A/N: To make up for lack of chapters in this story, M-rated chapter because I feel guilty.

Rain: Glad you liked it lol.

Somebody: Thanks!


Well, he must have been a looker
A smooth-talking son of a gun
For such a grounded girl to just up and run
'Course, you can't fence time
And you can't stop love

Sara Evans — Suds in the Bucket


Armando should have known Don Flack was trouble from the minute he heard the name. Donald Senior was a tough son of a bitch by himself. Now his son was in the midst of romancing Isabella. What made it even worse was that the boy was the spitting-image of his old man. It felt like some sort of ironic curse. Armando had his fair share of women back in the day.

"A real heart-breaker," his mother would declare.

Now his only daughter was dating the same kind of man he was. Women at the FBI would talk about the handsome Don Flack with his 'innocent' blue eyes and boyish charm and gush about how funny he was.

Isabella was innocent and down-to-earth. She was the homegrown girl-next-door that you would bring home to meet your mother.

"What exactly did you want with me, Pacino?" Flack asked, sitting in front of him. Armando glared at the younger man, his jaw setting.

"It's not what I want with you, it's what you want with my daughter," he replied. Flack was quiet as he stared at the chrome napkin dispenser to his right.

"Oh," he said. He went back to silence. "Look, I know I don't have that great of a track record..."

"You're damn right you don't," Armando interrupted. Flack gave him a look before continuing.

"But I care about Isabella, alright? She isn't like anyone else I've ever met. Ever since Hayden cheated on her, she's been gun-shy about dating. It took a lot of convincing to get her to date me and I'm not gonna make her regret that decision," he finished. "What she and I did earlier may have contradicted that."

Armando looked out of the window of the diner to see his daughter standing apprehensively outside. He could tell she was trying to act nonchalant while talking on her cellphone. To him, she would always be the spunky, headstrong little girl who would look up at him with those big blue eyes and call him Daddy.

"Well, if this isn't karma biting me in the ass," he muttered. He'd screwed over woman after woman and had six kids, including Levi and Isabella, that he knew of. He looked over to see Flack watching her as well. Armando couldn't explain what he saw in the detective's eyes as they watched her. "Let me tell ya something, Flack. That woman is my only daughter and she's my entire world."

"Likewise on the latter, sir," Flack added.

"You do absolutely anything to break her heart or hurt her, you can bet your smooth-talking ass that they will never find your body. I swear on everything I hold dear that I will kill you if anything bad happens to her that you cause. Got it?" Armando said.

Flack laughed and shook his head. "Kinda makes me feel like I'm making a deal with the devil, but yeah, I hear you loud and clear."


The ball was a swanky affair, as usual. There was a huge crystal chandelier hanging overhead, illuminating the gold-painted ballroom. Waiters in suits passed out flutes of champagne and everyone wore their very best. Isabella had selected a strap-less plum-colored floor-length gown with a white beaded sash under the bust, a sweetheart neckline and a slit that ran up the front of her dress and ended mid-thigh.

The black tuxedo Don wore was making her pant. It fit snugly to his muscular frame and mixed with his cologne, she could barely keep her hands from him.

"I think it's a good idea that we met here. I don't think we would have arrived otherwise," he commented low in her ear, his hot breath tickling her skin. A shiver ran down her spine and she picked up a flute of champagne, putting it to her lips and tossing her head back to down it. "Have I told you how beautiful you look?"

"Mm, I think you mentioned something about that when you saw me and before you planted one on me in front of everyone and their mother," she replied, her arms slithering around his neck and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "And I'm pretty sure I've mentioned how handsome you look in this tux."

"Actions speak louder than words and you haven't kept your hands to yourself," he remarked. His lips touched hers once more and she bit her lip.

"What lingerie is to men, tuxedos are to women," she quipped. He rested his hands on the curve of her waist and she turned to set the empty champagne flute on a table. "So, I'm thinking we stay another hour before skipping out to my place. I have it on good authority that Denver's staying at Danny's tonight."

Isabella turned to wink at Denver slow-dancing with Danny. Her best friend changed a knowing look on her pretty face. She wore a midnight blue halter floor-length dress that showed off a good expanse of her dress with crystal embellishments along the bust and along the empire waist.

