Men don't look at engaged women the way Ras Sorrentino looks at me.
Ras Sorrentino is the underboss of the Camorra's most powerful clan. He is also chaos and danger in an elegant Italian suit.
The first time I met him, I thought he was there to kill me. The second time, I wanted to kill him.
The third time was in Ibiza, where I stared at him across the church when my sister married his boss.
It's not his sharp tongue or his mocking grin that I hate most. It's his gaze.
The way he constricts when I flinch. The way he hardens when he notices the bruises on my face. The way he stares at my engagement ring as if he wants to melt it off my finger.
I know it's a bad idea to let him influence me like this. After all, my family's fate depends on my upcoming marriage, and my fiancé is only interested in me because of my spotless reputation.
A reputation that Ras seems to have no qualms about destroying.
It's a good thing he and I live on opposite sides of the world.
Until he tells me he's coming to New York with me.
And remains.
