Vik (Shot Callers 2)

I wasn’t the kind of woman who needed to be doted on to appreciate a man.

As I passed him, I placed both my hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

Roman Vlasic, half Italian Stallion, half Croatian Sensation, shot me a smile that dripped of sex. “Morning, lutka. Where’s my kiss?” When I passed him, he tried to grab at me, and I slapped his hand away, training narrowed eyes on him. “What?” he asked, the very image of innocence.

He was a sleaze, which was why I was not going to give him an inch, because, Lord, he’d take a mile, and with a face like that, I’d be tempted to let him.

I pointed an unwavering finger at him. “Hands to yourself, Rome.”

He blew me an exaggerated kiss, and if I were any other woman, I would have thrown myself into his arms right then and there. But it was the gorgeous little guy at the end of the table that was, by far, my favorite of all my uncle’s adopted sons.

Davi Lobo – extremely sweet but extremely short – had a smile that could cause a coronary, and although he didn’t exude the kind of seductive pull that others did, he had other qualities that made up for it. As I sat beside him, he turned in his chair, giving me his complete attention, took both my hands in his, and pressed butter-soft kisses to my knuckles.

And that was why women all over New York were half in love with him.

They fell the full way down whenever he listened intently to whatever you were saying, his steady gaze on your lips, without actually understanding a lick of it.

He was getting better though. And so, I asked, “How’s your English coming along?”

When he made a face, I chuckled. He spoke rapid-fire Portuguese, and when I made a face identical to the one he made just a moment earlier, he stopped and smiled, letting out a heavily accented, “Better, a little.” Then he put up both hands and made a gesture like waves in an ocean. “Slowly.”

“That’s great.” I laid a hand on his arm and said, “Slow is good.”

There was one man missing, but I was not about to ask about him. There was history there, and I didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention toward it.

It was better that Philippe wasn’t here. Whenever we found ourselves together, there was an intense longing shadowing his gaze, one that I feared would never escape him. It wasn’t fair for him. My heart belonged to another.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Nastasia?” my uncle asked kindly.

Uncle Laredo still wasn’t used to me coming over unannounced, and after all the bad blood between our families, I was pretty sure he was waiting for the ball to drop. He just couldn’t seem to understand that being in his presence gave me a familial connection I thought I’d lost.

Helping myself to a piece of toast on Davi’s plate, I nibbled on it and uttered guardedly, “I didn’t think I needed a reason.”

Comprehending his folly, Laredo sat up straight, his newspaper forgotten, and said with absolute conviction, “You are welcome here, sweetheart. Always. At all hours. No matter what.”

Now if that didn’t just make my little heart sing.

“Good.” I grinned at him from across the table, and when he winked at me, a feeling of warmth settled in my chest.

The man seated to my left did what he always did. Trying his best to bleed into his surroundings, Alessio sipped at his espresso. When he felt my eyes on him, he looked up and lifted his brow. “What?”

My smile was deceptively serene. My words did not match the sentiment. “When are you going to stop screwing around and call her?”

He sighed loudly, then said, “How about you mind your fucking business, Nas?”

I let out an unladylike “Pffft” and blinked at him. “Do you even know me?” I laughed quietly. “It’s just not what I do.”

His jaw tightened a moment, but then he smiled darkly, the scars on his face stretching. “Tell me. How are things with Vik?”

Ooh. Touchy, touchy.

“Touché,” I muttered, taking the coffee right out of his hands and claiming it as my own, sipping loudly, then finishing with a satisfied “Ahhh.”

He looked at me like he might just strangle me, and a bubble of laughter stole up my throat. “Aw, don’t get pissy. You know I love you.” My lips pursed. “Like you.” I sipped at the strong, smooth coffee. “Okay. Tolerate you.”

When Mina found out she had a brother, she sure as shit didn’t expect it to be the ever ornery, Scar Face Scarfo. And, yes, it took them a while to bond, but now, they loved each other just as much as I loved my own siblings. It was nice. I liked that they had roots with each other, roots that ran deep. It was a bond that no other could replicate.