Devil’s Lily: Chapter 7

The infuriatingly handsome Italian from the restaurant. The one who slipped his phone into my pocket and orchestrated my great escape.

“You were supposed to come to me, Elira.” His dark eyes run over my body as he comes to a stop in front of me, but I just watch him in stunned silence.

How is he here? Is this… fate?

I feel a weird sense of déjà vu, only this time, I’m not so sure fate has my best interests in mind. He’s a lying asshole, after all.

His right hand slowly reaches up, and the calloused pad of his thumb brushes my cheekbone, smearing away droplets of water. The touch is feather-light, yet it sends electricity jolting through my body. I jerk back, heart pounding.

What was that?

One bushy brow arches upward, but he lets his hand fall without a word. The morning sun glints off his watch, drawing my gaze, and for a second, I’m distracted by the pretty ink curling around his wrist and disappearing under his sleeves.

“How—how did you find me?” I stammer out.

He steps closer, invading my space until his scent overwhelms me, drowning out the refreshing park air and making my head spin. “You were supposed to come to Mughetto and bring my phone with you. Why did you run away?”

“I didn’t run.” I roll my eyes at the notion. Okay, technically I did run from home, but not from him specifically. “I just wasn’t interested in meeting a man who could so easily go back on his word.” The reminder of that sly trick of his stirs up my anger, effectively piercing through the fog of attraction clouding my mind.

His lips curl into a slight smile, and oh dear—is that a dimple appearing on his left cheek? My heart skitters. He has dimples? How did I miss that detail before? Now, all I want is to see him smile fully, just to know how deep they go.

“Still angry about that?” His tone is laced with amusement. “So eager to know my name?”

“You can shove your name where the sun doesn’t shine, asshole,” I retort in Albanian, enjoying the way his brows pinch together in the middle, though a glint I don’t understand appears in his onyx gaze.

“Did you just curse me out in your language, beautiful girl? You did text me a middle finger earlier.”

I smirk at the recall. “You’ll never know. Now go away. You’re ruining my morning.” I wave my hand dismissively, trying to shoo him off, but he doesn’t budge, neither does he look like he has any plans of moving soon.

“You have something of mine in your possession, Elira. I can’t just walk away.” The way his tongue rolls over my name makes my stomach flutter. Damn him. And that glint spreads into a brief, amused smile that flashes another hint of that dimple.

With an exasperated huff, I fish the phone from my pocket and slap it against his chest. “Here. Happy now?”

Before I can pull away, his hand flies up, capturing mine and pressing it harder into his chest until I can feel the heat radiating through his clothes. My heart goes haywire and goosebumps pop out all over my body as I try futilely to tug my hand free.

“Is this your first time away from your father’s clutches without his men trailing you?”

“That’s none of your business, you fucking asshole.” I try to snap, but my voice comes out a little too breathless for my liking. “Let me go, or you’ll regret it.”

His lips curl up in that maddening half-smile again. And there it is—another hint of dimples. “Now, now, no need to show your claws, gattina. I merely want to know if you’ve ever had the chance to explore the beauty of my city without guards breathing down your neck.”

His city? The quiet confidence in his voice piques my curiosity. Just who is this guy?

“If you’re truly not allowed to go out,” he continues, “there must be a lot of things you haven’t seen, a lot of things you haven’t done.” His words curl around me like smoke, warm and inviting. “And I’d like to show you everything.”

“Everything?” I find myself whispering, tilting my head back to hold his dark, sinful gaze.

“Everything,” he confirms. “How would you like to see my favorite view of the city?” He lets go of my hand and pockets his flip phone, but he has my undivided attention.

His favorite view of the city? “I don’t think anything can surpass this view.” I wave a hand at the Unisphere—though, if I’m honest, I’d all but forgotten its existence in the last few minutes.

He slowly shakes his head, his words weaving a hypnotic spell. “There are so many things that can, gattina. You just have to be willing to see them… and I’ll show you.”

His offer is pure temptation, and damn it, I want to see what view he thinks could possibly outshine this magnificent sphere.

Geez, my heart has been racing ever since he showed up. I don’t even remember what a normal heartbeat feels like anymore. It’s probably unhealthy at this point, and I should be worried, but the feeling is so intoxicating. I’m about to have exactly the kind of adventure I’ve been craving my entire sheltered life.

“How do I know I can trust you?” I ask, even though I’m already so close to saying yes. Take me everywhere; show me everything. Let me devour every experience I can before I have to return home by the end of the day like Cinderella at midnight.

“You don’t.” He shrugs carelessly. “In fact, you shouldn’t trust me, Elira. I’m a very bad man who wants to do very bad things to you.”

