Milo and I walk side by side down the street together.

Usually, I would feel uneasy strolling so casually down back roads at nighttime, but with Milo I feel... safe. It's laughable really, considering he's the most dangerous person I've ever met.

We pass a group of guys lingering on the sidewalk. Normally, I would cross the street and walk past as quickly as possible, but not with Milo. He strolls right past them with me and none of them dare do anything but stare. That is, until Milo sends them his famous murderous scowl.

I've never seen anything like it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Milo asks after lingering silence as we head towards his car.

"You really scare people," I say into the darkness.

"It's my job to scare people," he says with no remorse.

"That must get lonely."

"Do I scare you?" he asks after a moment, intrigue in his eyes.

"Yes and no," I admit. "I'm too drunk to answer that properly."

Milo doesn't say anything in return. Instead, he opens the door for me to a sleek Audi sedan that looks like something Tony Stark would drive.

I gape at him. "How many cars do you own?"

"You ask too many questions," he answers, closing the door before I can speak again.

I purse my lips together, watching as he climbs in behind the wheel. It's not fair for him to look so good. The way his pants glue to his muscular thighs is very distracting. Everything about him is distracting to me and I still can't figure out why.

"Eyes forward, Adele," he says without looking at me, starting the near silent electric engine.

I'm fully aware I've been caught checking him out, but I've had way too much alcohol to care.

Breathing heavily, I settle into my seat and try with all my might to control the erratic beating of my heart.

It doesn't work.

"So, why were you in the nightclub alone?" I query, overwhelmed by the unbearable silence between us.

"I was working," he answers without taking his eyes off the road.

"In the middle of the night? Really?" I scoff. "And you just happened to bump into me? What a coincidence."

Milo says nothing in return, his expression neutral.

"What is it you actually do when you're working in a nightclub?" I prod. "Do you smuggle drugs? Is it cocaine? Heroin? Prostitutes?"

"Will you ever stop asking so many fucking questions?" he growls with agitation, finally looking at me.

"Will you ever start answering any of them?"

"No." His gruff answer makes me roll my eyes.

"You're impossible."

"And you're too curious for your own good," he retaliates, breathing heavily when I pout. "Don't look at me like that."

"Why? Does it make you want to answer my questions?" I ask, pulling my sweetest pout.

He says nothing in return.

"Why me?" I continue to prod him, too drunk to care about his agitation.

"What do you mean?" he asks, tone somewhat curious.

"Why did you pick me to be your little real estate minion?" I rephrase my question. "There are six other agents above me in New York. Danny Lewis—"

"Danny Lewis spends half his time on a yacht in the Caribbean. His team does all his work for him," Milo answers me before I can finish. 

"You looked into the other agents?"

Milo nods, like it's obvious. "You think I would cut a deal without doing my research?"

"Why me, then?" I ask again, keeping my expression neutral. "I would've thought someone like you might pick Ryan Dench."

Milo's lips curl in an almost smile. "Ryan Dench is too arrogant to listen to anyone but himself. I can't work with someone like that."

"I suppose the excessive amount of egotistic testosterone would cause a few problems between the two of you," I answer, smiling at the blank look Milo sends me in return. "You still haven't answered my question."

For some reason, Milo's eyes soften enough to make my heart skip a beat.

"I picked you, Adele, because you are the only agent who's as hungry as I am." He glances at me. "I saw your fire when you stole that deal from me. You want the success as badly as I do."

"Won the deal," I correct.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward, and then the full force of Milo's attention turns to me. The intensity in his stare unravels me from the inside out. "Why are you so desperate to be successful?"

"Why are you?" I counter, shaken by the husky tone of his voice.

"I asked first." His words make me roll my eyes. "What is it you truly want, Adele? Money? Status? Power?"

"Is it so hard to believe a girl just wants to be successful?" I raise a brow and fold my arms across my chest, giving nothing away.

Milo analyses me with a soft nod. "Yes," he answers. "I believe something is driving you to want to succeed so badly, I just haven't figured out what this is yet."

He's trying to figure me out?

My drunken mind swoons.

"And you,"—I try to change the topic of our conversation—"what is it you truly want, Milo DeLuca?"

The air grows thick between us suddenly, the lighter tone of earlier vanished into oblivion. Milo's hands tighten on the steering wheel when he looks at me again through the dim lighting of the car.

We stare at each other; he still hasn't said a word. Goosebumps rise across my bare skin.

"What do you want, Milo?" I repeat, my voice weak.

His gaze studies my mouth for a moment before he abruptly looks away again, as if he's pulling himself from a trance.

"No more questions." His voice is a low rumble that makes my stomach backflip. If he grips the steering wheel any tighter, I think his bulging muscles will snap it in half.

It's silent again as we speed along the streets until I speak once more, unable to take the silence.

"Tell me what happened with Jordan and Mr Bianchi."

"That's classified."

"Is everything about you classified?" I prod, huffing when he nods. "Of course it is."

He changes the subject quickly. "How are you feeling?"

"That's classified," I answer, smiling when he sends me a blank look. His eyes are almost primal.

They do something to the pit of my stomach that I've never felt before.

He mutters something under his breath in Italian. I don't know what it is, but it's the sexiest thing I've heard in my life.

I shift in my seat and stare out the window as we round the corner to my apartment. I need to get out of this tiny space. I need to get the smell of his cologne as far away from me as possible. It's messing with my senses.

