Dangerous...

The connection snapped.

Lucas squared his shoulders and Gia took a physical step away.

“Very good, Tony,” she said, louder than necessary. “Um, escort Mr. Tamburo into the library until I call for him.”

She turned back toward Lucas, looking mystified by him, bewildered by her own emotions.

And—he hoped—perhaps on a level she was loath to admit, still anticipating his kiss.

“How’s six o’clock?” he asked.

She looked toward where Tony had been a moment before and then back at him. He fully expected her to refuse the dinner meeting.

Instead, she met his gaze head-on and said, “Make it seven.”

Lucas watched her make her way back down the hall, appearing more self-conscious of her movements than she had been before.

Then he turned, opening the front door at the same time as Vincenzo Tamburo, the head of the Peluso crime family, climbed the last step, two of his henchman in tow.

Whatever lingering emotions might have remained after nearly kissing Gia vanished instantly, yanking him soundly back to the reality of the here and now.

Lucas gave the other man a nod and the mafia don nodded back.

Christ.

Vincenzo Tamburo headed the second most powerful crime family in the city and was not a man to be taken lightly even when he was smiling, as he was doing now. He was ruthless and deadly, known to go to any and all lengths to keep his power intact. It was said that last year he’d had his own son-in-law whacked, the man’s body found at a Queens dump site, while his severed head had never been recovered. It was rumored that Tamburo had it preserved in a jar in his safe to remind himself that he could trust no one.

The son-in-law’s crime? Taking some initiative in his new role in the family and making his father-in-law a fortune from a Brinks-truck robbery that Tamburo hadn’t authorized.

Lucas stared at the older man’s wide back. Jesus, he hoped Gia knew what in the hell she was getting herself into.

And he hoped that when all was said and done, he would be able to protect her from the worst of it.

3

AN HOUR LATER, Gia stood at the French doors of her father’s office, trying to soothe her nerves by rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. It wasn’t that her meeting with Tamburo hadn’t gone as expected. It had. What she hadn’t anticipated was that the overbearing man would shake her to the core with his leering stares and arctic smiles.

She’d suspected that her familiar connection to her father’s old “friends” would change somewhat for the duration she sat at the helm. After all, she’d known these men all her life and they had been like uncles to her, providing her with lavish birthday gifts, big bear hugs and enthusiastic cheek pinches. They were probably as surprised as she was by her new title, however temporary. At worst, she’d allowed that perhaps they’d try to treat her like that child they’d watched grow up.

She’d never expected Uncle Vincenzo to look at her as if he’d prefer to see her hanging from a meat hook.

The question was, could Vincenzo Tamburo have given the order to pull the trigger of the gun that took her father’s life?

“Romulus! Stop!”

Gia blinked the backyard into focus. Or, more precisely, she watched as a hundred pounds of lean, mean Bucciuriscu canine lumbered onto the patio outside the doors she stood in front of, covered in soapsuds.

“Come back here right now, you,” a guy that was more gangly teen than man demanded as he followed the stubborn dog.

Romulus’s red tongue rolled out of his mouth in a doggie grin as he considered his pursuer and then proceeded to shake off the suds, covering the teen and the doors, causing even Gia to take a step back.

“Oh, Romulus, you no good hound,” the kid said in exasperation. “If you were my dog, I’d be having you for supper.”

Gia smiled for what felt like the first time in months. Romulus was one of two of her father’s purebreds, the other, Remus, of course, after the infamous mythological Roman twins.

She watched as Romulus planted himself, making it impossible for the kid to budge him from the patio.

Gia opened the soap-speckled doors. The kid looked up at her, having to shield his eyes from the sun. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Miss Gia. I didn’t see you there.” He grimaced. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Fusco, ma’am. Frankie Fusco.”

“Please, just call me Gia.”

She bent over and stroked the snout of the hulking guard dog.

“Yes, Miss Gia.” Frankie tugged on a handful of fur at the back of Romulus’s neck and nearly lost his fingers to the dog in the process.

“No, he won’t do anything for you that way,” she said. “Buccuriscus are highly aggressive dogs. You have to show them who’s boss.” She whistled for Romulus’s attention and then snapped her fingers, pointing to her side. “Here, Romy.”

The dog instantly obeyed, coming to stand next to her.

“Sit.”

He sat.

She patted the back of his wet head. “Where are you washing him?”

“Out by the garage, Miss Gia.”

That meant that Frankie had chased the dog a good ways around the grounds. Not surprising.

“Just Gia,” she said again.

“I couldn’t call you by your first name, Miss Gia. It wouldn’t be showing you the proper respect.”

Respect definitely had its drawbacks.

“You try commanding him,” she suggested.

Frankie followed her lead.

Romulus barked once at him and stayed put.

And then he stood again and shook himself out, spraying Gia with whatever suds and water remained on his thick fur.

She and Frankie looked at each other and laughed.