This was a very bad plan.

I wanted him to want me. I wanted to hurt him.

But just as I feel myself starting to question whether I might actually follow through, I feel a rumble in his chest and a low growl escapes his throat. I barely hear it over the deafening music, but the next second, he’s pushing me away like I’ve burned him. His eyes are closed and his jaw is ground tight and he just stands there, still as stone for a few long heartbeats. He doesn’t even breathe.

“I have to go,” he finally grinds out.

“What?” I say, incredulous. “Why?”

He opens his eyes and takes another deep breath before answering. “Because coming here was a mistake.”

I’m so stunned that I can’t even move for a second as he turns and stalks off the dance floor. I was supposed to make him want me. I was supposed to shut him down. How did my plan get so totally turned on its head? How is it I’m the one standing here aching where I shouldn’t? How is it him shutting me down?

Jess is a few feet away, dancing slow with a cute redhead with pouty lips. I tap her shoulder. “Sorry, Jess, but I’ve got to go.”

The redhead runs her fingers down the open back of Jess’s dress and clings a little more tightly, and I get the distinct feeling Jess wasn’t leaving here with me tonight anyway. “Will you be okay getting home?” she asks.

“I’m good. Call me tomorrow?”

“Okay,” she says as the redhead nuzzles her neck.

I storm off the dance floor and grab my jacket, following Alessandro out the door. He’s already almost half a block up.

“Just keep walking, asshole!” I yell at his back.

He doesn’t turn around. The only indication he heard me is the way his purposeful stride stalls for a beat before he does exactly what I told him to do.

I lean back against the building and tip my head up, staring at the overcast sky, waiting for my heart rate to slow to the noncoronary inducing range. But when I push off the building, I see Alessandro striding back toward me, looking like he’s on a mission. He’s almost on top of me before I know it.

“What do you want from me, Hilary?”

There’s an angry edge to his words that makes me furious. He has no right to be pissed at me. “I want you to go back to Rome or Corsica or wherever the hell you came from and leave me alone.”

His jaw tightens and something passes over his face as he works to contain whatever it is that he wants to say.

“Why the hell did you come back here anyway?” I spit.

He throws his hands in the air and spins, pacing away from me in the direction he came. But then he turns back and looks at me with hard charcoal eyes. “I don’t know! I don’t know why I do anything anymore! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to make this right,” he says, flinging his arm between us. “I don’t know how to fix any of it.”

He finishes his rant by dropping his chin to his chest and rubbing his forehead, and that’s when I realize it’s not me he’s pissed at. He’s angry with himself. Very angry, based on the way his face twisted in disgust as he said that.

I catch myself feeling sorry that I yelled at him, but then I stop. I’m not going to feel sorry for him. After everything, he’s got no right to my sympathy. “Just go home, Alessandro,” I say, turning for the subway.

I hoof it up Ludlow Street as fast as I can in my killer heels . . . which isn’t all that fast. I hate that I’m wearing them. I hate that I’m wearing this whole outfit. What was I even thinking? This was such a stupid plan.

Despite my vow not to look back, I do as I round the corner onto Broome, toward the Grand Street station, and see Alessandro following behind, half a block back. I start walking faster, but I’ve only gotten to the end of the first building when someone says, “Hey!” from very close by.

I turn and see a pair of white kids, maybe eighteen or nineteen, hanging in a dark doorway. One of them has his hoodie up, shadowing his face, a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and finger, all dark and brooding. The other one is a tall, blond, grinning fool.

The blond kid steps out of the doorway. His eyes rake over me and I pull my jacket closed. “You looking for a good time?”

I am so not in the mood for this. “I am so far out of your league, honey, that you wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with me.”

The one with the cigarette glares at me, but the blond laughs. “I’m sure we could think of a thing or two.”

“Not in this lifetime.” I start moving again, but the kid with the cigarette springs like a snake and grabs me. I start to scream, but I fall off my heels as he spins me against the door in the alcove and pins me with his body. He slaps a hand over my mouth and holds his cigarette ash up to my face, just an inch from my cheek. “You scream again, you fucking whore, and I’ll take your fucking eye,” he hisses.

“Dude!” the blond kid says. “Chill. She’ll do it.” He looks at me, his eyes wide and pleading. “We’ve got money. How much do you charge?”

They think I’m a hooker. Perfect.

With the other kid’s hand over my mouth, it’s not like I’m going to answer. I just glare at him.

“You’re going to want to let the girl go.”

I can’t see Alessandro, but there’s no mistaking the voice. The attention of the kid holding me snaps to his friend, who’s staring, wide-eyed, at where I’m sure Alessandro is standing, just around the corner of the alcove, out of my line of sight.

“Dude,” the blond kid says again to his friend without taking his eyes off Alessandro. “Let her go.”

He doesn’t. He presses the cigarette closer to my eye. “You’re going to want to mind your own fucking business, man.”

Alessandro steps into view, just a few feet from the blond kid, and, if looks could kill, the kid holding me would be vaporized. His face is dark and tight, his laser gaze trained on the kid with the cigarette. His hands twitch at his sides and he’s got that half-crazy look Lorenzo always had, like he’s coiled tight, ready to snap.

The blond splits a glance between Alessandro and his buddy, then takes off at a sprint. The dark-haired kid’s grip on me loosens as he watches his friend bolt. The momentary distraction is all I need. I bring my knee up hard into his crotch and he cries out and falls to his hands and knees, holding his junk. It only takes him a second to find his feet and he staggers off.

Alessandro steps into the alcove, the rage in his dark gaze giving way to panic. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I spit. “I had things under control, you know? I didn’t need you to save me. I’ve never needed you to save me.”

He winces and I close my eyes against the unwelcome memory.

Alessandro holding me. Wiping my tears.

“I’ve never needed you,” I repeat, disgusted by the tears I feel pricking the backs of my eyes. I am not going to cry in front of him—or anyone—ever again.

He picks up my shoes and lays them on the sidewalk at my feet. “Let me take you home.”

I step into them and start walking, ignoring him as best I can. But I don’t stop him when he keeps stride with me.

I know I told Alessandro I didn’t need him, but I’m not sure it’s true. That whole thing shook me up—though I’ll never admit it to him. My heart is racing, and adrenaline is still pouring into my bloodstream. I force myself not to shake, or blow out a nervous breath, or show any signs of weakness as we walk the three blocks to the subway. We wait in silence for the D train, then climb on. It’s not until I stand to make the transfer at Columbus Circle twenty minutes later that I think to ask. “Where do you live?”

He follows me off the train onto the platform. “West Village.”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

The hint of a smile flits over lips that I’m just now realizing are full and red and perfect. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know you’re safely home.”