His eyes drop to my small cleavage, then slowly trail down my body, sending heat all over the spots his dark gaze touches. My nipples bead up, and I wrap my arms over my chest in a useless attempt to cover my body’s reaction.

His complete lack of effort to win my trust only draws me in deeper, damn him. “I can hold my own,” I finally answer. “Show me this view you think is so great.” I raise my chin, trying to look down my nose at him, even though it’s nearly impossible when the man towers over me. But I try anyway.

To my surprise, he throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh that brings his dimples into full glory. My breath hitches at how the carefree expression transforms his face from handsome to downright breathtaking. Literally. I actually forget to breathe. Is this what dying from a smile feels like? Because yep, I’m pretty sure I’m on my way out.

I raise my hand to my throat and press down, like that will somehow regulate my frantic pulse, but all it really does is remind me to breathe—slowly, measured. And even then, I’m not sure I’m doing it right.

“Let’s go,” he says once the laughter fades, stretching his right hand to me. I blink at his outstretched palm, momentarily confused, but before I can figure it out, he chuckles again and simply wraps my much smaller hand in his. A jolt of warmth shoots through me at the contact, and I’m left staring, mesmerized by how perfectly our hands fit together. His tanned hand completely engulfs my pale one, and what is it about that that feels so arousing? It shouldn’t be.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice dropping into this husky, low timbre that sends my gaze flying to his, and… oh. The heat in his eyes tells me he’s just as affected by this innocent hand-holding as I am. He tightens his grip, and we start walking, side by side.

Every nerve in my body hums with awareness of his warm body next to me, his strong fingers laced through mine, and his intoxicating scent filling my nostrils until he’s all I can think about.

As we stroll, an older couple, who seem to be taking a walk around the park stops us. The woman beams as she takes us in. “Hello! What a beautiful couple,” she says with a bright and sweet voice. “You remind me of my Arthur and I thirty years ago.” Her husband chuckles, raising their joined hands as proof of their bond.

“Oh, no, we’re not—” I start to correct her, but the Italian just smiles and thanks her, making me glare at him as we continue walking. “Is every word that comes out of your mouth just a lie?”

“No, not every word. For instance, I am going to show you the best view in New York City. But before we do that, maybe we should do something you want first. Because once you see this view… everything else will just pale in comparison.”

I let out a snort. “So you’re already backing out on your promise to show me the best view? Not even surprised.” As I talk, I glance back casually and do a double-take.

A few men are trailing behind us, trying to look casual in their street clothes, and while they might blend in to the average observer, I know a bodyguard when I see one. I’ve had enough of them tailing me my whole life to recognize the signs. My gaze darts up to my dark-haired adonis. Are they guarding him?

“No, gattina, not backing out. Ever heard of delayed gratification?”

“Well, I’m not a masochist, so I don’t subscribe to that notion,” I retort absently as I steal another glance behind us. His laughter rings out again, deeper this time, and I notice something odd—the bodyguards blanch and exchange glances at the sound of his laugh. What? What’s so strange about that?

“Well…” He trails off, noticing the direction of my gaze. “It’s fine, Elira. They’re with me.”

“Oh? Are you in danger or something? Why do you have bodyguards?”

“They’re not bodyguards. They’re just… with me.” His answer is cryptic, making me even more confused. I should’ve connected the dots at that moment. That was my first clue. But I was too caught up in the moment.

“Now, come on,” he says, changing the subject. “I hear this place has a lot of different activities that are supposed to be fun.”

He glances back and waves at one of the men, who jogs forward, takes out a pamphlet from his suit jacket and hands it to the Italian.

“Are you really not going to tell me your name?” I press when his man melts back into the background. “I’ll just refer to you as ‘the Italian’ in my head if you don’t.”

His lips quirk up as he unfolds the paper. “That’s alright, gattina. You can do that—for now. It’s not yet time to reveal my name to you.”

He hands me the pamphlet. My brow furrows as I read it. It’s some kind of park directory with a list of attractions. “What is this?”

“Pick one you want to go to.”

“Hmm.” I scan the list, my eyes lighting up at one particular entry. “Can we go to the Fantasy Forest Carousel Park?” I blurt out, then bite my lip nervously. “But… it sounds like it might be for kids.” The idea of hanging around a bunch of screaming kids isn’t exactly appealing, no matter how fun the amusement park sounds.

He raises a brow, but a teasing smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Fun doesn’t have an age limit. If that’s where you want to go, we’ll go.”

He nods to his man—let’s call him Bodyguard 1—who whips out a phone and makes a rapid-fire call in Italian.

