I sit across from Neela and watch with as she eats some grilled chicken and rice I made for her. It’s nothing special, but she's devouring it like it's the best thing she's ever tasted.

"What?" she asks, looking up at me over her plate.

"I wasn't lying when I said I appreciate a woman with an appetite. You can imagine how torturous it was to watch you stage a hunger strike."

She flashes me a reluctant grin. "A hunger strike? You make it sound so dramatic. I just didn’t have an appetite last night. I ate that entire bowl of pasta at the restaurant before we came back here, remember? How much do you think I need to eat?"

I nod, grinning a little. It’s a relief to feel like she’s finally ready to act normal around me, relaxed, even. "Felt dramatic from where I was sitting. I was starting to worry those beautiful curves of yours were going to melt away."

A blush creeps onto her cheeks, but she looks back down and takes another bite of her food. After a few moments, she shakes her head. "So you really expect to kidnap me and still get to fool around?”

I shrug. “You could say I left a few moves on the table back at the restaurant. Maybe I was hoping to show you what else is up my sleeve.”

She tries to cover her mouth with her hand, but I can see the hint of a smile in her eyes. When she composes herself, she lets her hand fall back to her lap, cheeks still flushed red. "I’m less worried about what’s up your sleeve than I am about what’s in your pants.” It seems impossible, but her cheeks become an even deeper red. “I’m still a little sore from you.”

My heartbeat quickens, and in an instant, I’m nearly unable to hold back my need to have her again. Watching her across the table looking so small and perfect is almost too much. The lust comes with a strong note of pain, because I know no matter what she lets me take from her while she’s here and she’s mine, it’s only temporary. We have an expiration date, and chances are, it’s only going to be a few days.

Nothing says I can’t enjoy those few days, though.

“I’d be happy to give you a massage,” I say, grinning. “Although I think you’d end up more sore down there by the time I was done with you.”

“You're unbelievable,” she says, laughing a little. “One minute, you're playing the knight in shining armor to get me off my 'hunger strike' and then as soon as I agree to eat, you go back to being the beast who seduced me on our date?"

"Seduced?" I ask. "Now who's being dramatic?"

"Please. You came strutting up to me with all your—" she waves her hand around in an unsuccessful attempt to convey some idea. "And you started talking about the things you wanted to do to me like it was—" her hand goes frantic again. She sighs. "You tried your hardest to seduce me. You can at least admit that much."

"I wasn’t exactly being secretive. If I remember correctly, I told you what I was planning. I don’t think that counts as seduction," I say.

"You're such a liar. And you're a kidnapper. And an ass."

I grin. Even though there's a hint of real anger and truth in her words, she can't hide the trace of amusement just behind her eyes. She's enjoying this in her way, whether she wants to admit it to herself or not.

“I need to go speak with my father today. I’m going to make an exception and let my guys stay here to keep an eye on you, but if any of them try anything—anything at all, just yell. The guard outside will be in here in a second to help you. Okay?”

“You can’t just call him?” she asks.

“No. Half the family could be dead and I’d still have to drive to his goddamn tower to tell him about it in person. He’s stuck in the past—thinks he’s in some old mafia movie.”

She raises an eyebrow. "His tower? What is he, a supervillain?"

I grin at that. “He’d probably get a hard-on if he knew someone thought of him like that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a powerful man, and he’s not stupid. He’s just built for a different time. The world moved on without him, I guess.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” she says, eyeing me.

“Me?” I ask. “I don’t think you understand what I do if that’s what you think.”

“So you don’t go around breaking people’s kneecaps because they owe you money or threatening people until they pay you for protection? I know you said it’s different, but I mean, look at you.”

“Movies and TV are about a generation or two behind on what organized crime looks like. I’m just a step away from getting clean,” I say. I hate how pathetic it sounds, even to me, like I’m some kind of junkie who thinks he can kick the habit. “We still throw around some bribery money, and occasionally lean on the family influence to help shave a few percent off a deal, but it’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“So you don’t hurt people?”

An image flashes in my mind: the blinding white flash of my gun and the sound, like a tree splitting in an instant. Three times. Crack, crack, crack. I see the way his shirt blew open from the force of the bullets and the small, innocent looking holes that ended his life as he slumped down and bled out, eyes never leaving mine.

“Not when it can be avoided,” I say. I try to harden my voice so she won’t hear the conflict there, the old wounds.

Her face sinks, and I realize she was hoping I’d tell her I didn’t, that I never have. She wanted to be wrong about me. Sorry, sweetheart. I wish you were wrong about me. “I need to go. The guys will be here in a few minutes. There’s more pasta in the fridge if you get hungry.

“I’m not sure I can handle any more pasta right now,” she says, laughing. Pasta at the restaurant, noodles last night, rice today… I’m starting to think you’re a carbivore.”

“Just Italian,” I say, standing and heading out to meet with my dad. And hers.

She watches me go without a word, eyes wide and thoughtful.

I’m going to find a way to make this right, Neela. I fucking swear it.