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On me.
I don’t want to look at the other guy.
I don’t want him there.
I don’t want him near Tristan.
The thought isn’t logical. It doesn’t make sense.
But it’s loud. Insistent and obsessive.
My hand lifts slowly, fingers curling into the shape of a gun. I aim it at Tristan first, holding it there, breathing hard.
Angry. Possessive. Unsteady.
He’s mine.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
Then my hand shifts.
The imaginary barrel points at the other guy.
My pulse thrums in my ears as my lips part.
“Bang,” I whisper.
Chapter 1
MAKSIM
“When will I see you again?” Dante asks, his eyes pleading as he watches me zip up my hoodie.
At forty-three, he looks devastatingly handsome, with a thick white beard framing his strong jaw and broad shoulders straining against his shirt. He’s a gentle giant on the surface, but a beast in bed, the kind who pins you down and fucks like he owns you.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly, shrugging as I tie my shoelaces. When I glance up, he’s still staring, all lost-puppy look. I sigh and close the distance between us. You’d think he’s some stray I picked off the street, but no, he’s as wealthy as my father and owns one of Europe’s premier wineries.
“Oh, my poor Dante,” I murmur, running my fingers along his jaw, flashing a charming smile. “You gonna miss me?”
“Don’t do this, Maksim.” Frustration laces his Italian accent. “You know I will. Come with me to Italy.”
My hands drift to his collar, fiddling with a button, letting silence stretch taut between us.
“I can’t come to Italy.” I meet his gaze. “It’s just sex between us, remember?”
He doesn’t hide the hurt flashing in his eyes, and I pretend not to notice.
“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I add. “You’ve been here with me for five days. You need to get back to your kids.”
He scowls, and I laugh. He doesn’t have little kids; his two grown-up ones are about my age.
Now, you might wonder why a twenty-two-year-old like me keeps tumbling into bed with men in their forties. It’s not daddy issues—my father adores me more than my brothers. I’m his golden boy, his weakness after my mother. Do I love him? possibly. Do I love going against him? Absolutely. My brothers used to resent the favoritism when we were young—I don’t blame them. Now, though? They’d kill for me. I know it.
“I’ll see you soon, Amore mio,” Dante says, his longing gaze turning serious. “Did I hurt you too much?”
I gently rub my wrist, still tender from the cuffs, and offer him a faint smile. “Not at all. I liked it. A lot.”
With that, I slip out of the hotel room. As I slide into my car, my phone buzzes with a call from Anton, my oldest brother. I chuckle and answer, pulling onto the road.