"Well, thanks for the ride," I tell him. I raise an eyebrow when he undoes his seatbelt.

"What are you doing?"

"You can't even open your door. I think I should at least walk you across the street," he states matter of factly, watching as I struggle with the non-existent door handle.

"It's not my fault you drive a spaceship," I grumble, narrowing my eyes when he shakes his head at me, entertained by my stupidity. "Seriously, how do you open this bloody door?"

"You really are something else," he murmurs, leaning over to open it for me.

In doing so, his proximity to me becomes unbearable. My body stiffens in response. I'm unable to do anything but stare at him when he pulls away from me again just as quickly.

"You really should stop looking at me like that," he says, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago.

"Why?" I ask. I can't find it in me to bother denying it any longer. This thing between us.

Milo sucks in a sharp breath. His dark, wandering gaze assesses every detail of my face like he's trying to memorise a puzzle.

"If you say something cliche like I'm not good for you, I will have to punch you right in the face," I warn.

Threatening a mafia Don may not be my smartest move, but I'm too intoxicated to care.

A wicked gleam meets his eyes when he smirks.

"The things I want to do to you, Adele, are unspeakable, and you aren't making it any easier for me to control myself."

He says this broad statement so nonchalantly before climbing out from the car, leaving me sitting with my jaw practically on the floor.

Maybe I'm so drunk I'm getting delusional. That must be it. Either way, I don't dare look at him when I get out of the car.

"Is the ice queen blushing?" His voice is low when I walk past him. "I didn't take you as the type."

"It's the alcohol," I grumble, turning my burning face away from him.

Milo says nothing, but I don't miss the devilish smirk on his face as he trails behind me towards my apartment complex like some kind of personal bodyguard.

By this point, I am beyond exhausted and somehow, that only makes me feel the alcohol in my system more. I need water—lots of it—and I desperately want to crawl into the comfort of my bed, as far away from Milo as I can get.

I type my five-digit pin into the alarm on the door, the one that activates whenever the doormen aren't working.

Denied flashes across the screen in front of me, the front doors into the lobby refusing to budge.

Milo comes to stand beside me. His close proximity doesn't help me regather my thoughts.

"How does one not know how to get into their own home?" He looks sideways at me when I get the pin wrong a second time.

"Someone is always working until ten. I don't have a life to stay out later than that, so I never have to get in on my own," I explain, frustrated. What the hell was the code again?

Come on brain, think.

But my brain can only focus on the beast of a man at my side.

Milo tries to be helpful, clearly sensing my over emotional state. "Surely you have it in your phone?"

"Great point." I nod, fishing for it quickly in my purse.

"Careful," he warns, but it's too late.

My phone falls to the floor through my incompetent fingers, landing on an angle just bad enough to crack the entire thing from top to bottom.

At this point, my stupidity is laughable.

Milo bends down, picking it up for me before I can move a muscle. "I don't think you'll get much use out of this now."

There's no point even trying to turn it on. The poor thing has died a fateful death on the pavement beneath my feet.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? I have no phone and no way of getting into my home and it's almost one in the morning.

I can't go to my parents' house. They'd only make a big deal out of this, and that is the last thing I feel like dealing with right now.

"Okay, well, thanks for the ride home," I tell Milo, who has just been observing me silently this entire time, awaiting my reaction.

"I'm not going to leave you out here," he answers in a firm tone. "Where do your friends live? The ones from the club?"

"I don't know." I run my hands through my hair and lean against the side of the building, desperation tugging at my chest. "They moved a couple of weeks ago. I don't remember the address without my phone. "

"Parents?" he offers.

"I would rather trade places with Jordan," I mutter.

"There's a hotel down the road. I'll stay there," I decide, narrowing my eyes when Milo scoffs just loud enough for me to hear. "Do you have something to say?" I question when he shakes his head at me.

"You're so drunk you can barely stand. It's the middle of the night. You think a hotel in this upmarket part of town is going to let you stay in the state you're in?" He tilts his head at me.

"Well then I'm sure there's a nice alleyway somewhere I can spend the night."

"That's not funny." Milo frowns at me as if he's genuinely concerned, which can't be possible because the man is made of stone.

"I will be fine. You can go now, really. You've done enough," I breathe. "Thank you, Milo, for driving me home and just..." I trail off because it's too hard to focus with his eyes on me. "Thank you."

"Come," Milo ignores me entirely, turning on his heels.

"What do you mean come?" I ask without moving an inch.

"I mean, come on," he instructs again, waiting a few feet in front of me. "I have a spare apartment not far from here. You can stay there."

"You have a spare apartment?" I repeat. I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, but still his never-ending wealth never ceases to shock me. "Maybe I should join the mafia."

"Absolutely not," Milo answers, not at all humoured by my joke. "Now let's go. It's fucking freezing and you're wearing a singlet." His tone is almost scolding.

"It's a dress." I gesture to the Dior fabric. Sure, it's a little on the short side, but it still almost reaches mid-thigh. "You're so dramatic."

"I swear to God Adele, I will carry you over my shoulder if you do not start moving." Milo's impatient offer is somewhat tempting, but I force my legs to walk towards him anyway.

Must stay composed, even though I'm absolutely wasted.

Spending the night at a dangerous, very alluring Mafia Don's apartment. What could go wrong?