Still holding my hand, the handsome Italian leads me down a quieter path. We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, admiring the surrounding beauty, before the distinct cries of little kids reach my ears.

Oh no. I tense immediately. Maybe this was a mistake. Kids are cute and all—from a distance, preferably where I can’t hear their tantrums or deal with sticky hands. No way I’m spending my only day out surrounded by crying children.

We round the corner into chaos. The path ahead is clogged with parents looking one harassed scream away from losing it, dragging whining, fussy kids behind them—all of whom seem to be making a beeline towards us.

The Italian steers me onto the freshly mowed lawn, his men flanking us as we wait for the crowd to disperse. “What’s going on?” But nobody answers me.

Agonizing minutes later, when the path finally clears, the Italian steers me back onto it, and we make our way into a deafeningly silent park. I glance around, my jaw dropping as I take in the sight.

The park is empty. Every ride, every stall—vacant. Except for a few very nervous-looking staff members, it’s like a ghost town. What the heck just happened? “Umm… I think they might be closed for the day, Italian,” I say slowly. “They probably kicked those families out because of that.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at the absurdity. Was that a tantrum-triggered evacuation? Only in my luck could a simple day out lead to a deserted amusement park.

“They are closed,” he answers as the gates close behind us. “But not to us. You wanted to come here, so here we are. I just didn’t feel like dealing with an uncontrollable crowd, so they had to leave.”

My brain short circuits. did he just… “Wait—you mean you had those poor families sent out?” I gape at him in astonishment.

He shrugs, completely unfazed, as if ejecting families from an amusement park is a normal Tuesday activity. With a casual wave, he leads me deeper into the park towards the fantastical rides, ignoring the stiff staff. There are six rides total, two definitely sized for children. But he assures me we’ll fit into everything. I follow him, bemused, as we approach the miniature train.

The poor worker manning the ride looks like he’s five seconds away from fainting, and when I offer him a small smile to set him at ease, he simply drops his gaze. That should’ve been my second clue—because why do these employees all look like they’re about to face the gauntlet if they breathe wrong? But of course, I missed it again, too lost in the moment.

Like a proper gentleman, the Italian helps me into one of the trains. It’s ridiculously small, clearly meant for children, and common sense screams that we should sit across from each other for any chance of comfort, but no. He squeezes himself into the space right next to me, squashing us together so tightly that I can feel every inch of his warm body against mine, sending my already erratic heartbeat into overdrive. As if that’s not enough, he leans back, draping his arm over my shoulders like he owns the space, like he owns me. The casual possessiveness of it leaves me tingling all over. And then, with just a flick of his wrist, he orders the staff to start the ride, like he owns him too.

The train begins to chug along at a slow, almost laughable pace, but when my Italian shoots a glance back at the employee, the speed ramps up fast. And just like that, I forget about the kids this asshole denied their playtime, and the terrified staff hovering in the distance. I’m lost in the thrill, zipping round and round, and I can’t help the giggles that bubbles from my chest.

By the time we stumble off the train, I’m lightheaded with laughter, not caring a bit when he steers me towards the next ride—the teacups. Once again, he wedges himself in beside me. “Do you have separation issues or something?” I tease as the ride starts, and he just smirks, brushing a strand of rebellious red curls behind my ears. Of course, they bounce right back, defying him.

But that casual touch sends sizzles of electricity through me, making my gaze drop to his pink, and way too tempting lips. Why do they have to look so kissable? Before I can let myself spiral any further, I tear my gaze away, clearing my throat like that’s going to help me get a grip. Just in time too, because the ride starts moving, and we spin—slowly, annoyingly tame, considering this is a kids’ ride.

The spinning isn’t enough to make me dizzy, but he sure is.

One by one, we weave through the rides, always close together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And honestly? It feels that way. He can’t seem to keep his hand off me for a second—not that I’m complaining. Every casual brush of his fingers against mine, the way he tucks my curls behind my ear, or how his hand rests on my back—it’s driving me mad, in the best possible way.

By the time we reach the final ride—the carousel—I’m not just excited; I’m practically floating on cloud nine. This feels like a date, right? I can’t believe I ended up here with this gorgeous mystery man glued to my side.

He invited himself into what was supposed to be my solo adventure, turned all my plans upside down, yet somehow, everything since has been nothing short of magical. My nerve endings sing from overstimulation, and all we’ve done is ride some kiddie rides. Though, I don’t think the rides have anything to do with it.

“Scared?” he asks as we stand before the circle of brightly painted horses.

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “I survived the rollercoaster, didn’t I? This is nothing.” With my chin held high, I step inside, confidently choosing a horse and swinging myself onto it.

