Five Years Ago
~ Niamh ~
God, I hated clubs. They were loud, sweaty, and required too much fake joy.
But here I was, miles away from my father's territory of Houston, sitting at a bar and sipping whiskey alone. The ice in my glass was melting fast, mirroring the way I felt like I was dissolving in this crowd. Outside, the El Paso summer was like furnace, and inside, the humid air felt thick enough to wear.
My friends, who'd lured me into this scene, were lost in the pulsing mass of the dance floor. My escort, Ronan, had stepped outside to handle a call concerning one of the many businesses my father's crime organization ran—a call I knew would eat up the next hour.
To keep the boredom from settling, I decided to observe the club's interior. The neon lights flickered against the dark walls, casting long, distorted shadows.
I drew a shaky breath and my lips instinctively parted as my gaze snagged on the VIP section directly across the room. There sat the most intensely gorgeous man I had ever seen.
He looked to be almost a decade older than me. His dark, perfectly styled hair, all glossy and soft-looking, gave way to matching thick brows. A strong, determined jaw was shaded by dark stubble, surrounding a pair of full, sensual lips.
When his gaze finally landed on me, a deep frisson of awareness shot through my entire body. His eyes were so intense, as dark as his hair, and so piercing I felt like they could strip away every secret I possessed. I suddenly became painfully aware of my makeup, my dress, and the way my nerves tinged with heightened sensitivity. Suddenly It felt like the temperature in the room jumped ten degrees!
I tore my eyes away and gulped down a large amount of whiskey to smother the strange, sudden desire that hummed through my veins.
I slammed the glass down and stood, intending to join my friends—anything to get my mind off the sexy stranger. But before I could take a single step, the man slid into the empty stool right beside mine.
My eyes widened and my heart pounded wildly against my ribs. There was something dark and alluring about him that was beyond his dark looks and black suit.
He offered me a slow smile, and every thought of dancing fled my mind.
"Hello, beautiful," he said. His voice carried a warm Italian accent that wrapped smoothly around his words. It was rich and deep—so resonant I practically felt it vibrating from my chest all the way down to my core.
"H...hi," I stammered, fiddling nervously with the side of my dress.
He smiled, a flicker of warmth acknowledging my obvious nervousness. "Come sit with me." He gently patted the stool I had just vacated, and I obeyed instantly, surprised by my own obedience.
The bartender materialized immediately with two glasses of wine. The man handed me one. "What's your name, beautiful?" he asked.
"I'm Niamh," I replied, sipping the wine immediately to settle my nerves.
"Niamh, it's nice to meet you. I'm Alessio," he smiled, extending his hand.
I was right. Italian.
"Nice to meet you too," I replied, taking his hand. A sharp jolt of electricity immediately zapped through me and my breath hitched as a powerful tingling sensation ran from my hand all over my body. The skin on my arm broke out in goosebumps despite the heat.
His dark eyes intensified as he watched my reaction, and I wondered, hoped, that he felt it too.
"You came here alone?" he asked when he reluctantly released my hand.
I shook my head, fighting to reconnect my brain to my mouth.
"With friends?" He arched a perfect brow.
"Yes. They're dancing right now," I replied, nodding toward the floor. Alessio didn't take his eyes off me.
"Why didn't you join them?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Didn't feel like dancing, I guess."
He leaned forward, his minty breath mixed with wine fanning my face. "Do you want to spend time with me instead?"
I felt instantly hot and needy. The depth of his voice combined with his close proximity made my heart pound heavily, and my Mafia Princess training vanished.
I knew I should reply with a sharp refusal or simply stand up and walk away, but my body and brain were entirely shut down.
And God, he smelled incredible. His scent was spicy, bay leaves and cedar, making me desperate to close the distance between us.
"Uh...mm," I struggled. "Do we know each other from somewhere?" I felt foolish for asking, but I needed to know why this man had sought me out.
He frowned slightly but didn't lean back. "I don't think so. I'd never forget a face like yours if I had seen it before."
"Then why did you come to me?" I probed further, needing to gauge his intentions before I did something reckless.
He smirked. "Because I want to know you, Niamh."
"Oh." I suddenly licked my lips nervously.
His eyes darkened as he tracked the movement of my tongue, and my heart raced even faster.
"Don't you want me to know you, Niamh?" he asked huskily, leaning down and lightly biting my left earlobe.
"I...I do," my reply came out as a strained gasp. I just couldn't help it. The shock of sensation that ran through me when his mouth touched my ear was too much, and the way my name sounded in his voice only sealed my fate.
He hummed his approval, the deep sound making me clench my legs together. "Good girl."
He lifted his head to look at me, and I was utterly lost in the darkness of his eyes as we held each other's gaze. I don't know who leaned in first, but moments later, we were kissing.
And my body ignited.
I'd kissed other boys before, but Alessio's kiss blew every one of them out of the water.
His lips were soft and firm. When he gripped the back of my neck to deepen our connection, I gladly pressed closer, letting out a little sigh of bliss.
Alessio's mouth on mine was pure fire. I was lost in him—not even sure where he began and where I ended. My body was just a collection of sensations, crashing over me in powerful waves.
I wanted more. Needed more.
His lips skated down my neck, and I gasped, pressing against him like a moth drawn to a flame. The little sensible part left in my brain whispered that we were in public and Ronan could be back any moment.
"Alessio," I breathed as his hands greedily skimmed over my body.
"Do you want us to get to know each other better, Amore mio?" he asked, trailing hungry kisses back up my throat.
Amore mio. My love.
I didn't need a dictionary. Coming from him, it melted me further, making me burn hotter.
"Yes," I replied, the sound of my own voice confirming my sudden, shocking desperation.
***
The early morning sun was already searing through the gaps in the curtains when I woke up the next morning and realized Alessio wasn't there. His side of the king-sized bed was already cold, like he had left hours ago.
I sprang to my feet, the duvet falling off my naked body, and searched the entire luxurious suite he had paid for but he was nowhere to be found. That was when I noticed only the black dress I had worn lay tossed on the floor. His clothes were gone.
I covered my mouth, muffling a sudden cry. Alessio was gone. How could he do this?
I had taken him seriously. I thought that powerful pull we shared was the beginning of something special. He had said he wanted to know me, and I had believed he felt the same dizzying connection.
Oh, how stupid and naïve I was!
I shook my head, trying to process the situation. The bloodstain on the pristine white sheet drew my attention, and hot tears streamed down my face.
I felt utterly stupid, allowing a stranger to take my virginity only for him to bolt like a thief the very next morning.
What would my father say? Donal O'Connor, the Godfather of the Texas underworld. It was impossible to hide from him, and reasoning with him was even more impossible, especially when the man who had ruined me was a ghost named Alessio.
I quickly pulled on my dress as my mind raced to Ronan and my friends. I pulled out my phone and found a flurry of twenty missed calls—twelve from Ronan, eight from my friends.
I texted Ronan my location, too shaken and choked up with shame and tears to speak. He immediately instructed me to stay put while he came to collect me. I ran my hands through my hair, waiting, letting the silent tears fall.
Something on the bedside table caught my eye. When I got closer, I saw it: a two hundred dollar bill.
Hot, pure anger surged through me, eclipsing the shame. Was this payment for the sex? For taking my virginity? Did he think I was a cheap prostitute?
"Fuck you!" I screamed, tearing the money into pieces before smashing the flower vase next to it against the marble floor. The sound of the glass shattering against the expensive floor felt like the only thing that made sense.
How dare he treat me like a one-night stand after that?
And then the final, sharp realization cut through the rage: We didn't use protection.
Oh God, I was ruined.