Page 14 of Caesar DeLuca
Her doe eyes flick up to my face. A soft smile touches her lips. “Nice to meet you, Caesar. Your bandage is all changed out. Are you hungry? I made you some fresh chicken noodle soup. None of that canned stuff.”
“Your turn. Your name.” My fingers reach for her again, grabbing her hand to keep her where she’s standing beside the bed. I pierce her with a probing look that often makes grown men stutter out of nerves. But I’m not trying to intimidate her; I’m curious, my mind desperate to suss out what I can and fill in the blanks about her.
“Ari,” she answers finally. “You can call me Ari.”
“That’s got to be short for something. But, for now, I’ll accept it.”
“Good. You should also accept you’ll be here a while. This blizzard isn’t stopping anytime soon, and you’re in no shape to move. So I’ll ask again, are you hungry?”
I reach the final stage of the situation: acceptance.
It is what it is, and if circumstances mean I’m stuck here for a while, there’s no use fighting it. I’ll use the time to heal and plot revenge.
My tone lightens slightly, not so tight and impatient anymore. “Yes, Ari,” I say. “I’m hungry.”
7
ARIANA
Ari, what mess have you gotten yourself into?
It’s been a reoccurring thought since the moment I found Caesar DeLuca bleeding out in the snow.
He confirmed he’s dangerous; he’s in the mafia, probably some kind of boss.
You don’t perfect a hardened stare like his and not make it high up the organized crime food chain.
Once I’m done cleaning him up, I gather my supplies on the tray and leave him to get more rest. The second I’m alone in the hall, I’m blowing out an exhausted breath.
It’s only been twenty-four hours since I opened up my home, and my social battery is already depleted. I’m so used to solitude that his mere presence feels exhausting—even when he’s in an entirely different room.
Being alone is easier.
I don’t have to worry about being ‘on’ or entertaining anyone. I don’t have to question if the other person is going to cause issues or put me in a bad situation. I can hide out in peace.
My one social event a month suits me just fine.
The last thing I need is some violent capo under my roof. It’s even worse that he’s fine. He makes my heart race and my mind go blank. I’m nervous around him for more reasons than just the threat he poses.
His good looks are almost unfair—he’s the kind of mafia guy that women dream up when they imagine a gritty, sexy man in that type of lifestyle. If it’s not his masculine jawline doing you in, it’s his shiny dark hair and eyes and the way his features clench in that intimidating fashion.
I’d never thought I’d find a scowl so damn sexy ’til I met him.
He’s tall. Almost a whole foot taller than me. And he takes very good care of himself judging by the muscles etched into his abdomen.
Compared to him, I’m a soft, round marshmallow.
A depressing thought that makes me more than a little self-conscious.
Another reason I can’t relax now that he’s here. What woman wants to walk around in the privacy of her home worrying about how she looks around a fine man like him?
It shouldn’t be on my list of priorities… but I’m only human.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a man in my life.
Much less a half-naked, very dangerous, very sexy man lying in my home.
Stop it, Ari. No use thinking about how attractive he is—he’s off-limits.
