In Love With My Husband's Best Friend

unbeaten Italian coast. Elena sat in the window seat, looking out at the inky ocean far below, her mind drowning in

An exercise in power. A reminder to their European competitors that the DeLuca e

still rang

nd, but let's not for

her to a life she couldn't break free from. Now, though, in the company of th

y told another story. The manner with which his fingers drummed against the armrest, the t

al in

o black SUVs awaited them, drivers already standing at attention. Dante's hand touched the small of Elena's b

had been six years ag

an upscale restaurant overlooking the bay, a refined venue for subtle threats and negotiations

e her-Dante-was

undertones. Elena was gracious, smiling with practiced ease when required, nodding on cue. Yet

one of the Italian men-Giorgio Rossi-

thought, his eyes darting toward Ele

with inference.

the same, but the tensio

nce makes a difference," Dante replied calml

"Of course. Just an observation. A woman as stunni

e way men sized her up like a commodity. Luca encouraged it-he enjoyed fla

e was di

e precision and leaned forward just

our words car

o long of

is hands in mock surrender. "No

een sent. The rest of the dinner passed w

t Shouldn't

fs of the Amalfi Coast. A fortress disgui

skin as she stared out at the moon-drenched sea. She'd barely

nt

m to. Not after the way he'd lingered after d

here alone," he said q

acing him. "You

rd the horizon. "Beca

od too close, the soft light from the villa casting shadows on his face, highli

take," Dante mutter

d to one side. "Be

ned. "Because

is conversation before it became something that

brush of her fingers against his

ed, but he di

ena

s lips was a w

, stepping back. "

as she disappeared into her bedroom,

silence th

both

only the