Page 103 of Ruthless Guardian

“And sorry, but we’ll have to put off our tour of the city when Raffaele returns. I’ve only been allowed a quick visit to the café around the corner.”

Some of the light in his emerald-green eyes dims. “Oh, that is unfortunate. I was hoping to take you to the Fori Romani. The monumental public squares were constructed in ancient Rome over a period of about 1,500 years. They were the center of Roman public life during the Republic and later the Empire. They are truly an impressive sight.”

“I’m sure they are, but we’ll have to see them another day. If they’ve been around this long, they’re sure not going anywhere.” I’m actually proud of myself and hope Raf will be too. The old Bella would have run off with the professor without a second though. I’ve come a long way.

“Va bene,” he finally says, nodding.

I lead the way around the corner to the familiar café Raf vetted before we moved in. Alberto walks a few steps behind us, not crowding my personal space like Raf does. Weirdly enough, I find myself missing my controlling, obsessive bodyguard.

“At least let me take you to a nice coffee shop,” Massimo offers. “This one is not so good. It’s for the tourists.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “I like it here actually. They even have caramel syrup that they add to my latte if I ask nicely.”

His mouth puckers, but his head dips all the same. “As you wish,signorina.”

Once we’re seated with a warm latte in hand at the back of the quiet café, we lapse into an easy conversation about the internship program. Neither of us mentions the shooting, and I’m more than relieved. I’m actually shocked. It was all the otherinterns could talk about last week. A part of me feared Massimo was going to tell me I was kicked out of the program because he’d somehow found out it was my fault.

I still can’t wrap my head around the idea that it’s somehow Raf’s. Everything he told me still seems so unbelievable. I often found myself cursing my luck for being born into a family like the Valentinos, and we may be dysfunctional at times, but to go to the lengths that Raf’s father went to?

That’s insane.

My heart hurts for what Raf has endured. Despite the slight pang at the knowledge that he loved someone else so deeply. Does he love me? Had he meant to let that slip the other night and if he had, then why hadn’t he mentioned it since?

A whirlwind of unanswered questions plagues my thoughts as I smile and nod while Massimo goes into the nitty gritty of the program and all the new ideas he has in mind now that he’s the director. It all sounds great, but I can’t seem to focus as I sip my latte.

Maybe it’s because Raf hasn’t answered any of my text messages, and I keep sneaking peeks at my phone.

“Is everything all right, Bella?” Massimo’s eyes find mine, and I feel like a jerk because I’ve totally been ignoring him.

“Yes, sorry, I’m just distracted.” My eyes lift over Massimo’s shoulder where Albie stands.

“I can imagine after the incident last week.”

I almost say which one? Until I remember the only one he knows of is the shooting on the rooftop, not the following attack at the cemetery. “Have you spoken to Carlo’s family?” I ask before I take a measured sip.

“Yes, they are just devastated.” He lifts the small espresso cup to his lips and drinks it all in one go. “Have you heard anything from the police? Because his parents have been given absolutely no information about the shooting.”

“No nothing,” I mumble. Never mind the fact that Raf has already paid off the entire Roman police department at my father’s order. In our world, we take care of these sorts of things from the inside. I finish off my latte and offer Massimo a smile. “Thank you for this little outing. It was nice to get my mind off things.”Lie. I push my chair back, the scrape of the chair legs against the tile, jarring.

“You’re leaving already?” His hand twitches, something about the jerky movement attracting my attention.

“Yes, sorry, as I said, I have to get back home. Raf’s probably waiting…” I don’t know what possesses me to lie like that, but the words spill out of their own accord. “Actually, I should probably text him.” My fingers fly over the screen with a quick message about being with the professor. I expect an immediate irate response, but I still get nothing.

“Si, certo.” He rises as I do. “Oh, I almost forgot, I have a letter from your instructor at NYU, Professor Dykeman.”

“You do?”

“Yes. He didn’t have your address, so he sent it to me.”

“Why wouldn’t he just have emailed?”

He shrugs. “There’s something more special about receiving an actual letter all the way from home, don’t you think?”

“I guess…”

Massimo leads me out of the café, and Alberto stalks behind us. “My car is just around the corner.” He quickens his steps, a slight sheen coating his upper lip.

“When did you say Professor Dykeman sent the letter?”

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