Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

But he didn’t know that. He couldn’t know that. No one did. Even those outside my inner circle within my organization were in the dark. With any luck, he never would. Still, I felt the familiar regret that we were meeting as enemies and not as childhood friends.

Not as two people with the potential to be . . . more.

I strode toward him, making sure to stand straight and show no fear. Not even a hint of it in my body. Not in my eyes. He could know nothing of what this all meant to me. What his life and his imminent death meant to me.

I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. He was by far the best looking man I’d ever seen. I was being completely objective, clinical. He was the most gorgeous man I had seen in my life.

Vincent was beautiful. But not soft. He was beautiful in the hard, masculine way of the old movie stars. Clark Gable came to mind. The kind of man whose arm a woman would be proud to hold onto. The kind of man you just knew would take care of you. Protect you. Keep you safe. Die for you if he had to.

But not this man. He was not a save haven for me. He would not protect me. He would save me. He would die, but he would never know the reason.

It made my heart hurt to think about it.

I stopped a few feet away from him. He was not going to ambush me. I knew it instinctively. The heat in his eyes was not anger, though I was sure he was angry with me. I was shocked at what I saw there.

He wanted me. More than a little. More than I’d ever been wanted before.

Lust shone from his eyes. It was in his entire body. The way he stood. The tension in his face. The way his entire body pointed toward me. Unbridled, unstoppable, and impossible.

I felt an answering heat inside me like nothing I had ever known. I had a flash of an unwelcome image. I was wearing a white silk gown. He was in a suit. He bent me backward onto a bed, kissing my throat as he lowered himself on top of me.

Stop that right this minute, Francesca. Get a grip on yourself. He is not for you. He never will be.

And even if he were, he won’t live long enough to make you his wife.

“Francesca,” he said simply, a wealth of meaning behind the husky tone of his voice.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, tossing my hair without breaking eye contact. I would not check the bushes for his goons. I knew they were not there. If he wanted me dead, there were easier ways to do it.

He laughed and shook his head, not answering right away.

“See you . . . yes. I did.”

“Why? This won’t look good to the other families.”

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” he said, those dark eyes studying me intently. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. The effect on my heart was devastating. “This is between the two of us,” he said, making it almost sound . . . intimate.

I couldn’t help but smile back. Not a warm smile. The smile of a shark who smells blood in the water.

We were both sharks, circling each other, wondering who would strike first. But it was clear we had completely different intentions.

“I don’t give a damn what they think either,” I said, arching a brow in challenge.

“I know you don’t. You never gave a damn for convention,” he said, his deep voice tinged with admiration.

I hid my feelings well, but it was getting harder. He was playing on our history together. A history that meant nothing after all these years. Not really. A history that could ruin everything, but only if I let it.

But there was no ignoring the warm feeling that came over me. He saw me clearly. All of me. He always had.

I had to protect myself.

“I don’t see the point of this, Vincent. I came here out of respect.”

“And I asked you out of respect,” he fired back without hesitation. And then his voice changed. Got quieter. Mournful. “I know it’s you, Francesca.”

My heart stopped. How could he know? How much did he know? If he knew the truth, I imagined him riding in on a horse, banners flying. I had the oddest feeling that he would want to help. But he couldn’t. My ex-husband had eyes everywhere. He would know.

And I might never see my baby again.

I couldn’t risk that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my chin high, staring right at him. But he did know. I could see it in his eyes. We both did.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. There is no reason for us to be at war.”