By Fate I Conquer (Sins of the Fathers #4)(17)

“You’re cold,” I murmured. She shivered and curled and uncurled her ballet flats to get warmth into her feet.

“I’m okay. Maybe you can distract me?” She tilted her head to the side, gazing up at me through impossibly long lashes. How could so much loveliness be related to Nevio fucking Falcone?

Fuck, I knew just the way to distract her from the cold.

I stared down at my arms that were loosely resting on my knees. Whatever was going on in my head had to stop.

This was Greta Falcone. Twin of the guy I’d one day kill. Daughter of the man I’d probably have to kill right after.

She was off limits. I tried to find more reasons to stop thinking about her like this, but her age wasn’t one. She was eighteen and I was only four and a half years older.

What about Cressida?

“Why are you here?” Greta ripped me out of my thoughts.

“My father’s meeting with your father,” I said. “Business.”

I wasn’t sure how much she knew about the details of our truce and business in general so I didn’t mention the problems with our drug routes.

“But you aren’t at the meeting now.”

I met her gaze, a caught laugh tumbling out. The low rumble surprised me. “The atmosphere got a bit tense so I decided to catch some fresh air.”

“Nevio likes fighting.”

I didn’t say anything because it wouldn’t have been fit for her ears.

“I didn’t know you were a dancer,” I said, watching how she straightened her toes and let her slender fingers slide over the tutu. Until today I had hardly known anything about Greta Falcone so my words made absolutely no sense.

Her expression became even softer, which made her loveliness shine all the brighter.

“Ballet,” she said as if she were talking about a lover, full of devotion and adoration, and I caught myself wishing she’d use that tone when talking about me.

“And you? Do you like to dance?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees.

“Depends. I used to go to dance clubs a lot when I was younger, now not quite so much, but I suppose you wouldn’t call that dancing.” Mostly I was out with Maximus looking for easy pussy. That was definitely not something I’d mention to Greta.

She frowned, looking as if my words didn’t quite make sense. “Why would I say that? Me dancing ballet doesn’t mean I appreciate other dance styles less. If dancing in clubs is your passion, then that’s as valid as my form of dancing.”

My passion? Looking into those dark eyes, regarding me as if she was really trying to see me beyond the obvious, I knew one thing I could be really passionate about.

“I’ve never been to the ballet,” I admitted.

Greta looked sad. “You should go. It’s beautiful.”

“I can imagine,” I said roughly, imagining how Greta danced on stage. Yet, at the same time I loathed the idea of her dancing for anyone but me. What the hell was wrong with me? I was engaged. I had no business wanting Greta to dance for me. I couldn’t have her. Cressida would probably turn a blind eye to me cheating on her. She was content becoming a future Capo’s wife. But Greta wasn’t a girl who deserved to be an affair. She was a woman who deserved to be someone’s number one, their one and only queen.

She shivered again and a closer look revealed that her lips were turning bluish.

“You’re freezing, Greta. We need to do something about it.” I sat up straighter, weighing my options. “Would you feel comfortable putting your feet on my lap? I swear on my honor that I won’t touch you inappropriately in any way.”

The words left my mouth before I could process them. They just fell out, like that one biker’s glass eye when I’d slammed my ax into his head.

She wiggled her feet again, considering my lap. To think that Greta Falcone was currently staring at the spot where my dick was… “I think so,” she said slowly. She peered up, searching my eyes. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to see. Most of it was pure darkness and rage and violence, but I supposed if anyone could bear it then it was a Falcone. She shifted her body in my direction and propped those slender ankles up on my muscled thighs. Her heels loosely rested on my lap. For a moment I stared down at them. This moment felt so surreal, I briefly wondered if Nevio had actually managed to ram his knife into my body and I was caught in a strange limbo between life and death.

“Now what do we do about the rest of your body?” I mused. Suggesting she sat on my lap and let me embrace her was naturally the obvious choice but sanity hadn’t quite left me yet.

“You could give me your shirt,” she said as if it was nothing.

One of my brows edged up. “I’m not wearing anything beneath.”

“Oh,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’ll definitely be too cold for you then.”

I wondered how she’d preserved this innocence living under a roof with the Madmen of Las Vegas.

I grabbed my shirt and tugged it out of my pants, then began to unbutton it. Greta followed my movements with utmost curiosity that slowly morphed to fascination when I parted my shirt, revealing my bare chest beneath. Her eyes roamed over my pecs and abs, leaving a hot trail on my skin with her gaze alone. Blood slowly filtered down to an area it had no business going while I was alone with this girl. I shrugged out of my shirt then leaned forward and draped it carefully over Greta’s shoulders. It was way too big for her, covering her thighs too. She pulled it tighter around herself and actually drew in a breath then peered up at me with a small, lovely smile. “Thank you. Your shirt smells good.”