Where Wild Hearts Dance

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Hate is too small a word for the way I feel about Benito Bernadi, the Di Santo's consigliere. If Benito hadn't ruined the Falconi family two years ago, they wouldn't have dragged their son - my best friend - across 50 States, and I wouldn't have given Federico my V card as a parting gift.

My sister's marriage to the don of the Di Santo mafia family makes it hard to avoid Benito's rock solid presence and smoldering glares. But when he goes and takes the office above my dance studio, escaping him is impossible.

He knows just how to get under my skin and he'll stop at nothing to do so. Shooting my stalker in the head? Tick. Treating me like I belong to him? Tick. Flashing his inked chest and corded biceps when he thinks I'm not looking? Tick, tick, tick.

Just when my head has been emptied of sharp put-downs, and filled with the feel of Benito's rough hands on my thighs and searing lips on my throat, Federico Falconi comes home.

And he's no longer a scorned boy. He's a man with a chip on his shoulder, a loaded gun in his waistband and a thirst for revenge.

And he's going to make me choose.