The Mafia King Weakness

The first time Elena Hayes called Adrian Moretti arrogant, he bought her a dress. The second time, he bought her an entire wardrobe. By the third time, he was standing in his bedroom at two in the morning, staring at a small paper bag containing the strawberry sweets she'd mentioned liking exactly once, and wondering when the hell his life had become so ridiculous. But that was later. Their story actually began with rain, a missing father, and Elena marching into the most dangerous man's office in Milan with absolutely no idea how much trouble she was about to cause. Adrian stood beside his office window, watching the rain slide down the glass, when his assistant announced his unexpected visitor. "She says her name is Elena Hayes." He turned. "Daniel Hayes's daughter?" "Yes, sir." Adrian's expression hardened. "Send her in." The door opened, and a young woman stepped into his office wearing a damp cream blouse, dark jeans, and an expression that suggested she had already decided she disliked him. Her long brown hair clung to her shoulders. She held a folded letter in one hand and a handbag in the other. Adrian studied her. She studied him right back. "You're Adrian Moretti?" she asked. "That depends on who's asking." "Someone who's having a terrible week and doesn't have the patience for mysterious rich men." His eyebrow rose. Most people entered his office afraid to breathe too loudly. This woman had barely crossed the threshold and was already insulting him. Interesting. "You have thirty seconds," he said. "Wonderful. My father is missing, and I believe you know something about it." "Twenty-five." Elena stared at him. "Are you always this unpleasant?" "Only when I'm interrupted." "Then I sincerely pity everyone who works for you." Adrian should have been irritated. Instead, something dangerously close to amusement stirred in his chest. He hadn't been spoken to like that in years. "Your father stole something from me," he said. "My father is many things, Mr. Moretti, but he's not a thief." "You seem remarkably confident about a man you apparently haven't seen in several days." "And you seem remarkably confident about a man you apparently haven't bothered to find." The silence that followed was absolute. Adrian walked toward his desk, resting both hands against its polished surface. "You have no idea who you're speaking to." "Oh, I do. You're Adrian Moretti, the man everyone in this city is terrified of." "And yet you're not." Elena swallowed. He noticed it immediately, along with the way her fingers tightened around her handbag. She was frightened. She simply refused to let him enjoy it. "I'm terrified," she admitted. "I'm just trying not to let you know." For a moment, Adrian forgot what he had intended to say. It wasn't her beauty that caught him off guard, although she was beautiful. It was her honesty. She could have pretended to be fearless, could have offered him a dozen rehearsed insults, but instead she'd looked him in the eye and told him the truth. Something about that unsettled him more than defiance ever could. He pulled out a chair. "Sit down, Elena." She glanced at it suspiciously. "Is it going to explode?" He stared at her. She stared back. Then, against his better judgment, Adrian laughed. It was brief and unexpected, a low sound that seemed to surprise even him. Elena blinked. "Oh," she murmured. "What?" "Nothing. I just didn't think you knew how to do that." His smile disappeared. "Enjoy the moment. It won't happen again." "Shame. It suits you." For the first time in years, Adrian had absolutely no response. And Elena, who had come prepared to negotiate with a monster, began to suspect that the man in front of her was considerably more complicated than the stories suggested. She sat. Adrian poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the desk. She looked at the glass, then at him. "Is this poisoned?" "Would you like me to drink it first?" "That would be reassuring." He picked it up, took a sip, and placed it back in front of her. "There. Happy?" "Immensely." She drank. Adrian watched her over the rim of his own glass, fighting the strange urge to smile again. This woman was going to be a problem. He could feel it already. And the worst part was that, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't entirely sure he minded. Elena placed her father's letter on the desk. "I need your help finding him." Adrian unfolded the paper. As he read, his expression changed. "What did your father tell you before he disappeared?" "Nothing useful. He just told me to stay away from the Moretti family." "And yet here you are." "Yes, well, my father has never been particularly good at giving instructions I can follow." Adrian looked up. "You always talk this much?" "Only when I'm nervous." "Then I suggest you become very comfortable with silence." "Is that an order?" "Yes." "Then I suggest you get comfortable with disappointment." He leaned back in his chair. God help him. He was beginning to like her. And that was precisely why he needed to be careful. Because Adrian Moretti had spent thirty years learning how to defeat his enemies, negotiate with dangerous men, and protect everything he owned. Nobody had ever taught him what to do when the person he wanted to protect was the same person who made him feel vulnerable. And Elena Hayes had just walked into his office and begun dismantling his defenses without even trying. He had no idea that, within weeks, he would recognize her footsteps in the hallway, save the seat beside him at dinner, and find himself inventing excuses to hear her laugh. He had no idea that one day she would fall asleep against his shoulder, trusting him with a peace he had never been able to give himself. And he certainly had no idea that the first time she called him Adrian instead of Mr. Moretti, he would carry the sound of it in his heart for the rest of his life. For now, however, he had a missing man to find and a stubborn woman sitting across from him. "You're staying at my house," he announced. Elena nearly choked on her water. "I'm sorry, what?" "Your father is missing. You're holding information that could put you in danger. Until I understand what's happening, you'll stay somewhere secure." "Find me a hotel." "No." "A guesthouse?" "No." "Your personal prison, then?" "If that's what you want to call it." She folded her arms. "You know, for a man who has everything, you're remarkably bad at asking people what they want." "And for a woman who claims to be frightened of me, you have a remarkable talent for provoking me." "Maybe you're not as frightening as you think." Adrian stood. He was taller than she had realized. Up close, she could see the faint scar near his eyebrow and the tiredness hidden beneath his dark eyes. He stepped around the desk and stopped in front of her. Elena tilted her chin upward. For one suspended moment, neither spoke. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. It was such a small movement that she might have imagined it. But her heartbeat betrayed her. "Be careful, Elena," he said quietly. "Of what?" "Of believing you know me." She should have looked away. Instead, she whispered, "Then give me a reason to." Something changed in his face. For a moment, the cold, untouchable mafia king disappeared, leaving behind a man who looked as though nobody had ever asked him that question before. Then he stepped back. "Marco will show you to your room." Elena picked up her handbag. "Goodnight, Mr. Moretti." "Adrian." She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. "What?" "My name is Adrian." A small smile touched her lips. "Goodnight, Adrian." She left before she could see what those two words did to him. Adrian remained standing in the middle of his office long after the door closed. Then he looked down at the half-empty glass of water she had left on his desk. For reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself smiling. He was in trouble. And for the first time in his life, the king wasn't certain he wanted to win.