When She Unravels: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 1)
When She Unravels: Chapter 12

When I reenter the club, it feels as if my brain has lost some of its key functionality.

Like my ability to think straight.

He said he would lose his mind over me, but it appears I may have beaten him to the punch.

He said if I said his name, he’d become addicted, but I’m already hooked after one hit. I’ll be replaying that kiss and that ferocious confession in my head until the day I die. When someone says those kinds of words to you, you don’t forget a single one.

Damn him.

I walk up to Jessa and ask her to pour me a shot. De Rossi’s taste is still in my mouth, and I need to get rid of it before I become too used to it.

Jessa gives me a curious look.

“What?” I ask.

“You made an impression.” She extracts something out of her pocket. “Take it.”

It’s a heavy black card embossed with a gold script.

“It’s the official invitation,” she says.

“Ibiza Marina, three am,” I read.

“It’s close to here,” she says.

De Rossi was right, the Werners don’t give up easily. They also don’t seem to particularly care that my boss doesn’t want me at their party.

“Are you going?” I ask Jessa.

“No. I’m seeing someone. It’s kind of serious.”

“You could just come to hang out.”

She snorts. “You won’t see a lot of people just hanging out at these kinds of parties. If you decide to go, you better be ready to participate.”

Images flash inside my head. His big hands on my waist. The weight of his body pressing against mine. That heady male scent enveloping me from every direction. I want to kiss him again so badly it hurts. I want to do a lot more than kiss too.

Thirty minutes later, the Werners rise from their seats. Damiano is with them, and as they’re about to walk through the exit, he looks over his shoulder and catches my gaze.

Goosebumps erupt over my skin.

If I see someone else’s hands on you, I’ll break them.

It’s a hyperbole, of course. I have to remind myself that he’s not like the men from my old life.

Then I remember how he broke Nelo’s nose.

I gnaw on my lip, and he watches me for a second before he finally leaves.

I shouldn’t follow. I really shouldn’t. But then I realize something. Damiano told me not to go, but he’s going. And according to Jessa, he’s not going there to just hang out. Is he going to try to screw me out of his system tonight?

I run my tongue over my bottom row of teeth and shake my head. No, that’s not how this is going to work. Damiano said he didn’t need a distraction, but that’s his own problem. I’m going to do what I want.

I’m getting on that boat.

I wrap up my shift, change out of my uniform, and walk down to the dock. The muffled sound of electronic music follows me. It’s just past prime time at most of the clubs. My outfit is as casual as it gets—jean shorts and a T-shirt—but I’m too anxious to get to the party to waste time going home to change.

I still don’t know what madness has taken over me, but it feels like it won’t let up until whatever this thing is between Damiano and me comes to a head. Either I call his bluff and prove to myself his words were just an exaggeration, or I end up in his bed.

Anticipation curls inside my stomach like velvet ribbon.

As I get closer to the yacht, I get picked up by a group of other partygoers heading the same way.

We get on after showing our invitations to a beefy security guard, and like most things in Ibiza, this yacht is larger than life. I’ve been on a yacht this size with my family once. Papà had a meeting with one of his distant relatives from Sicily, so he flew the whole family to Palermo to meet Fabio, our cousin thrice removed. His boat was enormous but tacky. Everything was bejeweled and smelled like bad cologne.

This one is nothing like it. It’s tasteful and modern. I pass by the main salon where a few couples are making out heavily and take the stairs to the bridge deck.

The sky here is impossibly clear. I’m studying the stars when someone appears by my side. It’s a young man who looks to be around my age, thoroughly tanned from long days in the sun.

He catches my eye and gives me an easygoing smile. “Incredible, right?”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky this clear,” I confess. “I’ve spent most of my life in big cities.”

“Same,” he says. “I’m from Chicago.”

“You look like you left a long time ago.”

“I fell in love with island life. I’m based out of Mallorca now, but I come to Ibiza often for business.” His smile turns flirtatious. “And pleasure. My name’s Adrian. What’s your name?”

“Ale.”

“Do you know Tobias and Esmeralda well?”

“Not at all. I met them tonight and somehow got an invitation to this. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

“If you want to take the edge off, let me know. I might have something.” He pats the pocket of his jacket.

I’m taken aback. Is he offering me drugs?

He laughs slightly at my expression. “You haven’t been here long, I gather. I apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Assumed what?”

He lifts one shoulder. “That you’re running on chemicals like the rest of us.”

I look down at the revelry happening in the salon. Of course, I’m aware people get high here. I just didn’t expect him to be so blunt. Back in New York, no one would have dared to offer drugs to the don’s daughter. In Ibiza, I’m a nobody, though. I could do whatever I want, and no one would try to stop me.

No one would care.

I have so many things I want to forget. Maybe getting high would help me smudge those memories until I can no longer make out the details.

I chew on the inside of my cheeks. “Well—”

“Adrian.” A severe voice slices through the air between us.

The hairs on the nape of my neck stand straight. I don’t need to look at De Rossi to know what he looks like right now—gorgeous and powerful and mad.

Adrian’s playful expression melts away as soon as he sees who it is. “Señor De Rossi. How are you?”

“Leave us,” he orders.

“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” I say.

Adrian speaks over me, “Of course. I was just saying goodbye.”

I whirl around. “Adrian, you don’t need to leave. De Rossi, if you want to talk to me, you’ll need to wait for your turn.”

There’s a stunned silence. Adrian is looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes that glint with a hint of fear, and the sight of it annoys me. Is this what I looked like when I meekly obeyed Papà’s and Lazaro’s orders? Saying no to them always felt impossible. But my life isn’t on the line when it comes to De Rossi, and neither is Adrian’s. Why does everyone treat him like he’s a god? Seriously, is it just the money? If that’s all it takes to command this kind of deference, why did Papà even need his enforcers?