"Tempting, Izzy, not gonna lie, but if Gerard doesn't see me, he's gonna know something's up," he replied. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Curls flopped in her eyes and she blew out to blow them away.

Her phone chirped in her little black clutch and she opened it to answer. Adam.

"Hey, Adam, what's up?" she asked. There was babbling and stuttering on the other line. "Adam, I can't understand you when you ramble. What's up?"

"Okay, so I ran the print we found on the murder weapon at Draco Jones's dorm room and it came back to Hector Rossi. It turns out Draco Jones is Hector's illegitimate son and he kidnapped you when you were fifteen, right?" Adam asked. Isabella glanced over her shoulder and moved away from the chattering party. She gave Angell a cursory smile before slipping into the ladies' room.

"How did you find out about that?" she asked in a low voice.

"I did a background check on him. He got arrested in 1994 for felony kidnapping and ransom. I looked to see who he kidnapped and your name came up," he explained. "But that's not the worst part. The worst part is that Hector Rossi is on the move."

She stared numbly at her reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror of the fancy bathroom.

"It says here in his statement that he was off to start a turf war and he was going to have an absolute bloodbath, Isabella," he fretted.

"Adam, let me call you right back, I have a beep. Try not to have a panic attack until I get back," she told him before switching the lines. "Daddy?"

"Isabella, this is your grandfather," Nonno said. "I'm in the country and I need you to get out of the Plaza Hotel, get the detective named Denver, and go to the safe house I have. Do not go home, I will send for someone to collect your things."

Her grandfather's tone was deathly serious.

"Do it while you're on the phone with me, so I can hear."

She left the bathroom and searched for Denver in the crowd. It was ironic that someone could slip past and something could happen to them in a room full of cops. Hector Rossi had balls, that was for sure.

Isabella spotted her talking to Danny and she sidled up to her best friend, smoothly slipping her arm into the taller woman's. "Hey, Den, come here really quick. My nonno's on the phone and he wanted to say hi," she said. It was hard as hell to keep her voice light when she knew her knees were trembling.

"Good, don't get her too scared," Nonno approved. Isabella locked gazes with Danny and she squirreled Denver away to a corner.

"Why did you have to pull me away from Danny to talk to your grandfather? Couldn't it have waited?" Denver asked in irritation. Isabella pressed the phone's speaker button and held it up.

"Go ahead, Nonno," she told him.


"Ugh, I can't believe we have to go to a fucking safe house," Denver complained as she kicked off her midnight blue slingback high heels. Isabella set her silver heels in the closet of the penthouse. Nonno loved the high life and had a penthouse in Sutton Place, as well as one in Park Avenue. He'd sent them to the one in Park Avenue. The sprawling space was a whopping seven thousand square feet (Armando Pacino the Second simply adored his privacy when he was in the city) with five massive bedrooms, five bathrooms, a formal living room, a formal dining room, a library, and a wine cellar. The place had been intensely renovated over the past decade. "At least your grandfather doesn't skimp."

"Absolutely not! He had his maid stock the kitchen for our impending arrival," Isabella quipped as she pawed through the cedar cabinets. She didn't like the food served at the party. While she'd been raised in high society in high-profile horse breeding and cattle ranching, foods like caviar and crab-stuffed mushroom caps were too rich for her red blood. "Being the only granddaughter of a mobster has its perks, I'll tell you what." She looked over to see Denver holding up a wire-framed photo.

"Is this you?" she asked, turning the picture around. It was a six-year-old Isabella dressed in show gear and mounted on Old Sarge, her mother's favorite gray gelding.

"Yeah, that's me and Old Sarge," Isabella replied, touching the glass from the frame. "Rodeo of 1985, I won Little Miss Rodeo Queen."

"Aw, you were so cute," Denver commented. She set the picture back on the white granite counter-top. Isabella pulled down a box of brown sugar-cinnamon Pop-Tarts and tore open the foil package, hopping on to a stool, swinging her bare feet. How often had she done this in the past? When she was younger, she loved spending her summers with Nonno in New York. She offered one of the frosted pastries to her best friend. "Got any wine to go with that?"

