Turning Point||Book 2

22: Xenia.

Fucking damnation.

Those words were repeated ceaselessly in the space between us, but that was merely the beginning of it all. Romano stood before me, holding me, baring his soul without shame or restraint.

I'd never seen him at this level of tender before.

Strong arms were squeezing me in a soliciting way.

In spite of the searing intensity of his presence, he pressed on, words seeping through the air like molten lava. "I've tried to make sense of it all," the alcohol thickened his speech. "To me, you're like a loaded weapon, always a risk but I can't shake you. Can't deny I need you, even though you keep me on edge, even though you're always pointing at me."

The alcohol-induced dilation of his eyes offered a glimpse into the sincerity embedded within his words. And though Romano was usually all business and professional most of the time, tonight, his confession emptied him, leaving me breathless.

I rested my hand on the nape of his neck, not with the intention of kissing him, but simply to remind him of my presence, to assert that I was still the same woman, unchanged by whatever had transpired between Angelo and me.

Romano's eyes were keen and luring. "Every time I look at you, I'm drawn deeper into this unmentionable territory. You both thrill and scare me." His crooned confession caused my heart to thump like the beat of more than one drum.

Desperation and fear clung to every word he spoke, like a suffocating cloak threatening to engulf him entirely, "The only one capable of reducing me to my knees and erasing everything I thought I knew about women."

"Do you mean that?" My own soft question nearly heightened the anxiety to a wild intensity.

He nodded. "I'm reduced by you, Xenia. But I'd rather burn with you than live in this darkness without you." My heart wavered as he uttered those final words, "Don't make it stop or I'll have nothing else to fight for."

While Romano's tendency to drink excessively typically spelled trouble, I found myself strangely relieved that he could articulate his feelings in this vulnerable state. His openness stunned me, as I never imagined that someone like him, with his stoic demeanor and steadfast loyalty to the family, would bare his soul in such a raw and unguarded way.

"Romano, there's no other way," I whispered, hoping against hope that he'd hear me amidst the chaos of his emotions. "The TIF would rather see me dead. I don't want you to have to choose again, or hurt me with your choice. Because in your world, I and the Family cannot coexist."

Romano hesitated, reluctant to accept the truth in my words, yet he refused to release me. Firmly gripping my left arm and controlling my head movement with his hand on my neck, he drew me closer with a hunger in his eyes reminiscent of a wolf eyeing its prey.

The captivating gaze of his steel-grey eyes compelled me, enticing me to admit my interest, or maybe even my craving, for the embers of desire between us to burst into a roaring inferno.

A stray lock of hair escaped and danced around my face, catching Romano's attention momentarily before he deftly wrapped it around his finger.

"This is shit," he said, swearing in Italian. "God wouldn't drop this on me. He can't toss you at me and expect me to make a damn choice. It's nuts."

As he drew me closer and closer with no space left between, the scent of his strong cologne mingled with the faint aroma of blood and whiskey, intoxicating and absorbing.

Thoughts clouded by alcohol and intense emotions, he asserted, "Once I'm able to handle your book and the news of it, you'll not be perceived as a threat. Fucking trust that."