I death-gripped the bathroom sink as I tried to calm my racing heart. My eyes were wide in the mirror, cheeks pink from more than just the blush I’d spread over them.
Oh, this wasn’t good. I hadn’t seen Nico “Junior” Trocci in ten years, yet all it had taken was one shared glance across the aisle to set my blood on fire. In a church, of all places, surrounded by enough elderly people to fill a nursing home. Thank god for the setting, because if I was that turned on under those circumstances, who knew what would have happened if I’d run into him in the wild somewhere.
But, really, who could blame me? Junior looked good. Like the third deadly sin had sat down in the middle of Mass just to challenge my willpower. His dark hair had been slicked back from his face, exposing the angular features I’d once obsessed over: high cheekbones, arched brows, the green eyes he’d unfairly inherited from his mother. Junior had always been more striking than traditionally handsome, but it only made him more attractive, because his was a face you didn’t want to look away from. The longer you studied it, the more you wanted to learn all its secrets. What did those full lips look like when he smiled? Did those impossible eyes do anything but smolder?
A shiver slipped down my spine. I thought I’d had it bad back when he was a gangly teen with shoulders a touch too wide for his body, but now that he’d grown into said shoulders, I was in real trouble. One look. One goddamn look, and I’d spent all of Mass trying not to squirm in my seat like a . . . well, like a jezebel in a church. What was it that caused this kind of instant response between people? Was it just mutual attraction? Or was there something more to it, something the subconscious part of our brain sensed like pheromones or genetic compatibility or mutual assured destruction?
Whatever the case, it was a problem. One I wanted to avoid because I didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe I could hide out in the bathroom for the rest of coffee hour.
I sighed. No, I couldn’t be a coward, not with my grandmother out there waiting for me. She’d been the one to call me the other night during dinner with the news that my father had disappeared for what felt like the eighth time in my life, and before we’d gotten off the phone, she’d coerced me into coming here with her. I couldn’t abandon her now, not before she had a chance to show off her “wildly sexcessful” (her words) granddaughter to all the “prissy old bitches” (again, her words) she was forced to endure Mass with.
I took a deep breath and opened the door. I was getting ahead of myself; there was no reason to panic. Junior had never been one to participate in anything growing up, and it was a minor miracle that his mother, Moira, had wrangled both him and Alec here in the first place. I couldn’t for the life of me picture them sitting down at a table full of old people and politely carrying on conversations for the next hour. It would be like two wolves taking a nap with a herd of sheep.
Feeling bolstered, I smoothed my hands over my dress and left the bathroom. Everything would be fine. The Trocci brothers were long gone by now.
I pulled up short just after rounding a bend in the hall. There, leaning against the wall with one knee bent and his foot propped behind him, was Junior. His hands were in his pockets, head tilted back, looking like the epitome of calm. Meanwhile, at the mere sight of him, my heart was trying to break free from my chest and throw itself at his feet like a teenager at a K-pop concert. Embarrassing, but that was still better than what my vagina was doing.
Ignoring the dampness in my underwear, I started walking again. Junior heard me coming and rolled his head sideways, pinning me with a gaze that made me think our meeting like this was no accident and he’d been waiting for me.
“Hey, Lo,” he said in that rough, accented voice of his. You could take the man out of the neighborhood, but you couldn’t take the neighborhood out of the man.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Lo was short for Lauren Olivia. I hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Not since I was forced to switch schools. Memories of what Junior had done back then swam to the surface. Or more like what he hadn’t done. The way he’d left me all alone to deal with the fallout by myself. The way he’d blocked my number, stopped coming to church, pretended I never existed at all. This sonofabitch was the main reason I now had a one-strike policy with romantic partners.
The memories put some steel back into my spine, had me lifting my chin, meeting his bold look with one of my own. “Junior,” I said, my tone as neutral as I could make it.
I planned to stride right past him and go back to forgetting he even existed, but in a fluid motion, he hooked his fingers around my arm. The hallway blurred, and before I knew what was happening, my back was to the wall and one of his hands was pinning my wrists overhead. His other hand slid around my hip, his thumb stroking over my stomach in a way that spoke of possessiveness, familiarity, like we did this all the time.
I sucked in a breath to either scream or moan (my body was very confused right now), and ended up dragging in a nose full of his cologne, something dark and far too sinful for church. How the hell had I gone from walking past him one second to getting pinned against a wall the next?
