An Italian on the run from the Mafia. A reporter seeking the truth. Will they reveal their feelings before danger strikes?
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Reclusive writer Luca Ross...
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A full-blown panic-attack gripped my chest as I listened to Skylar drive off.
I've screwed things up good...
I tried to catch my breath and steady my erratic heartbeat. She'd known about my family and hadn't said anything? How long had she known? Since the beginning?
Something had snapped in me when she mentioned my parents. I'd wanted to be the one to tell her, if I had chosen to tell her. Which I hadn't.
But I'd been about to. Still, this felt like a betrayal, especially since I was still nursing the rawness of my uncle's revelation. Skylar had researched me as if I were a common criminal. As if she didn't trust me.
I wiped away the sweat that had formed on my brow. Like I hadn't done the exact same thing to her. Although, I probably wouldn't have backgrounded her if the Mafia wasn't after me. But it's different for women. She was right.
I'd also assumed I could look into her past for whatever reason, but she didn't have the right to inspect mine.
God, I felt like such a hypocritical asshole. I shouldn't have yelled at her, shouldn't have uttered those brutal words.
How I treated her wasn't okay.
Why can't I just be a normal person with a normal life?
I held my head in my hands and slumped onto the kitchen counter. Why hadn't I just told her the truth? Why hadn't I told her I was a journalist? An author? That I wasn't in the Mafia?
I wasn't thinking straight. Walking into the study, I sat and poured a big glass of my uncle's expensive Irish whiskey. I downed the glass and poured another. Maybe it was time to move on from Palmira.
But was I ready to say goodbye to Skylar?
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