"You know I got you covered," Isabella responded, hopping down from the stool. "My grandfather's legitimate business in Italy are his vineyards and wineries, and it's really good wine." She made her way to the wine cellar and scanned the bottles of wine. The Pacino brand was famous in Tuscany, where her father's side of the family was from.

She finally selected a Chianti dessert wine and plucked two glasses from their little rack. Wines today were made with a synthetic cork so wine collectors didn't have to store them upside down.

"I also found some angel food cake in the little display thing!" Denver called. Isabella pulled up her skirt to hop up the worn wooden stairs, closing the door securely behind her.

"Try some of the Pacino Chianti," she suggested. She pulled the cork out and poured it into the glasses, swinging her bare feet from the white cushioned stool. The door to the penthouse opened and she saw her Zio Antonio. "Zio."

"Isabella," he addressed her. He set down luggage decorated with Louis Vuitton symbols just inside the door. "I managed to find the luggage your aunt and I bought you for Christmas." His dark brown eyes rested on Denver and his jaw tightened. "The issue with Hector Rossi will be resolved."

"Let Mac take care of him," she told him. Antonio glanced from his niece to her friend and set down the other suitcase. "Yes, you can keep me and Den safe, but you can't play mob vigilante."

"Whatever you say," he replied, shaking his head as he slammed the door shut. Isabella rolled her eyes and opened the suitcase. There was a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top sitting on top of the pile of clothes. Clearly, her Zia Serena had packed this. Isabella recognized the style of folding. Instead of folding it lengthwise and folding it like Isabella did, the folding style had the shirts with the logos out.

"Your uncle seems nice," Denver commented sarcastically. She walked into the living room, the plush carpet masking the sound of her footsteps. "This place is gorgeous."

"For a hefty twenty-five million dollar price-tag, it can be yours," Isabella announced, spinning around the room. She pulled the sweatpants, tank top, and a pair of black socks with neon green toes and heels. "Excuse me while I go change."

Her old room had been renovated as well, but still had that special quality she'd loved. It was huge, with a massive California king-sized bed with four posters in the middle. Antique furniture decorated the room, strategically placed to make the room seem even larger. The walls were painted a garnet-red with white trim, photos of Isabella and her half-siblings hanging on the walls. She felt even smaller than before. She tossed the clothes on the pristine comforter and unzipped the gown. In her fancy dress, she'd blended right in. Now, standing in her sweats, she felt so hilariously out-of-place.

Earlier tonight, she'd been looking forward to going home and cuddling up to Don. Now Isabella wasn't so sure how he was doing. She picked up her phone to see five missed calls and thirteen text messages from him. He cared.

The thought made her heart soar. She called him back.

"Where the hell are you? I turned around and you were gone. I had Adam track your phone and you're on Park Avenue. What are you doing there?" he asked.

"I'm at my grandfather's penthouse. Don't worry, I'm okay. I'm in a huge penthouse stocked with goodies and I've got Denver. We'll be fine," she assured him. Then she heard glass breaking and someone shrieking her name.

"Izzy!"

She bolted out of her room, tugging her tank top down over her stomach. Denver's hands were over her mouth as a shattered wineglass lay on the floor.

"Your grandfather's gonna kill me, I'm so sorry!" she apologized, scrounging for a broom. Isabella pulled it out of the closet with a roll of her eyes.

"Go get on your pajamas, I'll take care of it," she told her, shooing her off.

"What happened? Is everything okay?" Don demanded. "I don't like that you didn't tell me you're in danger. I had to hear it from Adam of all people."

"Everything's fine. Den just had a case of butterfingers and dropped a dollar store wineglass," Isabella replied. She waited until Denver left the room before using what he called her 'sex voice.' "You know, I kinda wish you were here. I'm gonna be sleeping in this big ole bed all by my lonesome."

"I highly doubt a mobster/wine tycoon would like finding out that an Irish cop defiled his only granddaughter in his penthouse because said granddaughter got lonely and wanted a booty call from said Irish cop," he commented.

