A HELICOPTER IS LANDING on the grass outside my room and I can't sleep. The two are probably connected in some way. Despite my heartfelt conversation with my mom the other day, I couldn't bring myself to go home yet. Plus, considering all that happened with Lucas and his--girlfriend?--I knew I had to stay here. Though it may be dangerous, I know that the Cavalli's need to be taken down. And what better person to do it than me?

As I stand by the window, watching the chopper land on the enormous expanse of green, I stare out at the surprisingly sun-filled, reflecting rays of sparkling light over the blue water of the lakes. A man of incredible stature, wearing a dark fedora, gets out of the chopper, landing on the lawn in a low crouch. Who is he and what is he doing here? Paralyzed by the window, unable to tear my eyes away, to my horror he locks gazes with me and tips his hat at me.

Turning around, and away from the window, I draw the blinds and get dressed in black skinny jeans and a white oversized sweater. Then I dash out the guestroom door, running directly into Antonio. "I was just about to find you."

He raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Somebody is landing a helicopter... on your lawn." I say slowly, feeling ridiculous as I say the words. "I think."

"Oh, I see my brother decided to make his grand entrance as always," he says nonchalantly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his tailored chinos. Somehow, I never pegged him for a chinos guy. Even at eight in the morning, he's up and dressed in a perfectly crisp outfit, not a hair out of place. Catching my surprised expression, he elaborates. "Sebastian Cavalli, my older brother. He's been in Italy for the past five years."

"Italy? Whereabouts?" I ask. Do I sound casual or just overly probing?

"Venice for a while, then Milan, then the Lake Como area," he says. "Why do you ask?"

"I've always wanted to see Italy, maybe he could give me some travel suggestions," I joke.

His face darkens for a moment before regaining his composure. Is that jealousy I smell? "You'll have to ask him yourself."

"Maybe I will," I say, testing the limits of these waters. Are they shark-infested, or merely filled with minnows? "Is he a tour guide type?"

"More like a pickpocket," he says. "Charming, but he'll rob you blind if you're not looking."

"And are you looking out for me? I don't have anything in my pockets," I say, as we walk down the hallway toward the common meeting area where I presume the mysterious Sebastian Cavalli will be making his appearance. "Well, some pocket lint and a quarter, but I don't think that's worth very much."

"Good to know," he says, his hand resting on the small of my back.

As we turn the corner into the meeting room, I hear a... growl?

Then something large and furry launches itself at my face. Next to me, Antonio bites back a laugh before prying the animal away from me. I stagger back, a noise that is half-gasp, half-shriek slipping from my lips. "What was that?"

"I see you've met my dog, Pasha," says Sebastian coolly. At least, I presume it's Sebastian. He wears the same dark fedora and a long trench coat, his face half-hidden in the shadow of his hat. Like his brother, he's also incredibly tall. Does some sort of freakish superhuman gene run in this family, causing all the men to be well above six feet? "Pasha, heel."

The enormous Husky sits obediently at his feet. He pets her on the head. His clothes are covered in dog hair, a thought that makes me laugh to think of a menacing gangster lint-rolling his pants.

"You need to curb your dog," Antonio says, but his voice is tinged with laughter and... anger? Instead of the typical cool, unfeeling, unflinching tone that i always get from him, he seems softer. More human, with his guard down. Which, with Pasha around, may not be a very good thing.

"And you need to pick up my calls, brother," says Sebastian with a scoff. "I can't believe you cancelled on my lunch to go and... do what? Play billiards?"

"I had to help somebody find their mother." The flat truth from him stuns me. Yet another reason we shouldn't be together, even if he did wrangle a vicious dog off of my face. If it surprises me to hear him be honest, what else about him would? "I think that ranks a little bit above having lunch at Cavalli's."

"Really? But that restaurant just managed to reopen after everything that's happened, and you can't even be bothered to patronize it," Sebastian says. I feel like I'm watching a game of verbal chess, with things going over my head and words with more than one meaning. "Oh well. I didn't take the helicopter here just to talk about the past or to talk business."

"Then what did you come here for?" Antonio is eyeing the dog like it will jump up and attack someone again. Instead, it's curled up against Sebastian's feet, shedding onto his leather wingtips.

"I came here to get to know you and your lovely new addition to the famiglia, of course," Sebastian says cheerily, in a tone that usually accompanies whistling and skipping down the sidewalk before comically slipping on a banana peel. "I'm referring to the Martell girl, in case you hadn't realized."

"I'm Christina," I say, an edge coming into my voice. "Not the Martell girl."

"Your surname is Martell and you are a girl," Sebastian says dismissively. My nerves tense up. "Thus, the Martell girl."

"I see you aren't even worth meeting." I toss my hair over one shoulder, unsure where this newfound boldness is coming from. "I have to go."

"Where, exactly?" Antonio inquires.

"Somewhere where the male ego is less suffocating," I say drily, turning on my heel and going into a corridor lit by flickering sconces as though this is the year 1812 instead of the twenty-first century.

A heavy sigh aggrieves me. I almost stumble to a stop before realizing where the noise is coming from. Roberto Cavalli sits in his study, the door ajar in such a way that he can't see or hear me. He's talking on the phone, and I quickly put out my notepad and pen from the pocket of my cardigan.

