Craving Danger (Kings Of Mafia)

Tonight is a fuck-ton more difficult than I expected it would be.

After spending time away from the office so I didn’t have to interact with Samantha, I knew tonight might be uncomfortable.

But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s brutal.

All I want to do is hold her. The fucking urge is driving me insane.

I link my fingers again and rest my hands on my lap while I tell her about my parents.

When Dad had the stroke, I had no choice but to take over as the leader of the Vitale family.

Christ, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. People looked to me to run the business even though I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

“Were you close with your dad?” Samantha asks.

“Not really. I was seventeen and at a stage in my life where I didn’t agree with anything my father said or did. Looking back now, I wish I had listened to him.”

“Don’t we all,” she chuckles. “I argued with my mom about everything when I was a teenager.”

Wanting to keep the conversation flowing, I ask, “What kind of tattoo do you want to get?”

I feel her arm brush against mine as she shifts a little. “I was thinking of bricks or blocks with some shading and a flower growing out of it.”

When I glance at her, it’s to find her looking at me.

She scrunches her nose and turns her gaze to her lap. “It means something good can grow in harsh conditions.”

“I think it will suit you.”

“Yeah?” Her gaze flits to mine again. “I also want to add the words ‘stronger than ever’ so it looks like graffiti on the bricks.”

“The words definitely describe you.” Knowing she might have a problem with the tattoo artist, I say, “The guy who did my tattoos is a friend. If you want, I can be there so you’re not alone with him.”

Her teeth tug at her bottom lip before she asks, “There isn’t a woman who can do the tattoo?”

I shake my head. “I can ask around and see if I can find a different place for you?”

Letting out a sigh, she glances down again. “Will you be okay sitting with me?”

“Of course.”

She nods, and while she nervously tugs at the seam of her shirt, she whispers, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Samantha turns her head, and I watch as she stares at my hands. Slowly, I unlink my fingers and lay my hand palm up on my thigh.

‘Take my hand,’ I silently encourage her.

She keeps staring, and as the seconds pass, a weird tension fills my chest. Christ, I’ve never felt such a desperation to touch a woman.

She shifts her hand to her thigh, and another few seconds tick by before she reaches for me and places her palm on mine.

The simple touch sends one hell of an electric bolt up my arm.

The air around us feels charged as I slowly weave my fingers with hers.

For a moment, I forget who I am.

I forget Samantha’s my assistant.

While we both stare at our joined hands, I’m amazed by the emotions Samantha’s touch stirs in my chest. Pride, protectiveness, empathy – but mostly the attraction I felt for her when she first started as my PA comes back in full force.

She’s not the brainless woman I took her for during the first two weeks we worked together.

No. This woman is anything but stupid.

She’s hardworking, intelligent, and so fucking brave it demands my admiration.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “How are you doing?”

Her thumb brushes over mine, then a stunningly happy smile lights up her face. “Surprisingly good.” Her eyes fill with a mischievous expression. “It seems my mystery man has the magic touch.”

Mystery man.

Right. She doesn’t know who I am.

Taking a deep breath, I tighten my hold on her hand. Before silence can fall between us, I ask, “How long have you lived in New York?”

I know the answer, but her mystery man doesn’t.

“A year. I used to live in Texas.”

“Is that where your family is?”

She shakes her head. “No, they’re in Seattle. I try to visit them as often as I can. I’ll see them for the Fourth of July.”

So that’s where she’s going for the couple of days’ vacation she requested.

“Have you always lived in New York?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“And your mom?”

I shake my head. “She passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry,” Samantha whispers.

“It’s okay. She was eighty-one when she passed, and she had a full life.”

Her eyebrows fly up, then she asks, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-five. I was a rainbow baby. Just as they gave up on having a child, I came along.”

“Aww…they must’ve loved you so much.” Hearing the warmth in her tone makes a smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

“They did.” I let out a chuckle. “I was lucky.”

“Do you have any other family in New York?”

Nodding, the Cosa Nostra flits through my mind. “Yeah, I have a large family.”

I’m surprised when Samantha leans her head against my shoulder. She lets out a contented sigh, then whispers, “This feels good.”

