Chapter 6: Sofia

My fingers rise of their own accord and feather across my lips as our gazes stay locked from across the distance separating us. I've replayed that kiss on the staircase landing more than a thousand times in my head.

Over a year later, I still don't understand why he kissed me. No matter how much I secretly longed for a repeat performance, nothing has happened. If anything, Roman's become colder and more standoffish. I didn't think it was possible, but it is.

I keep hoping I'll outgrow my infatuation with Roman, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm beginning to wonder if it ever will, which sucks. I don't want to be hung up on a guy who can't even be pleasant when our paths cross.

When I meet new guys, I automatically compare them to Roman. The kiss we shared has ruined me for all other men. And it blew every other kiss I've experienced into oblivion.

If Roman intended to teach me a lesson, his attempt backfired spectacularly. Instead of driving me away, it's deepened my attraction to him.

I want him more now than ever before.

Grace clears her throat, and I realize that I'm still staring at Roman, who, along with my brothers, Giovanni, Matteo, and Niko, flank my father. Roman has become my father's right-hand man over the course of the last three years by making himself indispensable to the organization.

When I remain silent, she nudges me with her elbow. "So, Roman, huh?"

Heat suffuses my cheeks. This is one of those times when I'm glad I have olive-toned skin. A blush isn't nearly as noticeable as on someone with a creamy complexion. Like Grace, for instance. Matteo seems to take pride in bringing the color out in her fair cheeks.

I look away from Roman and scoff, "Of course not," wincing as the lie rolls off my tongue.

She arches an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

I draw myself up to my full height. "I couldn't be more certain."

Grace and I have spent a lot of time getting to know one another during the six months she's been with Matteo. I've kept my feelings for Roman under strict lock and key even though we've grown close.

There's no point in mentioning them.

Roman isn't interested in me. He's done everything in his power to prove how inconsequential my existence is to him. After years of frigid looks and abrupt dismissals, it seems pathetic that I can't get over him and move on with my life.

"I don't know," Grace muses. "He looks awfully interested to me."

My gaze darts in his direction before I can stop it.

Thankfully, Matteo ends the conversation when he sneaks up behind Grace and wraps his arms around her.

My heart melts as I watch him pull her in for a backward hug. I'm happy that he's found a woman so perfectly suited to him.

When he nuzzles her ear, I pretend to gag.

Okay, maybe it's not pretend.

Their overly affectionate manner is enough to make anyone nauseous.

And jealous, too.

****

Roman continually snags my attention throughout the afternoon even though I try my hardest to avoid staring at him. There isn't a moment when I'm not aware of every move he makes. My eyes track him everywhere he goes.

After dinner, Grace and Matteo open their gifts. I glimpse Roman exiting the tent as my brother holds up a silver picture frame for everyone to see. Acting on impulse, I head toward the house after him.

We haven't spoken a word to one another even though our gazes have connected several times throughout the afternoon. By unspoken agreement, we avoid interaction at all costs. Since that unexpected kiss took place, arm's length has grown to yards.

Roman moves fluidly through the thick crowd and slips out the back door. No one notices him except for me. I notice everything about him.

Pulling open the French door, I glance around the Tuscan-style kitchen with its dark cherry cabinets and sand-colored granite countertops. Roman is nowhere to be found. Instead of moving toward the living room, where guests are conversing in loud, exuberant voices, I turn toward the wing that houses my father's office as well as the security room that contains surveillance monitors for the entire property. I have a feeling that's where Roman's headed.

Moving away from the revelry, noise gives way to silence. As I approach Papa's office, I notice that the door is ajar, which is unusual because my father is paranoid about security and keeps it locked at all times.

I push open the door and peek around the corner, scanning the inside of the wood-paneled room. An antique mahogany desk sits prominently in the center. A massive fieldstone fireplace occupies the far end. Built-in bookshelves line the opposite wall, filled with old leather-bound volumes that Papa has been collecting since he was a child.

My father has a deep appreciation for the classics and has instilled the same in his children. I remember running my fingers over the worn spines before selecting a novel, eagerly devouring the words on each page, and then sitting down with him to discuss my thoughts. We would spend an entire evening in the matching leather chairs with a fire roaring in the grate, cups of hot cocoa and a bowl of buttery popcorn on the end table between us.

Those are some of my most cherished childhood memories of Papa. The best thing about them is that they have nothing to do with Enzo, the mafia crime boss. They're about a father and daughter bonding over their shared love of a well-told story.

Leaving the door open, I step into the empty room. The air is still, as if it hasn't been disturbed for some time. Roman may have turned down this hallway, but he didn't stop here.

Disappointment fills me, snapping me out of my daydream.

Oh my God, did I really follow Roman hoping to find him?