He starts to follow, but then Bodyguard 1 swoops in and whispers something in his ears. I swear I can almost feel the temperature drop as my Italian’s eyes turn ice-cold, sending a chill down my spine. When he glances back at me, his gaze softens fractionally.

“Go ahead without me,” he says, his voice laced with an unexpected tension.

Before I can protest—because for some bizarre reason, I don’t want to ride without him—the carousel jolts to life, and I’m forced to hold on for dear life.

Holy hell, it’s fast! Way faster than I expected, especially considering the sleepy pace of the other rides. And it doesn’t help that my chosen steed isn’t just spinning; it’s bobbing up and down like it’s trying to launch me into the stratosphere. I don’t know when my startled yelps turn to squeals of delight, then full-blown hysterical laughter.

The park blurs around me as the carousel spins round and round at what I’m positive is the speed of light. Kids go on this? No wonder they’re so fearless. My heart is about to pound out of my chest by the time the ride finally comes to a stop.

Well, the carousel may have stopped, but the world still spins in a colorful blur. I hop off, but my legs turn to marshmallows under my weight. Just as I feel myself tipping, strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me snugly against a sturdy chest. I glance up at my Italian—when did he stop being just the Italian and become my Italian? The realization sends a thrill of warmth through me.

He smiles down at me, his dimples winking. “Enjoyed yourself a little too much, didn’t you? Need me to carry you?”

I don’t have the strength to give him a biting retort. Seeing that, he chuckles and carefully guides me to a nearby bench. As soon as I sit, a cold drink is pressed into my palm, and I gulp it greedily, enjoying the cool, bubbly fizz tickling down my throat.

“Ahhh,” I exhale as the bubbles shoot straight to my brain, waking it up from the haze. Bit by bit, the spinning slows, and the world begins to come back into focus.

“Better?” he asks when I’m done, and I nod.

He takes the can from my hand and downs the last few sips before tossing it into a nearby trash can. My face heats up. Did he just put his lips exactly where mine were? That’s… intimate, isn’t it? Or am I reading too much into this because I’m so sheltered and have never been on a date before? Wait, is this even a date? Does he see this as a date? Why is he still here? He got his phone back, but he’s still lingering around, touching me, and staring at me like he wants to devour me whole or something.

If he keeps this up, is he going to take responsibility for my feelings?

“Ready to see the best view?” he asks, giving me his hand once more. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to slip my fingers between his.

He pulls me to my feet, and I can’t resist a bit of sass. “Oh, we’re finally seeing this view?” His answering chuckle sends a wave of butterflies through my stomach.

As we leave the amusement park and walk back into the main park, I dig out the crumpled pamphlet from my back pocket and scan the list of attractions again. This place is massive—almost like its own little universe. Tucking it away again, I bounce on my toes, curiosity buzzing in my veins.

Where is he taking me?

I expect my Italian to do something dramatic. Maybe lead me out of the park to the highest point in the city where he could show off a sweeping rooftop view. That’s totally his style, right? From what I’ve picked up about him today, he seems to have this whole I own the city vibe going on, so it wouldn’t surprise me if his favorite spot is somewhere he can literally look down on it all—his city, his kingdom.

But he doesn’t go where I expect him to.

Instead, he leads me deeper into the park, down a scenic path ending at an imposing, modern building. The sleek, glass-and-concrete exterior catches the light in a way that almost blinds me. I squint up at the sign. Queens Museum?

Disbelief spills out of my mouth. “This is where the best view in the city is? A museum?” Really? I eye him skeptically, trying to reconcile this choice with the man I thought I was getting to know. He doesn’t strike me as the type to get all sentimental over paintings, trying to ‘experience the artist’s vision’ or whatever pretentious thing people say. While there’s nothing wrong with that, he just seems too impatient.

His smirk is enigmatic as he leads me through the glass doors. “You don’t think it’s possible for a museum to house it?”

“I mean…” I trail off with a shrug. We walk into the building with pretty, gleaming brown wood floors and soaring ceilings. But I don’t get a chance to take in much before he’s whisking me past exhibits and a gift shop—because of course we don’t do normal sightseeing—and up a glass staircase that spirals into the second floor.

As we navigate a maze of hallways, I catch glimpses of antique treasures behind a long glass shelf I’m itching to get a closer look at, but we don’t stop to look at any of them. My Italian is on a mission, and I just have to keep up.

Finally, we arrive at a set of double glass doors. I’m barely able to read the word Panorama on the wall before we’re walking in.

“Here it is,” he announces, releasing my hand to wave a majestic hand over the glass railings.

I step forward, eyes wide as I lean over. “Whoa.”