Genevieve sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on her fingers, which were tangled together in a nervous twist. She glanced up at the clock on the wall—it was 7 PM. She had called Paul an hour earlier but ended up canceling the meeting. Exhausted, she sank back onto the bed, still wearing the same clothes she had on at the racetrack. After Matteo left, Len had quietly entered the room and taken a seat beside her. He unfolded the New York Times and began reading, patiently waiting for her to process the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Neither of them spoke as she eventually stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress with a shaky hand. Their silence continued as she peered down toward the track, watching Matteo carefully drape a blanket of roses over his victorious horse. Even during the elevator ride back to the hotel, the quiet between them remained unbroken.

It wasn’t until she reached her door and Len was about to leave that she cleared her throat, breaking the stillness. He glanced back at her, his brow furrowed in that familiar, almost fish-like way. She leaned casually against the doorframe, gathering courage.

“Did you know?” she asked softly. “That he felt that way?”

Len’s eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before locking back onto hers. “Didn’t you?”

As she lay back down on the bed, the truth settled heavily in her chest: of course, she had known. From the very first night, when Matteo had opened his door to her with that radiant smile that revealed his dimple, she’d sensed it. She remembered the time he appeared unexpectedly at her office in Boston, and the way he had barged into her apartment without hesitation. It wasn’t just a fleeting attraction or a passing fancy that drove him; any man could have relief anywhere, with anyone. Even if he weren’t a mafia don, his charm was enough to make any woman fall at his feet. But he wanted her. And if she allowed herself a moment of honesty, she realized she wanted him just as much.

Pushing herself up from the bed, Genevieve moved to her nightstand and opened the drawer. Her fingers brushed over the card he had slipped into her pocket earlier. Before doubt could creep in, she grabbed the key and slipped out of her room.

Earlier, she had heard music seeping through the walls—proof that he had returned and hadn’t bothered to check if she was still there. Maybe he didn’t want to see her getting ready for another man.

She walked down the hall and knocked on the door next to hers. What happened next felt like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

The door swung open, but the face she saw was not the one she expected. Instead, there stood Frankie, one of Matteo’s men. He pushed his long, jet-black hair from his eyes and grinned down at her, a bottle of vodka pressed to his lips.

“Um, sorry. I—” she started.

“We weren’t expecting anyone else,” Frankie interrupted with a sly smile. “But we’re always happy to welcome a pretty new face to the party. Did you bring a box of condoms? We’re running low.”

He bobbed his head inside as he stepped back. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she stepped into the dimly lit room. The lights were off, save for a strobe that pulsed in time with the heavy bass from the stereo. Shadows flickered across the room, revealing several of Matteo’s men, each with a woman perched on their laps. Genevieve swallowed hard as Frankie leaned close behind her.

“Looking for a lap in particular?” he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine.

Her eyes scanned the room. She spotted Marco, another of Matteo’s accountants, with a brunette whose ample curves were unmistakable as she moved against him. Marco’s gaze, however, was fixed on Genevieve, his hips grinding in rhythm with the woman. She quickly looked away, only to find something even worse: Paul. He lounged on the couch, not with one, but two women. One kissed him while the other straddled him, his hands roaming both their bodies. He pulled away from the kiss to suckle on the breasts of the woman riding him. The scene sickened her deeply. This wasn’t the first time she had found him tangled in such a situation.

“Where’s Accardi?” Genevieve asked, her eyes locking with Frankie’s dark, unreadable ones.

Frankie pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. His eyes flicked around the room before settling on a doorway. A wicked smile spread across his face.

Genevieve hesitated but felt compelled to follow. She wove through the throng of gyrating bodies toward the bedroom door. As she neared, the unmistakable sounds of skin slapping together and a muffled tear reached her ears. She shook her head, overwhelmed, and turned away. The deep, guttural moan echoed behind her, making her step back quickly, feeling the sting of his gaze on her skin.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Frankie called out as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Tears streaked down her cheeks as she returned to her room. She began hastily stuffing her clothes back into her suitcase. She would find a cab and head straight to the airport. She could look for a new apartment. Now that her first paycheck had cleared, she had the means to live on her own. Maybe, just maybe, she could even stay with her dad for a while.

Feeling completely drained, she burst out of her room and practically ran for the elevator. If she ran into Len, she thought, she might have to knock him out just to get away. As the elevator descended, the numbers lighting up one by one, she knew there was no way she could outsmart him. She silently sent a prayer upward, hoping her mother was listening and could somehow help her through this.

Genevieve stepped out into the lobby and made a beeline for the reception desk. She dropped her key on the counter and turned toward the exit. That’s when she saw him—not Len, but the last person she expected to encounter.

Matteo sat at a table in the lobby’s waiting area, wearing his faded Warped Tour hoodie. His hair was tousled, his leg bounced nervously beneath the table, and the ashtray in front of him was overflowing with cigarette butts. She approached slowly. The hotel’s front door creaked open, and Matteo perked up as two men stumbled inside, clearly drunk. He groaned, rubbed his face, and pulled out another cigarette from the pack.

“Matteo?”

He stood abruptly and turned to face her. His eyes swept over her appearance, confusion knitting his brow.

“Gen?” He glanced between her and the door, then down at her luggage. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” His face darkened, his gaze sharpening to something almost dangerous. She instinctively took a step back. “Did he hurt you?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in your room,” she replied, avoiding his question.

His frown deepened before realization dawned on him. “You went to my room?”

She nodded reluctantly. “Frankie said—” She shook her head, unable to finish. “What are you doing?”

“The guys like to let loose after an opening,” Matteo explained. “That’s why I invited Alexander. I thought he’d have fun.”

“I thought you were with them…”

He scoffed. “Is that what Frankie told you?”

She looked down at the floor, realizing he hadn’t actually told her anything. He had only glanced toward the bedroom door and then looked away. If she had been brave enough to open it, she would have seen for herself that it wasn’t Matteo on the other side.

“No, I guess I just assumed after seeing Paul…”

“Paul’s upstairs? He must be with O’Bairn. I didn’t invite him.” Matteo’s voice grew low and intense as he closed the distance between them.

Genevieve tried to recall if she’d noticed Clinien among the flickering shadows. Perhaps he was the one she’d heard earlier in the bedroom.

“You might not want to use your bed tonight,” she whispered.

She saw his sneakers enter her field of vision, then his knuckles gently lifted her chin so she had to meet his eyes.

“What are you doing down here, Matteo?” she asked for the third time.

A small smile curved his lips. “Driving myself to the edge of madness,” he murmured. “Waiting for you to come back from your date.”

“I canceled.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, stepping closer. “Now that I’ve answered your question, why don’t you answer one of mine? Where are you going?” His gaze dropped to the luggage at her feet.

“I thought you were upstairs,” she replied quietly.

“You thought I was with another woman?” he asked, disbelief in his voice. She nodded. “Even after what I told you earlier?”

She finally met his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He frowned, disgust twisting his features. His hands came up to cradle her neck, bringing his face level with hers. “I’m not a good man in many ways, Genevieve. But I would never hurt you like that.”

She searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity and the promise glowing like gold as the overhead light flickered on. “I trust you.”

Matteo released her neck and wrapped his arms around her. Genevieve buried her face in his chest, allowing herself to let go of the anger and pain from what she had witnessed earlier. He sighed deeply and tightened his embrace around her shoulders.

“Are you going to go back upstairs now?” she asked, her stomach twisting with uncertainty.

“No,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll find another room. Maybe just stay down here. There are a few things I can work on.”

Genevieve swallowed hard. “You could…”

“You could stay with me,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself.