“This is worse than a bullet. The Feds will bleed them slowly.”

That makes Butcher smile. Of course it does.

“All right. Enough business.” Antonio waves us away. “I promised Angelica a nice dinner in the city this evening. I need to get ready.”

Butcher’s already moving to the door, as if he was simply waiting for the all clear so he could return to Bianca in their wing of the house. The love bug has bitten the Palermo family hard. First Antonio and now Butcher–two men who I never imagined would fall in love. But now they’re ruled by it, and I have to say I’m rather liking the change.

They hurry away to their respective wives as I glance toward the foyer. I should walk down the hall and out the front door. Maybe take a drive to the city or occupy myself with more work, balancing accounts, checking for any bullshit in the Larone books.

Instead, my feet carry me toward the back of the house. It’s dusk, the sun coating the trees and landscaping in a warm golden glow.

It coats her, too.

I stop, my breathing suddenly faster, my palms going sweaty, my cock getting achingly hard. She’s right where I knew she would be.

Why do I do this to myself? It’s fucking torture. That’s Butcher’s forte, not mine. But here I am, watching her through the window as she naps, her lithe body on display in a white bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Not that I need it. I know every curve and dip of Carina’s body, every inch of her committed to memory. The way her pouty lips purse after she’s said something particularly sassy, the way she sways her hips when she walks, the scar on her left ankle from a bike accident when she was six, and a million other details that don’t escape my notice.

She shifts, her legs spreading the slightest bit, giving me a perfect view of the triangle of white fabric between her thighs. I move closer to the window, my eyes straining against the falling night. The outline of her pussy lips presses against the fabric, giving me a tantalizing view of her most intimate parts. Parts I want to worship with my tongue, my fingers, my cock. Parts I want to coat with my cum so everyone knows who she belongs to.

My heart hammers, my cock pressing against my pants as the reasonable, intelligent parts of my brain shut down. All I can see is her. All I want is her. How many times have I imagined taking her? Holding her down as she pants my name, giving her every inch of me until she shudders and gasps, pleasure overcoming even her sharp tongue. Fuck, I want it so badly that sometimes I wonder if I might lose my goddamn mind.