BENEATH THE LINEN: HOW HIDING FROM MY MOTHER MADE ME THE MAFIA BOSS'S OBSESSION

By sunrise, Evelyn found herself installed in the primary suite of Rocco's downtown penthouse atop the Ventresca Tower—a fortified glass fortress overlooking the city. Her cell phone had been swapped for a secure, encrypted burner. Her workshop had been secured by two armed guards stationed at both entrances under the guise of "structural maintenance."

She stood on the balcony in an oversized silk robe Rocco had provided, clutching a mug of black coffee. The wind whipped her chestnut hair around her face. She felt like a prized hostage, trapped in a cage of imported marble and triple-pane bulletproof glass.

The door clicked open, and Rocco entered. He had changed into a crisp black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and dark trousers. His eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep, but his energy was alert, predatory.

"Eat," he commanded, setting a tray of fresh fruit, warm pastries, and eggs on the balcony table.

"I'm not hungry," Evelyn said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rocco stepped onto the balcony, closing the distance between them. "You didn't sleep."

"Surprisingly, having my life threatened by mobsters doesn't put me in a restful mood," she snapped. "How did I go from hiding under a tablecloth eating half a sandwich to being locked in a penthouse within twelve hours?"

"Bad luck," Rocco replied smoothly, taking her coffee mug and replacing it with a fork. "Or good timing, depending on how you look at it. If Moretti had taken you from your studio yesterday, I wouldn't have known until they sent me your finger in a box."

Evelyn winced at the graphic imagery. "You have a charming way with words."

"I don't sugarcoat reality for people I care about."

The phrase hung between them like an electric wire. People I care about.

Evelyn searched his face. "You don't even know me, Rocco. We met under a table. You like my chandeliers and you like that I don't scream at shadows. That's not a reason to turn your world upside down."

Rocco reached out, his fingers sliding into her thick hair, cupping the back of her head with startling gentleness. His thumb traced along her cheekbone, down to the soft corner of her mouth.

"I've known who you were for six months, Evelyn," he confessed quietly, his gaze burning into hers. "Every time Luca talked about Sophie's family, I listened. I watched you carry a fifty-pound crate of iron brackets into your shop last month in the pouring rain, refusing help from three construction workers on the corner. You cursed at the rain, dropped your keys, picked them up, and finished the job yourself."

Evelyn's breath hitched. "You were watching me?"

"I was making sure the sister of my future sister-in-law was safe," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Then I stopped watching for safety and started watching because I couldn't look away. You think you're invisible because your mother tries to squeeze you into a mold made for lesser women. But you're not invisible to me, Evelyn. You never were."

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming. He wasn't looking at her like a project or a compromise; he was looking at her like she was the only prize in the room.

"Rocco..." she whispered.

Before she could say another word, his lips came down on hers.

The kiss was fierce, possessive, and shockingly sweet. Rocco's arms wound around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Evelyn gasped, opening to him, her fingers tangling into the soft dark hair at the nape of his neck. Every insecurity, every lingering doubt about her body, her worth, and her safety dissolved into the absolute heat of his touch. He held her like she was precious, like she was essential.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated.

"You stay here," he murmured against her lips. "Frankie is outside the door. I have a meeting with Moretti at noon at the harbor. By tonight, this is over."