage not difficult to find. I stepped closer and ran my finger across the edge of his jacket button.

His voice held a variety of his natural darkness; this one was rougher, not in the least amused. “What did I say about assuming?”

Somehow, his demanding, bossy nature only made my cheeks warm. How easily this man told people what to do and expected immediate obedience. A silver spoon must have fed him his entire childhood.

“I had good reason to believe it was something else.” I pushed the black button through its hole, undoing his jacket. He watched me, and every inch of my skin burned like I was standing too near to a fire.

“I’d love to hear your half-baked reasoning.” His tone told me the opposite.

“So, what do you want?” I opened his jacket, revealing the black vest beneath that hugged his stomach. “Just checking up on me?”

His words were laced with harshness. “Your sister is drunk and you encouraged it.”

“Oh, so I’m in trouble, then?” I reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the cigarette I knew would be there. I’d seen him put it between his lips or roll it between his fingers like he was trying to quit. “Take it up with my papà. I’m an Abelli, not a Russo.”

I went to turn around, but he grabbed my wrist.

“You’re not going outside alone.”

“I saw some kitchen staff go out there.” I tried to shake off his grip, but that only brought his attention to my hand. His gaze darkened on my ring like he wanted to pull it off. I curled my fingers protectively because I believed he might just try it. When his grasp slipped from my wrist, I headed toward the back door.

“You’re not going outside with the kitchen staff.”

Treat him like family, right?

“Nicolas, go find someone else to boss around—”

I froze, my heartbeats slowing like they’d been dropped in molasses. He held me by the ponytail and kept me from taking another step, like it was a leash. My breath stopped when his front pressed against my back. He felt so warm, so good, I could have groaned if I had the air to do so.

With a small tug on my ponytail, my head tilted to the side and his lips brushed the hollow behind my ear. “Tell me what to fucking do again.”

My neck would be the most sensitive part of me if the obvious didn’t count. Goose bumps rose on my skin. His gravelly tone ran the length of my nape before trailing down my spine and between my legs. My back arched on reflex.

“You’re not going outside alone. And not with the kitchen staff either.”

With half-lidded eyes and a hazy mind, it took a moment to comprehend his words. I blinked, trying to clear my head.

“Do you have a lighter?” I was going outside, whether he liked it or not. My question left the suggestion open that he was invited, though I didn’t know why. This moment here proved I couldn’t treat him like family.

He gripped my waist and pushed me forward a step. He must have let my hair go and I hadn’t even noticed.

When he opened the alley door and humid August air brushed my face, I hesitated.

With his back pressed against the door, he held it open, his hands in his pockets. His stare was edged with something heated—maybe annoyance. He didn’t want to be out here with me.

The Sweet Abelli would have considered his feelings. I didn’t have to be her around him, though.

I stepped out to smoke with Nicolas Russo.

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.”

—Helen Keller

THE PAST HELD A SIMPLISTIC charm in my heart, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see the beauty in my complicated present. Urban development stretched to the sky, its pollution blocking the stars, but beneath it the magic of humanity lived on. There was good in the world, and I couldn’t understand how the blonde newscaster only focused on the unpleasant.