“Can’t. He’s a fixer. He’ll want to step in and smooth things over, and that might make things even more uncomfortable.”

“That’s probably the best endorsement you could’ve made for him in my eyes. Every gal wants their best friend to end up with a guy willing to slay their dragons.” She winked. “And lick gelato off them.”

Laughing, I turned my head and glanced around the packed restaurant. Walk-in patrons waited in the foyer by reception, while tables were turned with brisk efficiency thanks to my dad’s insistence on a robust service staff. Families mixed with couples and groups, while a popular television star enjoyed the illusion of anonymity at her favorite table. A camera flash caught my eye, luring my attention to what looked to be a birthday party. Above the din of conversation and the clattering of silverware, an Italian tenor sang about love and loss through the speaker system.

Contentment slid through me, as it always did when I was at Rossi’s.

“Did hell just freeze over?” Lynn asked, bringing my gaze back to her.

“Huh?”

She gestured with a jerk of her chin and I followed. Blinking, I took in the sight of my dad standing beside Ted Rutledge, who had his arm tossed across his shoulders. Ted was dressed in a suit and tie, while my father wore his usual white chef’s coat, black pants, and red Rossi’s apron. Giovanni Rossi remained a striking man, with a full head of salt and pepper hair, and a strong jaw. A photographer snapped their photo.

“Hard to tell from here,” she said. “Is that a campaign button on his shirt?”

I looked at my dad first, then at Ted. Sure enough, Ted had something pinned to his jacket.

“Second time he’s been in here this week,” Vincent said behind me.

When I looked at my brother, I saw the muscle ticcing in his jaw.

“I didn’t know anything about this,” I told him.

“Yeah?” His brown eyes were hard. “Can Jackson say that?”

* * *

Lynn took off around eight, but I decided to stay and wait until closing, so I could talk to my dad. I also decided to head back to the loft with Angelo and Vincent.

Because I didn’t want to get into it with Jax when I was tired and cranky, I sent a text letting him know I wasn’t coming home, and then dropped my phone back into my purse. I sipped at a glass of anisette decorated with a lemon twist. After seeing my dad with Ted, a liqueur was calming.

I felt Jax enter the restaurant before I saw him. I’d always been attuned to him, but it had gotten more intense since we started living together.

“Gia.” His hands slid possessively over my hips, his warmth radiating into my back.

I glanced at Vincent, who was scowling at us, and spoke over my shoulder to Jax. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up.” His arms encircled my waist. “You didn’t really think I was going to let you spend the night somewhere else?”

I finished my drink. “I didn’t realize I was a prisoner.”

He stiffened at my tone, then whispered, “If we’re going to fight, we’ll do it at home.”

“I don’t want to fight, which is why I wasn’t coming home.”

Jax stepped back. “Let’s go.”

“You’re not listening.”

Spinning me around in my seat, he bent over me. “You haven’t said anything yet worth listening to.”

“Excuse me?” I glared at him, trying to ignore how sexy he looked in a black V-neck sweater and loose-fitting jeans.

He set his hands on the bar on either side me, caging me in. “I’m not leaving you here to drink and stew over whatever’s got you pissed off, and I sure as hell am not sleeping alone.”

“Back off, Jackson,” Vincent ordered, coming up to us.

Jax’s head snapped up. “You’re her brother and you’re watching out for her, I respect that. But she’s my girl and I love her, and you need to respect that. Don’t stick your nose in our business.”

“She doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go.”

“Don’t talk around me like I’m not here!” I said crossly, shooting both of them a warning look. “I don’t appreciate Rutledges coming in here and yanking my family and me around. You said you wanted to protect us from the public eye, not drag us out in front of it!”

I saw when Jax understood what had me riled. Then his face closed off and gave nothing away. “And you’re welcome to hash it out with me—at home.”

“It’s late and I have to work tomorrow. Plus, I want to talk to my dad about this Ted thing, whatever it is. Obviously I don’t know because no one saw fit to tell me.”

“I’ve talked to your dad about this,” he said, sounding so condescendingly reasonable he made my teeth grit. “And I don’t want to hear about it being late when you’re sitting here drinking.”

“News flash, Jackson: I’m old enough to drink a glass of liqueur. And anything else I feel like drinking.”

“Are you mature enough?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He reached down and grabbed my purse from the hook beneath the bar. “Getting drunk isn’t helping anybody.”

“I’m not getting drunk!”

“Good.” He gave me a tight smile. “Then you’ve got no reason to stay.”

“Jax—”

“We should both stop talking now.” He leaned down until we were at eye level. “There is no scenario where I walk out of here without you.”

“Gianna,” Vincent said. “You want me to deal with this?”

“I’ve got it.” I slid off the bar stool, suddenly very much in the mood to fight. At least if Jax was dealing with just me, it would be somewhat fair. If my brothers got into it with him, fists would start flying. “I’ll call you later.”

Jax jerked his chin at Vincent in a silent goodbye, then set his hand at my elbow to lead me out. He dismissed the bodyguard who’d been hovering by the entrance, then steered me into the cool night air toward a sleek, sexy car waiting in a no-parking zone.

I checked the vehicle out while Jax opened the passenger door for me. It wasn’t the kind of car a person rented. It was, however, the kind of car that suited Jax perfectly.

That impression was solidified when he got behind the wheel and the engine roared to life, then pulled away from the curb with crisp agility and a powerful purr.

Jax didn’t say anything further on the ride back to the penthouse, allowing the tension between us to thicken and grow hotter. He handled the expensive sports car with commanding ease, completely relaxed amid the chaos of Manhattan streets and aggressive, swerving cabbies.

It wasn’t until we got into the elevator at our apartment building that I broke the silence, unable to bear the weight of his stare. “What did you talk to my dad about?”

“Having Rossi’s featured as a thriving and expanding small business.”

“Featured in what?”

“Various materials.”

I crossed my arms. “Political materials?”

He arched one of his brows. “What else?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we don’t talk about work—yours or mine.”

The elevator doors opened and he gestured me out ahead of him. I cleared us through the security system and entered the penthouse.

“I think we need to straighten something out.” I tossed my purse on the armchair. “My understanding is that your work is in finance.”

“And you work with Lei Yeung,” he countered, shutting the door behind us. “Doesn’t stop you from getting into your family business, does it?”

I rounded on him. “I would never have a conversation with your dad without telling you!”

“You can’t say that yet.” He pulled his sweater off, revealing the gorgeous chiseled bare torso I couldn’t help eyeing. “And why aren’t you equally pissed at your dad for not saying anything?”

He had a point, which irritated me. I hated how I suddenly felt like I was being irrational. “What are you doing?”

He headed for the hallway. “Getting ready for bed.”

“I’m too pissed to sleep with you!”

“Sweetheart,” he tossed over his shoulder, “I feel the same way.”