Sweet On You - By Kate Perry Page 0,4

was just put up for sale. That old motel."

Nico stilled. Then he took the pages from Jason.

The MLS listing detailed the usual information: square footage, number of units, and asking price. It didn't say that the building had been a flophouse that’d housed countless poor families. That the gangs in the Mission had recruited their foot soldiers directly from those barren rooms. That people had died there.

Like his brother Eddie.

He swallowed thickly as he looked at the photo of the edifice's front courtyard, where he'd found Eddie's body dumped, like it was trash. There was no evidence of the murder, but he still saw the blood pooling on the pavement.

He'd been waiting for this building to come up for sale for twenty years, so he could buy and raze it until not a speck of it existed. But the owner had adamantly held on to it, even after it'd been condemned in the '89 Loma Prieta earthquake.

"What changed the owner's mind about selling?" Nico asked hoarsely.

"Death. His heir wasn't as averse to selling it as the original owner was. There's just one catch," Jason warned.

"What?"

"Someone else expressed a strong interest in the building."

He calmed. He always won. "That's not a problem then. Make sure you outbid him."

"Her." Jason shifted through more papers until he found what he was looking for. "Daniela Rossi, the world-renowned pastry chef."

"You say that like I should know who she is."

Jason smiled mildly. "Her chocolate cake is one of the top five things I've ever eaten in my life."

"High praise coming from a man who loves to eat."

"It was heaven," Jason said devoutly, closing his eyes. Then he refocused on Nico. "It's just as well you don't know her. She's your type and, if you'd met her, you'd have broken her heart. Then we'd have not just an adversary on our hands but a vengeful woman who was out for your balls."

"It'd have added to the thrill of the hunt."

"You're a seriously disturbed man." He began gathering his contracts and notes.

Unable to help it, Nico asked, "What makes her my type, Jason?"

"Feisty," he said without hesitation. "Face of a Botticelli angel. She's the type of woman you never go for."

He shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. You just said she was my type."

"She is, but you never go for women who have life and substance to them. Instead you go for the obvious and dull. Tall, blond, and icy."

He raised his brows. "Icy?"

Jason shrugged. "I was being kind."

"What makes you think that this Daniela Rossi is better for me?" he asked curiously.

"She's as passionate as you are," Jason said without pause. "She'd stand up to you. You need someone you can't boss around. You tend to pick women who are easily swayed to your way of thinking, let's just say."

"You mean I control them?"

"If you want to be blunt about it."

Nico frowned. "You sound like you know Daniela Rossi well."

"I only met her once, over a slice of her chocolate cake, but it made a lasting impression."

"Apparently." And he didn't like it.

Jason grinned and stood with his briefcase. "You're just jealous you haven't tasted her cake."

Maybe. Maybe he was jealous that someone could enjoy something so small as a piece of cake. He hadn't enjoyed anything in a long time. He was only going through the motions.

But he would enjoy tearing down the Harrison Street building. He'd demolish it and erect a marketplace and parking facility, like the Ferry Building. Most importantly, he'd erase the last reminder of where he came from and what he'd lost.

And then...

He shook his head. He'd figure out what then after. First things first. "Get me that building, Jason."

"Of course." Tipping his head, he let himself out.

As soon as he was gone, Nico sat in front of his laptop and opened a browser. Into Google, he typed Daniela Rossi.

Chapter Three

Marley walked into the unfinished kitchen of Daniela's West Coast operation and stopped in shock. "Daniela, are you baking?"

Her boss grunted, occupied by kneading dough on her special pastry counter.

Marley stared at the sight. Daniela hadn't baked in—well, she couldn't remember the last time, aside from the wedding cake she'd made for the owner of Grounds for Thought, with whom Daniela had bonded.

But there it was, right in front of her eyes: Daniela Rossi with her hands caked in flour and Sinatra crooning softly from the expensive sound system Marley had had installed per Daniela's instructions.

She looked at her boss, trying to figure out what had changed. Daniela wore a pair