Adrian says a rushed lo siento and runs off without another glance at me.

“One day, I pray I’ll understand why everyone listens to you,” I say.

He starts to advance. “He listens to me because he works for me.”

“Of course he does,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I think next time I talk to someone, I’ll need to do a background check first.”

“Big words for a woman without a passport.”

I frown. Is he just teasing me, or is that a hint that he’s been digging?

He halts a few inches away, close enough to blanket me with his heat. Inside his dark eyes, something dangerous is brewing. “You came.”

The way he says it makes it clear he thinks I’m here for him. I better set him straight. “We both know what this party is for, De Rossi. You decided you could go, but I couldn’t? That’s not how it works.” I place my hands on his hard chest and try to press him away.

He doesn’t budge a single inch. His chin tips downward, his gaze glued to my lips. “I warned you.”

“So what? Maybe no one’s ever told you this before, but you’re not God. Just because you say something, doesn’t mean everyone has to listen.” I press harder against his chest.

His palms wrap around my wrists. “Why did you come?”

“Because I felt like it.”

“Why?” He drags one calloused thumb down the inside of my wrist. I feel that small caress all the way down to my belly. I shouldn’t have touched him. When I try to ease myself out of his grip there’s zero give. He’s not hurting me, but his hold is firm.

I huff a breath. “For the same reason you did. To have fun.”

“Do you want to get fucked, Ale?”

My eyes blow wide. A wave of arousal slams into me so hard that I forget how to breathe. “Excuse me?” I choke out.

De Rossi leans in closer to my ear. “You didn’t come here to look at the stars,” he says in a low, seductive voice.

No, I didn’t. The reason I’m here is because I couldn’t stand the thought of him screwing some random woman while I spent my entire evening thinking about that kiss.

But I’m not about to tell him that. “I’m not here for you.” My voice comes out all breathy.

His lips move against the shell of my ear. “Then who are you here for?”

“For myself.”

“And what do you want?”

Do you want to get fucked? Heat blooms across my chest. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he coaxes. His hand releases my right wrist and trails down the center of my chest before stopping at the waist of my shorts.

I should stop him and put an end to whatever this is pronto, but as he nudges my T-shirt up an inch and starts to caress my midriff with his thumb, my body sings. Sparks come alive beneath my skin and travel all the way down to my clit.

“I think that wet pussy of yours wants to get fucked hard tonight,” he whispers. “I think it wants to get ruined by a big cock.”

I lose my ability to think. Who talks like that to a woman? Who the hell gave De Rossi permission to use the English language as a method of mind control? “You’re wrong,” I breathe.

This earns me a decadent chuckle. His fingers dip into my waistband. “Why don’t you let me check?”

He wants to feel how wet I am.

My God, Vale. Wake up. Tell him no. Tell his cocky ass to jump off the boat so he can see how wet the ocean is.

I open and close my fist, the one attached to the wrist he’s still holding. “De Rossi…this is…”

Just say no.

He lifts my hand to his mouth and gives it a soft kiss. “There’s no need to be timid,” he says, trailing his lips against my skin. “No need to hide how your body’s reacting. Do you want to feel what you’re doing to me?”

I nod, because I am weak. The moment he steps closer, presses his groin to my stomach, and lets me feel his hard length, I let out a needy whimper. It’s steely and huge and clearly wants to be inside of me. My walls flutter with anticipation. What would it feel like to have De Rossi fuck me with that thing?

“Your turn,” he says, pulling his lips away from my hand.

I nod again, keeping eye contact with him. His gaze darkens with triumph, and without any rush, he slides his entire hand past the waistband of my shorts and underwear. We’re still standing on the deck. Anyone can see us, although they probably have far more interesting things to watch on this boat.

I’m so damn wet that he can feel it as soon as his middle finger reaches my clit. His expression melts with pleasure as he gently circles the hard nub and makes me squirm in his grip. “That’s it.” He pushes further in and probes my sopping entrance. “So warm and wet,” he mutters. “So perfect.”

A moan fights its way out of my throat. “Damiano…”

He shuts his eyes. A tremor runs up the thick column of his throat.

Just then, I remember what he told me about calling him by his name.

“You always remember your first hit,” he mutters.

And then he kisses me. The finger that’s still inside of me curls in a rhythmic way, setting my nerve endings firing and making my body weak until all I can do is hold on to him for dear life.

We make out on that bridge deck for what feels like hours until I’m dizzy, on the verge of coming, and unbearably hot. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, pulls his hand out of my shorts, and tugs me into his chest. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I ask breathlessly.

“To my bedroom.”

“We’re on a yacht.”

“I own the yacht. I lease it out to the Werners for the season.”

Why am I even surprised? The haze of my arousal lifts a tiny bit. “Do you ever get tired of showing off?”

He guides me across the deck, his hand placed firmly on the small of my back. “Never.”

By the time we get to the door of what must be his room, I’ve managed to get some of my bearings back. I can still walk away before this escalates any further. “I don’t think we should do this,” I say, even though there is zero conviction behind my words. Excitement buzzes under my skin at the thought of what he might do to me in that bedroom.

He unlocks the door with a swipe of a card and holds it open for me with his palm. His gaze melts me from the inside out.

“Get inside, Ale.”

This is it. The moment of truth. Once that door closes behind me, I know I won’t leave.

His eyes are trained on my face. Warm hazel orbs made nearly black by his enlarged irises. Inside of all that darkness is a spark. A bright candle flame that burns for me.

I latch on to that imagery and convince myself that I’m the one in control here.

And then I step across the threshold.