Grace was seriously starting to regret having allowed herself to be talked into accepting this man’s invitation to dinner. Starting to regret it? She had no idea why she had said yes in the first place.
But of course she did, she instantly chided herself.
This man’s sexuality was seductive as hell, and once he leveled that intense blue gaze on her, touched her with those long and sensitive fingers, she hadn’t been able to say no to him.
Her attention was drawn toward the door. “I believe the two men standing over there are trying to attract your attention.” They were staring intently—and pointedly—at the two of them, and Grace certainly didn’t know or recognize either of them.
The two men had the same swarthy complexion as Matteo and were also dressed formally in black suits and white shirts with meticulously knotted ties. Were the three related in some way? The two men were probably both aged in their late forties, so neither of them would be old enough to be Matteo’s father, and they were probably too old to be his brothers too.
One of the two men now walked down the length of the store until he stood in front of Matteo. “The car is waiting outside, Mr. Zalotti.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ll join you in a moment, Antonio.”
The other man gave Grace a long and probing glance before turning to walk back to where his partner still stood near the doorway. Both men were giving that same narrow-eyed, assessing look at everyone else inside the store, customers and staff alike.
Which would perhaps make them bodyguards?
Matteo’s bodyguards?
Which begged the question, why would he have a need for bodyguards?
Was he superrich and feared being robbed? The mention of sending a car for her certainly implied he was wealthy, as did his superbly tailored suit and handmade leather shoes. There was also that air he had, of his entitlement to other people’s deference.
Or was he, perhaps, someone famous and she just hadn’t recognized him?
Surely Carla would have recognized him if the latter were true.
Whoever he was, Grace had that feeling of being out of her depth with Matteo Zalotti. Not just because of his sexual potency, which she reacted strongly to in a way she never had before, but also because of the way he had hesitated about revealing his own surname.
There was also the arrival of the two men who looked like bodyguards and, now that she studied them more closely, appeared as if they might actually be carrying guns beneath those tailored black jackets.
Who carried a concealed weapon into a bookstore in the middle of the day in London?
There were many answers to that question, and none of them were particularly appealing to Grace.
Her thoughts scattered as Matteo again took a tight grip of her hands, sending those electric shocks along the length of her arms and then into the rest of her body.
His gaze was compelling. “Don’t change your mind about dinner this evening. Please.”
Grace knew she couldn’t say no.
Not wouldn’t.
Or shouldn’t.
But couldn’t.
Chapter Four
“Sure you won’t come with us?” Carla lingered in an effort to try one last time to persuade Grace into joining the rest of the staff for a drink now that the store was closed for the day.
She shook her head. “Positive. I’m so tired tonight, I think I might even put off food shopping until tomorrow and just go home and have a long soak in a hot scented bath and then have an early night.” She had done the banking earlier and had now locked up the till drawer in the safe, ready for opening tomorrow morning.
“With Mr. Darcy,” Carla teased. “And I don’t mean the furry one.”
“I wish!”
“Okay.” Carla sighed. “But if you change your mind…”
“I know where to find you.” Grace unlocked the back door to allow Carla to leave before closing and locking it again. She let out a deep and heartfelt sigh as she leaned back against it.
The only thing Grace had any intention of changing her mind about in regard to this evening was having dinner—or anything else—with Matteo Zalotti.
She had taken a lot of teasing from Carla after Matteo left the store earlier, because of the way he had lingered so long to speak with her and then left without buying a book. But once Grace could do so, she had escaped to her small office, opened up her tablet, and typed the name Matteo Zalotti into the search bar.
And been bombarded with results.
She now knew exactly who he was and why he seemed to possess an aura that warned people to get out of his way or get trampled on. Or, considering who he was, worse.
Matteo Zalotti was the head of the London Mafia!
Not just a foot soldier in the organization, or one of the capos, Matteo was the man at the top, the don, and responsible for everything the Italian Mafia did in this city.
Okay, the many articles Grace had found on him didn’t exactly say that, probably for fear of being sued for defamation of character—or, again, worse!—but they might as well have done.
Those reports didn’t come right out and say he was personally responsible for killing anyone either, or ordering dozens more killed, but they mentioned him, time after time, as being a person of interest to the police in certain crimes. Usually in connection with those unexplained killings believed to be connected to organized crime, i.e. the Mafia, bratva, or any one of the half dozen or so other smaller criminal organizations in London.
Grace now had the answer to the question she had asked herself earlier: people moved out of Matteo’s way because he exuded that aura of extreme power because of who he was.
He needed armed bodyguards because of who he was.
And Grace had no intention of having dinner, or anything else, with him, because