I turn my face to her and wish I could rip the balaclava off so I can smell her vanilla scent.

“You know what would be funny,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“If we became friends.”

“Why would that be funny?”

She tilts her head back to meet my eyes. “Men and women can’t be friends.”

“Why?”

She shrugs before settling her temple against my shoulder again. “Someone always ruins the friendship by falling in love, then the other party feels obligated to try, and everything just ends up going to hell.”

“It sounds like you’re talking from personal experience.”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I am.”

Samantha is quiet for a moment before she continues to talk. “I used to work at a hospital in Houston. I met a neurosurgeon there…”

She pauses for a moment, and her hand begins to tremble in mine. Realizing this is hard for her to talk about, I brush my thumb over her soft skin.

“We quickly became friends. He fell in love with me, and because I thought the world of him, I gave a relationship between us a chance.”

I’m so caught up in what Samantha’s saying, I can’t stop myself from asking, “What happened?”

“I realized it wasn’t going to work, and when I tried to put some distance between us…”

The air tenses around us, and she pulls her hand free from mine so she can wrap her arms around her waist.

“He became more and more controlling. Things got bad, and I left Houston to make a fresh start here.”

Things got bad.

Anger fills my chest, and my jaw clenches as the muscles in my body tighten.

So the fucker who hurt her is a neurosurgeon in Houston. I’m sure I can find the hospital’s name in Samantha’s file at work. She must’ve had a work reference from her previous place of employment.

Knowing I need to say something, I focus on keeping my tone gentle as I say, “I’m sorry that happened.”

She just shrugs and continues to stare at her lap.

Suddenly my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, and I pull the device out. Seeing Renzo’s name flashing on the screen, I say, “I have to take this call. Give me a moment.”

“Sure.”

Getting up, I walk to the door and step out of the room before answering, “What’s up?”

“There’s a problem. One of the trucks was ambushed.”

“Fuck,” I hiss. I quickly pull the door shut behind me so Samantha won’t hear me, then ask, “Which truck?”

“The one Steve was driving. Whoever stole my shipment sent us a message.”

“What kind of message?”

“They fucking nailed Steve to the side of the trailer.”

Christ.

“Tell me you’re not by the truck.”

“I’m not. I sent Carlo to take care of things.”

“Tell him to be careful.”

“Are you coming over so we can decide how to handle this?”

I glance at the shut door. “Yes. Just give me a few minutes to wrap things up at the club.”

Ending the call, I head back into the room.

Samantha gets up and walks to the bed, where she grabs her handbag. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m going to be dead at work tomorrow.”

I check the time on my phone and see it’s almost midnight. “I should’ve kept track of time. Sorry.”

She takes a step closer to me, and gives me a grateful smile. “Thank you for tonight.”

When she heads to the door, I ask, “How are you getting home?”

“The subway.”

I shake my head. “I’ll arrange for one of the women to take you home.” Before I can stop myself, I add, “Or I can take you. I’m also leaving, so it won’t be out of my way.”

She stares at me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. That would be great.”

“A woman or me?” I ask to make sure.

The corner of her mouth lifts. “You.”

There’s an intense sensation in my chest, and it feels like I beat one of her demons.

Shit, I’m pretty sure Samantha knows I drive a G-Wagon. I’ll have to take Brian’s car and tell Milo and Lorenzo to follow us at a safe distance.

“I’m just grabbing my car keys, then we can leave,” I say as we step out into the hallway.

“Should I wait here?” she asks.

“Yes. I won’t be long.”

Hurrying toward the security room, my thoughts are torn between Samantha and the ambush on one of my trucks.

When I’m out of earshot of Samantha, I quickly call Milo.

“Yes, boss?”

“I’m using Brian’s car to take Miss Blakely home. Follow behind us and make sure she doesn’t see you.”

“Got it.”

“Be careful, Milo. One of the trucks was ambushed tonight.”

“Fuck,” my guard mutters. “I’ll notify the rest of the men.”

“After dropping off Samantha, we’re heading to Renzo’s place,” I inform him before ending the call.