A murder was captured on satellite and multiple law enforcement agencies are trying to solve it. One of the detectives on the case, Jake Gonzalez, is led right to the front door of a local author, Francesca Conti. Sparks fly as Jake realizes he’s insanely attracted to his primary suspect, and her father is one of the most ruthless mafia bosses in the city, and someone he’s been investigating for years.
Francesca wants to escape this life her father has set for her and has been putting money away, looking for her opportunity to disappear. And much to her dismay, lately her father has been pushing her toward marrying his right-hand man, someone no woman has ever been able to say no to.
Just when she thinks she’s getting closer to escaping, Detective Gonzalez lands on her doorstep asking alarming questions, and making her heart race unlike ever before.
There’s only so many times one could say they’d been shot by the woman they loved.
Jake stared at Francesca’s shaking hands wrapped around the butt of a SIG .229. She held the gun with as much confidence as one would expect with someone who had little to no experience with such a weapon. Like a toddler taking their first wobbling, unsteady steps. Or a young child holding a chicken’s egg for the first time and being told they could break it if they weren’t careful.
Under the full moon, silver tears trickled down her face. A moderate wind teased at hair that had escaped the messy bun held low at the back of her head. Russet tendrils brushed along her neck and cheeks like phantom fingers. She ignored those things. But he saw it all, as if the world moved in slow motion, tracking the shifting of her eyes and hands from one person to another. Saw the way her finger tightened ever so slightly over the trigger.
The safety was off, so if she applied a touch of pressure to that metal hook, approximately ten pounds for the first shot to go off, the gun would fire the bullet waiting within.
“Frankie,” he called in a soothing yet firm voice, using the nickname he’d started saying a few nights ago. One he’d discovered she liked when he whispered it in her ear as he sank slowly inside the heat between her legs.
Her attention shifted to him for only a fraction of a second before she refocused on Dante, her father’s right-hand man. A man many did not want to fuck with. One who’d killed his fair share of folks both in and out of the city. A man who was known to be one of the most ruthless enforcers around. Dante did things in the most violent way to set examples or make a point. It was the only way he communicated. And it was the way he got into the position he did, leading one of the most ruthless organizations in New York City.
And lucky, lucky Jake was currently in a three-way face-off, like something from the Wild Wild West, with a woman he loved and a man he’d been hunting for years.
And as if his luck couldn’t get any worse, the two had a serious history he hadn’t been able to wrap his mind completely around.
He quickly glanced around, wishing for that backup he’d called for about ten minutes ago to show up. But with how deep they were in Central Park, that wish would never come to fruition in time. The dull light coming off the yellow haze of a streetlamp reflected dark shadows of trees in the standing puddles leftover from the rainstorm earlier. The only sound outside the passing cars on the streets lining the park and Frankie’s harsh breathing was that of leaves hitting the ground, the season of fall in full swing.
“Frankie, listen to me,” he tried again, his chest growing tight with unease. “Put the gun down. Let’s talk about this.”
“I don’t want to be a woman you love,” she said, lips trembling. Her arms shook with either fear or adrenaline, both equally dangerous when holding a weapon.
