DOMINIC LOOKS GUILTY. AND WHEN I SAY guilty, I mean guilty.

Pacing around the Falcone mansion, sweat growing on his neck, his forearms, he mutters to himself and glances out the window. It's him and I alone. Maria, Angel, and a few other Mafia members are upstairs, talking about some kind of restaurant and business claim.

I'm waiting to tell Angel what I found.

I know where the Jewels are.

But it's not the right time, and besides, what's the rush? We always have tomorrow. Today . . . today was eventful.

Except Dominic is stressing the hell out of me.

Finally, I snap. "What are you worried about?"

Dominic looks up, as though he's just realized I'm there. I notice he looks more tired than usual; his stubble is scruffy, his eyes are hollowed. For a moment, sympathy leaks into me. Even if he told me once to leave and never come back, I think maybe we're okay now. At least he doesn't hate me. And I don't hate him.

"None of your business," he scowls.

Well, I don't hate him that much.

"It's my business when you're annoying the shit out of me, pacing back and forth like that!"

"Look, I'm just tired, alright?"

"Then sit down!"

It's at that moment when Angel appears at the end of the hallway, a faint smile on her mouth, like we share a secret.

She's dressed in a sharp-cut black pantsuit, with red lapels and high heels.

I want to fuck her, right there.

"Hey," I say hesitantly.

I've felt out of it lately, for these past few hours. Not only have I seen three people die in the past few days, but now I've been arrested too. It's hard to stay tethered in reality when all of this feels so surreal.

"Hey," Angel says, her face lighting up like a sunrise.

"Can we talk?" I ask. For a moment, her face shows concern, but then that mask slips down and her expressions are once more concealed in stone. I know that ever since her family died, she has had to use isolation to protect herself, but it still hurts sometimes. Maybe she's not comfortable with me enough to show me her feelings.

"Of course," Angel says, and she shows up through a flight of stairs.

I remember the first time I realized she was the don of the Falcones. That was when I knew her as "Violetta." Things were different then. It feels like a lifetime, but really, this entire adventure has only been . . . what is it? Exactly two weeks. Three weeks since I met her.

At the same time, I feel like I've always known Angel. Like I've always loved her.

Although I realized it the moment I shot at Dante for her, it hits me now. Fully. The entirety of this meaning; the fact that I love a Mafia boss, the fact that I was ready to kill for her. I've never felt this way before, and it's like . . . it's like a high.

I can almost―almost―understand my mother's addiction.

"What did you want to tell me?" Angel says, closing the door to what must be her room.

I look around at the blue walls, the sleek furniture, all trace of a teenager gone. This is so professional, so cold and distant, it's eerie. How does she live like this? No pictures, no memories, nothing.

I don't waste time. "I know where the Jewels are."

Angel studies my eyes for what feels like an eternity. Her sunflower-ringed irises are intense, almost as though they are lit from within by the afternoon sun. She doesn't question it, she just asks, "Where?"

"The Tower," I say, and I explain my theory. How I believe that Maurizio Colora stole the Jewels from his friends and hid them back in the tower, because who would ever think to look there? They're in the center of the room, beneath the stone. I tell Angel all of this and at the end, I draw breath and hesitate. There is something in her eyes. Something hungry.

It scares me.

But it also thrills me.

Because I feel it too: the desperation, the greed, the desire for power and wealth. Maybe we are all entranced by that―the temptation to be made kings and queens.

"When do we leave?" I finally ask.

Angel looks away. Just like before, it reminds of the look she gave me when I told her my father died. As though it's her fault. As though she's guilty. But that doesn't make sense at all.

Instead of answering, she says, "There might be a ball tonight."

"A ball? Where?"

"At the Museum."

"But . . . we just robbed the museum. We can't possibly go."

Easily, with the kind of confidence that makes me want to rip off her clothes, she says, "Sure we can. It's a masked ball. And I'm willing to bet that the museum won't cancel because they don't want to make it look like anything is wrong."

Interest stirs in me. "A masked ball, you say?"

Angel meets my eyes with a devilish grin. "That's right."

"Well, what time does it start?"

"Eight o'clock."

At that, my heartrate rises to the sky. "Then we have some time to kill."

Angel gives me a warning look. "Not much. My tailors are waiting to fit you into a dress."

With a smile that's sweet as honey, I reach out and brush my fingertips against her jawline, against the smooth skin between her breasts. She looks so hot in that suit, so powerful. The attraction becomes unbearable, and I deepen the kiss into something harder, more urgent.