"Not even if the bed's a California king with twelve-hundred thread count Italian cotton sheets on a pillow-top mattress?" she said innocently. "Besides, Nonno's rarely even here. He only keeps this place as a safe house and I know I'd feel safer with you here."

"Seriously, don't do that to me. You have no idea what that voice does to me," he groaned. She felt a wicked smile flicker on her lips and she leaned against the counter.

"Oh, really, now?" she purred. Isabella wagged her hips around as she took a sip of her wine. She set it back down, fighting a smile. The temptation was nearly too good to pass up. "You know I hate to leave things unfinished."

"You're awful, you know that?" he said. She giggled.

"I've heard rumors," she returned. "Seriously, I miss you. We've barely had any alone time lately."

"I know, baby," he replied. "Believe me, I know."

Then she heard a knock on her door and she crossed the open-concept kitchen to the front door, carefully minding any tiny slivers left from the wineglass. Isabella glanced through the peephole to see a finger over the viewfinder.

"Stay on the phone with me, someone's at the door and I can't see who it is," she told him. Then she heard her voice echo in the phone and she opened the door to see him leaning against the door frame. Dressed in the tuxedo from before. "How'd you get past security?"

He opened the jacket of the tuxedo to show his gold-plated badge clipped to his belt. "They saw the badge and let me through," he replied.

Her arms slithered around his neck, pulling him into the penthouse. "Lucky for me," she murmured, her mouth flickering over his.

"Oh, ew, get a room, you two!" Denver called. She paused between bites of the angel food cake. "Wait, I take that back."

"I'll sneak him out in the morning," Isabella singsonged, her fingers intertwining with Don's. "And I can't promise he'll be in one piece."


Don pulled her white tank top over her head and dropped it on the floor, his mouth crashing on hers. Isabella tossed his tuxedo jacket on the floor, her fingers undoing his bow-tie to join the jacket. His quick fingers pulled the drawstring on the heather gray sweatpants and peeled them off her frame to expose a tiny white thong that left nothing to his imagination. This must have been the little something-something she'd been talking about when she'd described the dress to him. He reached behind her to unhook the white lace bra and removed it from her breasts.

His thumbs circled her nipples until they stiffened into peaks under his touch. He kissed along her pale neck, reveling in the whimpers she unleashed. His hands smoothed along her toned ass and he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the thong and drew it down her body, leaving her exposed to his wandering eyes. She cupped his erection through his pants and his hips arched forward instinctively.

It was easy to lift her up and lay her on the bed. She was right about the bed. It sank silently under their weight and she helped him shuck his remaining clothes. Isabella leaned back and Don parted her thighs to enter her. She tightened around his length, hugging him firmly inside her supple body. Her legs hitched around his hips and he began to thrust into her slowly at first. She was more than ready for him, he could feel the heat of her arousal, how slick she was to the touch.

"Jeez, Iz, you feel so good," he muttered. Her nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned at the pleasurable bite. Her hips rubbed against his as she met his gentle thrusts with each arch.

"Only you do this to me," she whispered in his ear. Shit. Her whispers were his kryptonite. Then he thrust in harder, hitting that sweet spot inside of her, causing her to cry out. Her hand slapped over her mouth and he kissed down her collarbone and her sternum until he found the swell of her left breast. The tip of his tongue swept over her nipple and she muffled her sounds with her hand. Don moved her hand to see her teeth gnawing on her lower lip. Her inner walls were clenching tighter around him, milking his erection. The nails on her free hand bit down harder on his shoulder as her muffled cries increased in volume.

He kissed her hard in time to feel her completely let loose around him. Her body arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back. He gripped her hips, burying himself to the hilt as he felt his orgasm hit. Isabella panted under him, her hand smoothing her bangs out of her face.

"You good?" he asked. She nodded, her chest heaving. They lay there for a few moments without talking. His forehead rested on hers, their blue gazes locked together. "Is it just me or do we get better every time we do this?"

"Practice makes perfect," she quipped. She kissed him, softly at first. "Bet you're glad I used my sex voice now, right?"

Don rolled Isabella on his chest, his palm connecting with her bare ass. "Baby, you have no idea," he declared.