Page 233 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“Then, we should play this game…continue the tradition,” I suggest as I take a bite of my dinner that Antonio has just set down. I motion to my bodyguards. “For instance, what’s their story?” I ask.

She smirks and rubs her hands together. She’s fucking precious. She’s like a beacon of light in my dark world. Maybe this is why he wanted me to meet her.

“Well…” She begins and I only half listen as I take in each freckle on her nose, each fleck of green in her irises, and the way her lips move as she speaks. By the time she finishes her story, I only know one thing…I have to come back here next week. She’s the most powerful drug ever, and I need more of her.

Three

LENA

I crack through the hard cannoli shell before taking a single bite of dessert and setting my spoon down. Vince and I always shared a cannoli. I look at the rest of it, a sadness overcoming me. I’m still in shock that he’s gone. It feels abrupt and unreal. This entire meal has been unreal. Rocco is polite and once in a while I see him start to relax and enjoy our conversation. It reminds me of his grandfather. I can see the familiarity in his eyes, dark brown orbs full of knowledge and secrets.

“Are you full?” Rocco asks.

I nod. “Yes.” I bite my lip as I place my napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back,” I state as I get up and head to the bathroom.

I close the door and lean on the sink. My head is clearer in here, away from Rocco. My brain scours the recesses of my memories. Did Vince ever mention a grandson? No…he did mention a son once though, something about seeing a ball game with him? Shit, why can’t I remember? Why did Vince have to die? It’s so unfair! I feel like I knew him on a cellular level, and I didn’t know him even a little bit all at the same time.

My lip trembles again as I think of the kind old man I knew. A funeral. Will there be a funeral? I should ask.

I knew Vince was older, but I didn’t think of him dying anytime soon. I’m so stupid. Of course, he could die, anyone could die.

I go to the bathroom and wash my hands as regret penetrates every fiber of my being. It’s as if I learned nothing from losing my parents. I should cherish every second I have with those I love. And I loved Vince. He was like a grandparent to me. What did Rocco say about why he was here tonight? Oh yeah, Rocco wondered why he came here every Thursday. That makes me smile. Rocco knew Vince always came here. Maybe Vince had mentioned me? Maybe Vince wanted us to meet? Or he wanted Rocco to be the one to tell me about his passing. But why? Rocco seems nice, albeit a little demanding, but he’s patient. He let me make up my fun stories and didn’t interrupt once. Vince used to interrupt with funny additions to the story. But not Rocco. He just sat there watching me. I saw a faint smile cross his lips a few times. And for reasons I can’t explain, that made me happy that I could bring even a small smile to those kissable lips. God, he’s attractive! He’s like a Roman statute. I bet women climb all over that stone façade of muscle.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and unlock it. I should go thank Rocco for dinner and then never come back here. But something inside me wants to see him again, wonders if he’ll be back next week.

I open the door and crash into solid muscle. My head whips back and I look into Rocco’s dark brown eyes again as his hands shoot out and grab my upper arms, steadying me.

“Whoa there, tesoruccia,” he murmurs. I shiver at that word. I don’t know what it means, but I like how he says it.

His thumb rubs the exposed skin on my right arm. I swallow as we lock gazes. Is he going to kiss me? He licks his lips as his eyes fall to mine.

“I shouldn’t come back here again. I’m no good for you, Lena. You’d be better off forgetting all about Vince and me,” he warns me.

I frown. “Why would I do that?” I ask.

He smiles a sad smile. “You really have no idea, do you?” he asks.

“About what?” I retort.

He shakes his head a little and releases my arms. I immediately wish he hadn’t. I felt oddly safer with them on me, like as long as I’m his, no one would touch me, ever. I almost laugh at the thought. I’ve got to stop reading dark romance novels.

“I—I should go,” I stammer as I glance down the hall toward my coat that Antonio’s hung on the back coatrack.

Rocco glances at where I’ve looked and walks over, grabbing the coat from the hook, he holds it up for me. I slowly slide my arms inside and he wraps it tightly around my front, essentially embracing me from behind. I look down at his large hands on the lapels of my wool coat and swallow. I need to start looking for dates on that app my co-worker put on my phone. His hands remain there for a full ten seconds before he releases me.

I turn to him. “Thank you for dinner, Rocco,” I say.

“The pleasure was all mine. I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news,” he replies as he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It’s a personal touch, but for reasons I can’t explain, I like it.

“Will there be a funeral?” I ask.

Rocco shakes his head. “He wanted a private burial service.”

“Oh,” I state, disappointed that I won’t get a proper goodbye.

“Maybe I can take you by his grave sometime,” Rocco offers.

“Really?” I ask, sounding hopeful in a way I wasn’t expecting.

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