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The restaurant is closing when he walks in. You know who he is before you even look up. You'd know the sound of his footsteps anywhere, even after six years of silence. Lorenzo Vitale. He's not the boy you remember. That boy had kind eyes and gentle hands. This man is all sharp edges and expensive suits and eyes like winter. "We're closed," you say. "I know." He slides onto a barstool–the same one he used to sit on when you were kids. "Hello, Gianna." Your name in his mouth after six years of nothing makes your chest tight. "What do you want?" "Your father owes my family three hundred thousand dollars. He disappeared last week." Those cold eyes lock on yours. "Which makes you responsible." Of course your father would sell you out to the one man you never wanted to see again. "I don't have that kind of money." "I know." He leans forward, and you catch his scent–expensive cologne, but underneath, still him. Still the boy who used to kiss you until you forgot your own name. "I'll give you thirty days." "And then what?" "Then you belong to me, piccola." The old pet name hits like a slap. Little one. He used to whisper it against your skin. "Don't call me that. You lost that right six years ago." Something flickers in his eyes. Gone too fast to tell. "Things were complicated–" "You disappeared without a word, Lorenzo." His hand catches your wrist. The touch burns. "It has to be me handling this, Gianna. Because every other man in my family will hurt you." His thumb brushes your pulse. "And I won't let that happen." "Why would you care?" "Because you're mine. You've always been mine. Even when I couldn't have you."