The Mafia King's Temptation

Lucia. My head was pounding. The sunlight streaming through unfamiliar gold-threaded curtains felt like needles in my eyes, and every inch of my body ached in ways I didn't want to think about. I groaned, trying to piece together where I was and how I'd gotten here. The sheets beneath me were silk – expensive silk – and the air smelled of sandalwood and something else. Something masculine. Julia Romano's wedding. Right.  The celebration of the year, where the city's most powerful families had gathered to maintain our delicate facade of peace. The Romanos had spared no expense, transforming the Grand Plaza Hotel's ballroom into something out of a fairy tale. White roses everywhere, crystal chandeliers dripping with diamonds that probably weren't fake – after all, the Romanos never did anything halfway. Neither did we, the Valentinis, their greatest rivals and occasional allies in this city's underground empire. I remembered the champagne, way too much of it, flowing like water as both families played their parts perfectly. Smiling, toasting, pretending we hadn't been at each other's throats just months ago over territory disputes in the harbor district. My eldest brother Marco had warned me to be careful, to watch my drinking. "Remember who they are, sorella," he'd whispered, his dark eyes serious beneath his perpetually furrowed brows. But I'd laughed it off. I was Lucia Valentini. I could handle myself. A soft exhale beside me proved just how wrong I'd been. I turned my head slowly, dreading what I'd find. There, sleeping peacefully on white silk sheets, was a man. A very naked man. His dark hair fell across his forehead in perfect waves, and his sculptured chest – all golden skin and hard muscle – rose and fell with each breath. A tattoo of a crown wrapped in thorns curved around his left bicep, and I knew without looking that on his back would be the Romano family crest. I'd seen it last night, traced it with my fingers as we... Oh God. Then he shifted, and I saw his face clearly. Dante Romano. My heart stopped. No. No, no, no. Of all the men in that ballroom, I'd gone home with Dante Romano? The eldest son of my family's greatest rivals? The notorious playboy who was running for mayor and whose reputation with women was legendary even in our jaded social circles? I sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to my chest, my mind racing. This was bad. This was catastrophically bad. In our world, in the world of old families and older traditions, this kind of thing didn't just happen. Women from families like mine didn't have one-night stands, especially not with men from rival families. My brothers would lose their minds. And Papa... "Lucia!" A sharp knock at the door made me jump. "Are you in there?" Papa's voice. I'd know it anywhere. Since we lost Mama, he'd become even more protective, especially of me, his only daughter. The princess of the Valentini family, as the papers liked to call me. But right now, his voice sent pure terror through my veins. "Just a minute!" I called out, my voice scratchy. I looked frantically around the room. My dress from last night was draped over a chair, my thousand-dollar Louboutins scattered across the plush carpet. Evidence of things I desperately didn't want to remember. Next to the chair, I could see Dante's tuxedo jacket, the white rose boutonnière now crushed and wilting. Flashes of memory hit me – his hands on my waist, the heat in his eyes when he'd asked me to "get some air," the way he'd kissed me in the elevator like he was starving for it. Beside me, Dante's eyes fluttered open. Dark brown, almost black, they fixed on me with instant recognition. No trace of surprise or confusion. Just calculated assessment, like he was already ten steps ahead in whatever game this was about to become. That was the thing about Dante Romano. He always looked like he knew exactly what was going to happen next. "Papa's outside," I hissed at him, panic making my voice shake. "And if Marco, Leo, and Antonio are with him, which they probably are because they never let him go anywhere alone these days, we're both dead." Dante sat up slowly, the sheet pooling at his waist. A smirk played at the corners of his perfectly sculpted mouth. "Well," he said, his voice deep and annoyingly composed, "this should be interesting." "Interesting?" I wanted to scream. "This is a disaster! Do you have any idea what they'll do?" "I have some idea," he replied, reaching for his pants with infuriating casualness. "Given that your brother Antonio tried to shoot me last year." "You were moving in on our casino operations!" Another knock, more insistent this time. "Lucia Maria Valentini, open this door right now." I closed my eyes, willing this all to be a nightmare. But when I opened them again, nothing had changed. I was still in a hotel room with my family's worst enemy, my father and overprotective brothers were still outside, and my life was still completely, utterly ruined. "I can hear voices in there!" That was Leo, my middle brother, always the hothead. "I swear to God, if someone's in there with her..." "Leo, calm down," Marco's steady voice came through next. He was the rational one, always trying to keep the peace. "Let Papa handle this." "Like hell I will!" Antonio, the youngest of my brothers but possibly the most dangerous, chimed in. "If someone touched our sister..." I jumped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around me like armor. "What are we going to do?" I whispered frantically to Dante, who was now mostly dressed and looking far too amused for someone who might be about to get shot. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, somehow making it look perfectly styled. "We," he said, emphasizing the word in a way that made my stomach flip, "are going to handle this like the professionals we are." "Professionals?" I grabbed my dress, trying to figure out how to get it on while keeping the sheet in place.  "Lucia!" Papa's voice had taken on that quiet, dangerous quality that meant he was really angry. "You have ten seconds before I call hotel security." Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for certain – my life as I knew it was over. The question was, what would rise from its ashes? "Five seconds, Lucia!" I took a deep breath, channeling every lesson in composure I'd ever learned as a Valentini. Head high, shoulders back, never let them see you sweat. That's what Mama used to say. "Ready or not," I muttered, reaching for the door handle. Dante's hand caught mine, his touch sending unwanted sparks through my body. "Trust me," he said softly. I almost laughed. Trust a Romano? That would be my second mistake in twenty-four hours. The door burst open with a crash. I realized I didn't have much choice.