"No, no," he says in a thick Italian accent, gesturing with his hands. "This cannot be."

A pause. I hold my breath and do my best to write quietly.

"What do you mean, that the shipments have been diverted? Where to? They were supposed to be here on the 5th, now you're telling me they will be here on the 10th and at a completely different airport, to boot?"

Rhythmic clicking noises. I can picture him tapping a pen against his desk as I scrawl down the date of the shipment and the plans. I shudder to think of what he might be shipping. Drugs? Guns? Or even... people?

"Fine. What's that? Three pm at LaGuardia?" He sighs. "Ciao."

Holding my breath, I scribble down the details, turn around, and tuck the paper into my bra in case anyone questions me. My thoughts make me suppress a snort as I quickly walk in the opposite direction of the office. What am I thinking? That someone's going to stop me in the hallway and frisk me?

My laughter dries up when I run into Sebastian Cavalli, though. "What are you doing a mere ten feet from my father's study?"

"Who actually uses the word mere in a sentence?" I retort. I swear, this guy gets on every last nerve I have. And they're already very few.

"Me," he says bluntly. "Now answer my question, Martell girl."

I roll my eyes. "Call me by my name first and I'll think about it."

"So you have something to hide," he says bluntly. "That's okay, everyone does around here. But I'm warning you. Christina. I'm an expert at discovering secrets."

Then he pushes past me, so crudely that my elbow bangs into the velvet-covered wallpaper, and walks into his father's office, slamming the door shut behind him. My head hits against a painting. Ouch. As I turn to straighten it, I realize that behind the painting, there's... a hole in the wall.

A literal hole in the wall. Checking to see if anyone is watching me, I move the painting the rest of the way to the side, wincing as it scrapes against the wall with a slight screech. Behind it, covered in dust that makes me refrain from touching anything, I see a safe. Quickly, I maneuver the painting back in place and walk back down the hall, acting as though nothing happened. Which is easier said than done. A bruise mars my elbow when I pull up my sleeve, making me wince.

So they keep a safe behind a painting on the wall. Doesn't seem super secure to me if I were an Italian mobster, but for all I know, it could be a decoy safe, planted there in case... in case, what? Robbers come in and somehow manage to shoot them all dead? This place probably has more security than the White House or the Pentagon. Wait, what if there are cameras and someone saw me?

Speed-walking toward the closest exit, I try to push the anxious thoughts out of my mind. If someone really cared to catch me and throw me in... mafia prison or whatever they have, it would have happened already. Lights flashing. Lasers pointing. Booby traps and all that jazz.

No, I think I'll be fine. For now.

Of course, my confidence is dashed to pieces when I hear what sounds like a dog barking. If it's Pasha, I will move back home immediately and never set eyes on this house, ever again. That dog's claws left red scratches on my chest and collarbone even through my shirt, and she seems to be one of those dogs that only loves her master. That dog is no dog. It's a monster, same as Cerberus sent straight from the gates of hell.

But a frown purses my lips, pinching my brows together. The dog bark that reaches my ears doesn't sound like a full-grown dog. It sounds like the whimper of a puppy. My cautious guards lower, and I tiptoe out of the hallway, only to see Antonio crouched on the ground, scratching the belly of what seems to be a Chihuahua. It yips when he stops rubbing its belly.

"Good boy," he says, petting the dog on its head. "Sit, Romeo."

To my surprise, the dog sits obediently on its haunches, its big eyes looking up at him with expectant obedience.

"So, are you adding dog trainer to your resume?" I ask, planting my hands on my hips as I survey the foyer.

What appears to be the massacred remains of a throw pillow is scattered across the floor, feathers and cotton stuffing discarded in puffy clouds over the tiles. Furniture is askew, a chair overturned with the legs in the air. A lamp is on its side on a corner table, the lampshade crooked, and a puddle of questionable substance is by the front door. It looks like... well, it looks a puppy has been tearing through the room and well on the way to ripping it apart.

Hearing my voice, Antonio stands up quickly, almost tripping over the remnants of the pillow and placing one hand on the chair to upside-down balance himself. I laugh at seeing this ridiculously tall man looking like a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Christina! I, um, didn't see you there."

"Where did the dog come from?" I say, biting back a grin as Antonio rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. I rarely see him appear so boyish. "Did Pasha give birth to a litter in the middle of the living room?"

"No, I found this puppy outside, actually. Crying on the doorstep," he responds. "Like an abandoned child."

"Aww." I crouch down to pet the dog's fuzzy head, scratching it under the chin. "Wait, you named the dog Romeo?"

"Yes, why not?" he says, raising a brow. "What's wrong with that name?"

"There's no Juliet," I blurt out.

"I meant to name him after Alfa Romeo, not the Shakespeare character," he explains. When he sees my blank expression, he continues. "The car."

His words feel like just another brick in the wall slowly stacking up between us. Antonio must sense the distance growing because he lays a hand on my wrist. "I have an offer for you."

I smile, unable to resist a man who is holding a puppy. "What is it?"

"How do you feel about going on a second date with me?"