Panicking that someone would notice us, I glanced right only to see the back of Alec filling up the door to the hall like a bouncer at a club. Sonofabitch. Junior had definitely planned this little run-in.
I lifted my eyes to his, ready to tell him off and then run like my life depended on it. Because it felt like it did. Junior was dangerous, and not just because he scrambled my brain, but because he worked for his father. Doing what, exactly, I had no idea, but I knew it involved the mob, and I’d seen enough shit growing up in Little Italy to know that smart people stayed as far away from the Mafia as possible. But when my eyes landed on Junior, I froze. He was looking at me like he used to all those years ago, in stolen moments when no one was watching.
His gaze roamed over my face, intense, electric, before settling on my lips. That damn thumb was still tracing tantalizing circles over my stomach, and the hand holding mine to the wall gripped so hard it felt inescapable. I couldn’t think with him this close, couldn’t remember all the reasons he was a bad idea.
He licked his lips, a hungry look entering his eyes that went straight to my traitorous vagina. Damn it, I’d spent too much time fucking myself lately, and not enough time fucking other people.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, for my ears only.
“No,” I forced myself to say. “I’ve barely thought of you at all. After what happened, you became nothing to me, no one.”
My tone made the words sharp enough to cut, but Junior only smiled, one arched brow climbing as he finally lifted his eyes to mine. This close, I realized they weren’t just green; they had flecks of amber in them, too, explaining why they always looked like they were lit by some inner flame.
“This is how you respond to no one?” he asked, gripping me harder, his gaze running over my body.
I glanced down, horrified to see that I was arching into him against my will. It must have been some horny church ghost possessing me. Some nun who’d lived an entire life of celibacy and now that she was dead, all she wanted before she passed into the afterlife was one rough fuck.
“The power of Christ compels you,” I muttered, desperate to expel her from my body.
Junior’s lips twitched. “You trying to exorcise me, Lo?”
“I heard that’s what you’re supposed to do when the ghost of an ex shows up.”
He glanced down again, to where I was still arching into him. “Doesn’t look like it’s working.”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” I told him. “It’s just because you come in a pretty package. Too bad it’s empty inside.”
Look, was it my best insult? No, but I was a bit distracted trying to banish Sister Mary Francis from my body before she made me do something truly stupid.
“Awww,” Junior said, his grin widening. “You think I’m pretty.”
Damn it. I’d forgotten what a smart-ass he was.
“Let me go, Nico,” I said, using his full name, his father’s name, in an effort to put some much-needed distance between us. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I don’t want any part of it.”
“Funny,” he said, ignoring my request and leaning in instead. His chest bumped against mine. Lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. The scent of him filled my nose, and despite myself, I dragged in a deep breath just to get another hit of it. If hell had orgies, his cologne was what they smelled like: dark, smoky, with a seductive hint of spiced musk and the subtle tang of sadism. “From what I remember,” he whispered into my ear, “you would have begged me to put my hands on you like this in high school.”
Mother. Fucker.
The lust cleared from my head, and with a jerk, I tried to knee him in the balls, but he must have anticipated it, because he shifted sideways enough that I hit him in the thigh instead. He still grunted in what might have been pain or surprise, his fingers loosening enough that I was able to slip free. My hand went into my purse as I strode away as fast as my heels would allow.
I didn’t hear any footsteps chasing me, but I glanced over my shoulder just to make sure. Junior stood in the middle of the hall, legs spread, hands back in his pockets as he watched me leave. Something about his stance felt like a power move. He was indolent, smug. Like a cat who’d just knocked a glass off a counter and wanted to know what the fuck you planned to do about it.
I whipped back around and picked up my pace.
Alec turned at the sound of my approach, his charming smile a twin for his older brother’s. I wasn’t about to fall for it a second time.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
I lifted my hand from my purse and pointed my taser at his face. “Away from you two assholes. Don’t think I won’t drop you in front of everyone if you get in my way.” These people already thought the worst of me; it wasn’t like tasing a man in a church would make much of a difference. If anything, it’d probably be the highlight of their morning and give them something to gossip about for the next week.
Behind me, a low chuckle echoed through the corridor. Of course Junior would find the idea of me face-tasing his brother hilarious.
Alec lifted his hands and stepped wisely out of the way. His smile seemed genuine. “Atta girl. Glad to see you’ve grown a spine since high school.”
“Unlike you,” I shot back. “Still your brother’s little crony, I see.”
He gripped his chest and pulled a pained expression. “Shots fired.”
