Dante turned to me then, sliding both large hands up my back into my hair to tug my head back by the fingers he tangled there. Those black eyes were soft with love, a slight smile on his ruddy mouth that illustrated his pride in me.

“You know you will take him on,” he whispered against my mouth, uncaring that my blood red lipstick was transferring to his own lips. “But make him work for it a little, lottatrice mia.”

My laugh was a more an exhale that became a sigh as he fused our mouths together, his hot tongue sliding between my lips. He ate at my mouth standing there in the middle of one of the most prestige homes in Bishop’s Landing with almost the entirety of New York high society in attendance.

He couldn’t care less about anything in that room except me.

The headiness of his attention and unwavering regard made me weak in the knees.

“I will find you when you are finished,” he said against my damp mouth. “Do not take too long or I won’t be able to wait until we make it back to the apartment to take you apart.”

“Is that a promise?” I teased, smoothly my hands down the lapels of his suit to buy time while I recovered my shaken equilibrium.

“Sempre,” he said with a wink before jerking his head at Tiernan and turning on his heel to melt back into the crowd.

For a large man, he assembled with the masses quickly and seamlessly. Before I could even turn around, I saw him start a conversation with a man I had no doubt was Samuel Patterson.

I wasn’t the only one doing business that night.

When I turned to Tiernan, he was watching me with the keen patience of a predator hunkered down in the grass.

“Shall we?” I asked with an arched brow.

Tiernan answered by turning on his heel and stalking through the crowd toward the black abyss of the night shrouded garden through the open French doors at the back of the room. I followed.

We were almost at the doors when Bryant Morelli stepped into Tiernan’s path. Despite his age, he was still a profoundly attractive man with the kind of dark good looks that spoke of his Italian ancestry. Though, no amount of perfect symmetry could make the scowl on his heavy brow anything but domineering and mean.

“Tiernan, I need to speak with you. Come to my office,” he ordered brusquely, the way a general commanded a common soldier, as if his obedience was guaranteed.

“I’m in the middle of something, Father.” His words were cold and dispassionate, but a muscle jumped at the corner of his jaw.

I could feel the tension from three paces back.

The other man’s scowl deepened. “End it. I need you in my office in five minutes for serious business.”