I can handle it. She breathed away the desire to claw and rake at both men like her female wanted. They had no right to come into her beloved sanctuary, her haven, and order her around.

She took a quick bathroom break and then hurried to restock. There were so many men eating her inventory, she knew she wouldn’t have any left even if the meeting broke up before closing time. She was aware of that hideous man Patrizio Amodeo staring at her, and she wished she’d put her sweater back on. She served a few of the bodyguards, noting only one guard from each crime boss came up at a time, leaving three to watch over their man.

The phone rang as she turned to go into the back to get her sweater. She couldn’t stand being ogled. Not like that. “Small Sweet Shoppe.”

“Hey, beautiful, I’m standing outside and there’s a sign saying you’ve got a private party going on. I need some of your famous cannolis. Just sneak me in.”

Brice. A friendly voice. She glanced through the enormous window and smiled at him. “I can’t do that. I do have a private party going on. You’ll live without them.” She kept her voice low. Whispering almost, trying to create an intimacy between them so she could forget for a moment she was surrounded by criminals.

“Come on, babe. I won’t be able to live without seeing you today. You’re my fix. You know that. Meet me at the back door with a box of cannolis then. At least I’ll get a chance to ask you out.”

Alonzo’s tall, very large body suddenly blocked her view of Brice. He stood solidly in front of her, his back to the others. “Coffee,” he snapped.

She glared at him. That didn’t faze him in the least. He stared down at her with dead eyes, pushing the mug across the counter at her. Something in his frozen stare was very, very scary.

“I’ve got to get back to work, Brice. See you tomorrow.”

She put the phone down on his protest, filled Alonzo’s coffee mug and watched him walk back to the table. God, he was perfection sitting with his back to the wall, totally ignoring her as if she didn’t exist while he conducted business. She could look at him all day. The first time she ever saw him, he’d scared the daylights out of her. She knew dangerous. She knew criminal. He was both, but far, far scarier and much more dangerous than anything she’d ever known. Worse, she was certain he was a shifter. Almost certain. His eyes—those beautiful, cold eyes—had given him away. But maybe not. She’d watched him closely and she still couldn’t say with certainty—not like she could about his name, which she was very sure wasn’t Alonzo Massi.