I rolled my eyes and kept walking, stowing my taser back in my bag as I reemerged into the safety of the event room.
My Nonna Bianchi, sharp as a tack even at eighty-eight, noticed something was off as soon as I sat down. “What happened?” she asked, her gaze going to the corner of the room, where Junior and Alec stood together at the mouth of the hall, watching me. “Did those boys give you any trouble?”
I shook my head and forced my gaze away from them. “I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she gripped the table like she was getting ready to stand. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
I grabbed her arm, hoping to keep her in place. Knowing her, she’d hidden a wooden spoon (the analog version of my taser) somewhere in her purse and was about to go hit the Trocci brothers about the head with it. “Nonna, I’m fine. Junior was just being . . . Junior.” There was no other PG way to describe what just happened, and I doubted she’d believe me about Sister Mary Francis.
She shot the men one last glare before turning back to me. “I didn’t know they would be here. Usually, it’s just Moira and sometimes Nico in their pew.”
I gave her arm a squeeze before releasing her. “It’s not your fault. And nothing happened that I couldn’t handle.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I’m certain Moira would give them a good whooping if I told her they needed one.”
The thought made me grin. “I’m sure, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
She nodded, her gaze going past me. “In that case, I want you to meet my friend Barb.” One bony arm rose, and she waved it overhead. “Barb! Over here!” Nonna let out a huff and pushed back from the table. “One second. The woman is blind as a bat.” She stood, grabbed her cane, and started tottering away. “Let me go get her before she walks into another wall.”
An hour and a half later, I strode through my apartment door, feeling drained. Junior had left shortly after our run-in, and Alec not long after. My relief at their absence had only been momentary, though, because Nonna’s friends were a lot.
We’d spent a good chunk of coffee hour talking about my father. Nonna and I tried to change the subject away from him and downplay his alleged disappearance, but the other ladies were full of theories. Several thought he must have pissed someone off and had to flee to Florida. A few others were convinced he’d been picked up by the Feds. Three more thought he was dead.
Nonna downplayed every one of them. Tommy—he hadn’t earned the right to be called Dad—came and went as he pleased, and I’d hardly spoken to him in years. He could have disappeared months ago, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Or cared. To me, he was just the man who’d contributed half my DNA. My real father—and mother, while we were at it—was Nonna Bianchi, who’d raised me and my older sister, Kristen, since I was still in diapers.
“Incoming!” Ryan called, all the warning I had before Walter came flying straight at me.
I managed to turn sideways just in time to keep from getting taken out again as he wiggle-butted his way around me in excitement, his tail slapping the shit out of my legs, a happy whine climbing out of his throat. He had his favorite toy—a battered elephant with half the stuffing pulled out—clutched in his mouth, which meant that he and my roommates had probably been in their usual Saturday morning spot before I walked in: crowded together on the couch watching reruns of Love Island—we all agreed the first five UK seasons were the best.
I slipped my heels off by the door and followed Walter into the living room.
Ryan and Taylor swiveled their heads over the back of the couch to look at me.
“How was church?” Ryan asked.
In answer, I flopped face-first onto the chaise longue beside them and let out a loud groan.
“That bad, huh?” Taylor guessed.
“Junior was there,” I said, but it was so muffled by the cushion that I had to raise my head and repeat myself.
Ryan winced when they heard the name.
Taylor looked between us, confused. “Who’s Junior?”
Ryan and I met over a decade ago, during my senior year at my new school, when I was still a mess after everything that happened, so they knew all the sordid details. We’d met Taylor five years later, after I’d banished thoughts of Junior from my mind. This was the first time I’d ever even spoken his name around her.
Ryan unfolded their tall frame from beside Taylor and strode toward the kitchen. “We’re going to need mimosas for this story.”
Taylor’s eyes widened as she looked from them to me. “Oh, really?”
I nodded. Walter chose that moment to round the chaise and shove his toy in my face. The stench of drool hit my nose, and I recoiled. “Let me go change, and I’ll tell you the whole story.
I was halfway up the stairs when my phone rang. “Nonna” flashed across the caller ID, and I answered, thinking she had one last bit of gossip to fill me in on.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sounding out of breath.
I frowned. “Yeah, why? What’s going on?”
“Someone slashed a bunch of tires in the church parking lot,” she said. “I was worried that you’d been picked up by street youths.”
“I’m fine, Nonna,” I assured her.
“Oh, thank god,” she said. “The neighborhood is going to shit, I tell you.”