Pebbles crunch under my feet, the tiny sounds fracture the silence around us, as I carry Vasilisa. I feel her eyes on my face as I ascend the terrace steps. The light above the French doors that lead inside the living room is on. The same for the interior of the house. No more shadows to hide within.
My gaze is fixed on the path before me, and I keep moving with measured strides. Will she scream or simply faint in my arms? Somehow I doubt my little hacker is a screamer, so I ready myself for her body going limp. I take that final step and halt directly under the light fixture.
Waiting.
A moment passes.
I take a deep breath.
Look down.
For a second, I’m taken aback by how beautiful she is up close. Two dark eyes focus on me through long silky lashes, skimming over my features just as mine did with hers. A couple of heartbeats is usually the longest it takes before people look away after seeing me. But Vasilisa takes her time, examining every jagged line of the mess that is my face. She doesn’t even bat an eye. Maybe she’s in shock.
Finally, her gaze meets mine.
“I could have sworn you were blond, Rafael.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s it?”
“What?”
“Your reaction. You’re not going to scream?”
“Oh, it takes a lot more effort for a guy to make me scream.”
My cock is instantly hard. “Good to know.”
I resume carrying her through the house, up the stairs—all with the most epic hard-on I’ve had in ages. When I reach my bedroom, I stop outside and gently lower her to the floor.
“Otto will be waiting for you at ten to take you over to Taormina to shop tomorrow. Get anything you want, don’t look at the prices.”
“Can I get my T-shirt and jeans back for the occasion? I’m sure the salespeople will throw me out if I walk in wearing your shirt and nothing else.”
I lean slightly forward. “Don’t worry about that.”
“If you say so.” She tilts her head to the side, simply looking at me for a couple of moments, then adds. “And I haven’t changed my mind.”
In less than a second, she disappears into the room.
I stare at the door for a few heartbeats, then turn on my heel and head downstairs, directly to the east wing. When I step inside Guido’s apartment, he’s just leaving his bathroom, toweling his hair.
“We had a situation in Marseille,” he says, walking toward his closet. “I tried calling you, but you weren’t answering your phone.”
I grab the back of his neck and plaster him face-first to the closet door. “What did you say to her?”
“I guess I don’t have to ask who ‘her’ is?” he mumbles into the wooden surface.
“Answer me!”
“She’s going to get you killed! I don’t get this crazy obsession you’ve developed for this girl, but when Petrov finds out, he’ll fry you!”
“What I do with my life is none of your fucking business!” I tighten my grip on his neck and lean to whisper in his ear. “If you ever upset her again, you won’t like the consequences.”
“Christ, Raff.” Guido shakes his head. “Please, let me arrange for someone to take her back home before she realizes who you are. Because we’re doomed if she does.”
I release him. “Too late for that.”
“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Guido throws the towel on the couch and turns toward the dry bar.
My brother rarely drinks booze and only keeps a few alcoholic options for when Mitch comes over. The two of them go way back to our time in the US, with Mitch following us back to Sicily when we made the move. Guido is not one to share the details of his love life, so I only know the status of his on-again-off-again relationship with his boyfriend based on the presence of those bottles. Little bro hides the liquor when he and Mitch break up. I guess this means they’re back together now.
Guido drops on his recliner a minute later, with three fingers of whiskey in the tumbler in his hand. “What will happen when you let her go, and she tattles to her father?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I tell him. “I need you to get me some house staff.”
“House staff?”
“Yes. As soon as tomorrow morning. Five additional maids. Two gardeners. Does Rigobaldo’s wife still cook at that restaurant in Messina?”
“I think so, yes. Why—”
“Make them fire her. I want her here. She’ll cook for us.”
Guido throws back his drink, getting into a coughing fit as soon as he swallows. “You hate having people in the house, Raff. I’ve been trying to convince you to hire a second maid forever. Now, all of a sudden, you want me to magically get you eight people to work here overnight?”
“Make it twelve, and make sure they can understand English. And I want them to make noise. Order them to argue.”