Angel slips my jacket off my shoulders, and I start unbuckling her pants.

"Wait," she says, and I pause. Did she change her mind?

Instead, she tucks me into her arms, lifting me into a lover's embrace, and brings me to her bathroom. The marble is white and shiny, and as she pours water into the bathtub, I waste no time in stripping down completely.

Steam curls gently from the edge of the water, and I slowly dip one foot in, my calves tensed. Angel is watching me like I'm a goddess, like I'm something she should be worshipping, and it makes me feel good. Powerful.

I slide into the water, tilting my head back to wet my hair and exposing my throat to her.

"Choke me," I whisper, and Angel's answering smile is purely carnal. Her soft, slender fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze lightly. My eyes roll back.

As soon as I touch her skin, I am frantic. My hands slip over her wet body, tracing the arches and curves of her toned, taut stomach. Her hips thrust against me as I slip one, two fingers into her inner core. She moans, a long, shuddering moan that has me writhing against the marble bathtub, desperate for release.

Angel's fingers slip between my legs, and I clench my thighs. She smiles in the moment before she sinks into me, one hand at my clit and the other inside of me. I nod, moaning, and she moves faster, harder.

The world blurs around me as I throw my head back. Heat pounds through my whole body, building in my core, and the sensation of Angel filling me is too much. I feel full with her fingers inside me, and I hold tight to her with just my wetness.

Angel's eyes are golden as she looks up at me. Water splashes softly and I come with her inside of me, her fingers still thrusting. I breathe her name, again and again.

"Just like that, baby," she says, sealing my moans with a kiss.

Once I've ridden out the waves of pleasure, I push her towards the edge of the bathtub. I lift her hips onto the counter, so only her ankles are in the water, and I spread her legs. "I want to taste you," I breathe, and her answering groan is silky.

I bring my mouth between her legs, my tongue tentative against her folds. I trace her slit like it's art and I'm a painter, and she responds by grinding against my mouth. My lips feel swollen with the flavor of her. I lick softly at her clit, and she rakes her fingers into my hair. The look of ecstasy on her face is so hot I feel a climax building for a second time inside of me.

"Cade," she says, half breath, half moan. She arches her back, her body beginning to shudder, and commands, "Come with me, Cade. Come, now."

And I do. The heat spills inside of me and I feel the pulsing in my core that spreads through my blood, making me feel that rush of glory.

Once we're both done, our breathing heavy, Angel dips back into the tub. The water is smooth like satin around us. Angel grabs a bar of pure-white soap and says, "Can I?" Without even saying, I know what she is asking. It is intimate, so intimate. I nod.

She reaches between my legs and rubs the outer folds with soap, cleaning me. This time, it's not an act of lust or passion, but it's gentle. Romantic. She lathers my whole body, brushing the soap gently across my skin. Cleaning me. Once she's done, I work on her.

I pour shampoo into my hand knead it into her thick black hair. It's so soft, so full, and it takes work to rub it evenly throughout her scalp. Her hair is so beautiful, so lush. After I cleanse the shampoo and conditioner from her locks, she sinks down into the water, only her eyes visible.

Her lashes are so long and black. She's naturally beautiful, and for a second, I feel like I can't compare. What can she possibly see in me?

But as though she knows what I'm thinking, she says, "You . . . you're gorgeous, Cade."

I give her a soft smile, a glow rising through me, but I can't shake that feeling of unworthiness. "Hey . . . what did you say about a tailor?"

She said something about fitting me, but I was only half paying attention, considering I'd been so needy to be fucked.

"Well, every Cinderella needs a dress for the ball."

I blush. "Shut up."

She sits up and water drips down her breasts, sliding in smooth droplets down her bare skin. It makes me hungry all over again, but I restrain myself.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, but you're beautiful," she says.

"You told me two seconds ago."

"I don't tell you enough then."

Heat floods my cheeks again. She has the ability to make me blush, and I love it. I love her.

But I can't say it.

>>>

It's been a couple chapters since I've left you guys a note!

I've noticed some comments recently and I'm letting you guys know I haven't forgotten! I appreciate you guys, so prepare to see your names in the next chapter. I love you guys, and your support means the world.

I know Dominic's stress got overshadowed by . . . well, you know what . . . but do any of you have theories about what it is?

Today is going to be one long day.

From the moon and back,
Sarai