“Come in,” Ricco managed, but he didn’t know how he could speak in a normal tone. No part of his body seemed his own, not even his voice. He was grateful for his strict training. He kept all interest from his tough features when his entire being reacted to her.

Her gaze jumped from Emilio to him. He was in the shadows and she probably hadn’t spotted him immediately. She hesitated, and he couldn’t blame her. He was intimidating and knew it. The Ferraros were born intimidating. Time seemed to stand still as he waited for her to obey his order. It had been an order. Ricco was used to obedience from everyone around him – obedience and deference. When he spoke, he expected and got an instant reaction.

Emilio glanced at him sharply, heaved a resigned sigh and sank down into the high-backed chair at the conference table. He beckoned to the woman. “I guess you’re not too late, sweetheart.” He indicated the chair across the table from him. “Did you bring a portfolio? Anything with your picture?” He held his hand out for the book.

Mariko Majo could barely breathe through the need rushing through her veins like molten lava. She didn’t understand what was happening. One moment she was perfectly fine, a little worried she was not going to get the extremely important interview, and the next, she was overwhelmed with need – with a hunger she’d never known. For the first time in her life she had the urge to turn around and flee. She knew danger when she saw it, and Ricco Ferraro was pure danger.

The two men were both waiting. She lifted her chin and forced her body into movement. She hadn’t expected Ricco Ferraro to be in the interview room. She knew the hotel belonged to the Ferraros but not one woman had come out of the conference room talking about him. She knew it was him because, of course, she’d seen photographs of him; who hadn’t? He was in all the magazines, online and paper both. He had quite a reputation as a ladies’ man and she could see why he would deserve it. He was gorgeous. Stunning. Scary.

She took several steps into the room, but then the door swung closed behind her and her heart jumped and then began to pound. Fear had a distinctive taste. She glanced back at the door. She wasn’t a coward, she never had been, but the Ferraros were reputed to be in organized crime, a dangerous family to have anything to do with. She felt a little desperate trapped in the room with the two very intimidating men. It was whispered that they could hear lies. She had secrets. Too many. The last thing she needed was for one of the Ferraros to ask her questions.

No one spoke, not to encourage or discourage. This was her decision and both men made that very clear. She tightened her arms around the book she held as if that could give her the necessary courage. Mariko was not a woman afraid of much, yet in the presence of Ricco Ferraro, she found herself trembling. That wasn’t a good start. Straightening her shoulders, she walked across the floor toward the conference table. It was large and intimidating, just like the men.

“I didn’t bring a portfolio. I’ve never been a model, but my mother was. She died long before I ever had the chance to know her.” Her voice was low and very soft, a soothing, pleasing sound, cultivated by the elders as she grew. Now, she didn’t know how to raise her voice. She wished she could. She was raised to sound seductive, pleasing to a man’s ear and body. She didn’t want to attract undue attention, not when she was alone in a room with the two men, one an obvious Ferraro, the other clearly related.

Emilio sighed again and glanced up at Ricco. “I can do this and catch up with you later.” The idea had been not to ever allow the models to know who the rope master was. If they knew it was a Ferraro, they would have had even more women looking to fill the position, hoping they’d have a chance of seducing him.

The hotel was often used by businessmen for a variety of meetings. No one would think twice about interviews being held there. It would not be unheard of for a Ferraro to be spotted in the hotel or talking to one of the men using the room. Most of the models had been disappointed that they hadn’t seen one of the famous family members.

Mariko held her breath. She wanted Ricco out of the room, yet she didn’t. She was confused with the way her body had suddenly come to life, every nerve ending aware of him. His eyes were dark and hooded, giving nothing away. He looked invincible. Disinterested. She was a mass of nerves and he was totally in control. She wanted to run, but she needed to do this – to convince them she was perfect for the job.

She’d watched the other models leaving one by one. They were mostly American, although not all. Some were from Brazil and Mexico. A couple had been from Spain and Argentina. There had been an Icelander. She was gorgeous.

Most were beautiful, with lots of height – something she didn’t have. The moment she thought that, the voices rose to taunt her. She was mixed – Japanese and American. Nothing. A nothing. A nobody. The kanji in her last name meant “female devil.” She didn’t even know what her real last name was because she’d dishonored the family simply by being born.

She wasn’t beautiful, or like any of the women she’d seen Ricco with in the magazines. There were two in particular he favored. Twins. The Lacey sisters – both actresses. She’d read all about them numerous times, the fact that the tabloids had caught them all naked in a hot tub together had been splashed across every tatty little rag and gossip magazine. She forced that image out of her mind. She had one shot at this and she had to make it right. Already she’d made a bad impression by being late, waiting too long to make up her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she continued forward, keeping her steps soft and light. She knew how to keep the nerves out of her face and voice, but she’d never felt under such scrutiny. Ricco had one scar across his face, a long line that ran from his left eye almost to the corner of his mouth. He was handsome, but in a rough, all-male way: the shadow along his stubborn jaw, his high cheekbones, straight nose and amazing eyes. Those dark eyes took in far too much but remained flat and ice-cold. He was reputed to be the most violent of the five brothers, and looking at him, she believed it.

“I’ll stay,” Ricco said. “I might have more questions.”

Her heart jerked hard. She kept walking, feeling as if she might be headed to her doom. She didn’t look around her, but she’d noted the exits the moment she’d entered the room. She had given the huge room a quick glance, taking in everything. She wasn’t one to walk into a fancy hotel and be dazzled like most of the women leaving had been. She’d deliberately waited and watched from the lobby as the hopeful models had exited. None seemed particularly certain they’d gotten the job. She hadn’t been all that sure of trying out for the position and she wanted to make certain the opportunity was a legitimate one.

“Sit.” Ricco waved his hand toward the chair across from the other man. “I’m Ricco Ferraro. This is my cousin, Emilio Gallo.”

Ricco was definitely in charge. He was making that very clear. Emilio glanced up at him again, one eyebrow raised. So, Ricco hadn’t conducted the other interviews. That wasn’t good. Why had she ever thought she could do this?