Angol
Gentlemen don't look at engaged women the way Ras Sorrentino looks at me.
Ras Sorrentino is the underboss of the most powerful clan in the Camorra. He's also chaos and danger poured into a sleek Italian suit.
The first time I met him, I thought he was there to kill me. The second time, I wanted to kill him.
The third was in Ibiza, where I glared at him across the church as my sister married his boss.
It's not his sharp tongue or his taunting smirks that I hate the most. It's his gaze.
How it narrows when I flinch. How it hardens when he notices the bruises on my face. How he stares at my engagement ring like he wants to melt it off my finger.
I know it's a bad idea to let him push my buttons. After all, the fate of my family rests on my upcoming marriage and my fiancé is only interested in me because of my pristine reputation.
A reputation Ras seems to have no qualms with stomping all over.
It's a good thing him and I live on the opposite sides of the world.
Until he tells me, he's coming back to New York with me.
And he's staying.
