Page 15 of Heartless Sinner

Vittorio meansvictororconqueror. It felt fitting for our family ethos. It’s always felt fitting for me. I just feel like shit at the moment.

The only thing I should be worried about tonight is keeping my eyes open for a potential theft. Yet here I am, worrying about finding a wife.

And I have one fucking week.

Seven days.

Fuck, I need a drink. Something strong to take my mind off this shit. Then I’ll take one step at a time. Get through this weekend first and make a list of all the potential women I know on Monday.

With that plan in mind, I head to the hotel bar. When I step through the double doors, I grab a cigar from my pocket, light up, and walk over to the balcony to scan the floor below where the bar is set up.

The place is alive with people out for the night, dressed to attract and impress.

I take a drag and exhale a slow stream of smoke while I check to see if Brahm is here. Chances are he left because I was talking to my father for quite a while.

I can’t see him anywhere, so maybe he’s gone.

My gaze drifts to the bar. Then I seeher. A raven-haired goddess sitting by herself at the far corner sipping on a cocktail.

For a moment, the world stills. My grip on the cigar tightens, the smoldering end forgotten as my attention locks onto the beauty.

Unlike everyone else who looks like they’re here for a good time, she looks like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

And my, what lovely shoulders she has.

The little red skater dress she’s wearing shows off sun-kissed skin and fits her like a second skin. It’s like sin incarnate, dipping low enough to tease but not reveal, and her long legs, crossed at the knees, look like they were made to wrap around a man’s waist.

My waist.

Her lips press against the rim of her glass, soft and pink, and I can’t decide if I want to ruin her or worship her. Maybe both.

Her eyes flick toward the balcony and for a second, I think she’s caught me staring. But no. She’s too lost in her head to notice me.

She sips on her drink like she’s trying to drown something and I lean against the railing as I continue my assessment of her.

When she finishes her drink she orders another from the bartender, giving him a movie star smile and I can admit I’m jealous.

Of course, he’s drinking in her beauty, scanning over her face and her body in the same ways I am and all the other men around us who are watching her.

Those bastards are probably thinking up all sorts of ideas on how they can get her to themselves. And the beauty is completely unaware.

With another smile, she thanks the bartender, and the moment he leaves, she returns to her former state of unease.

Something’s eating at her.

What is it? Fear? Guilt? The question hooks into me as if I don’t have my own problems.

I take another drag of the cigar, the smoke coiling around me like a shield, adding to the heat coursing through my veins.

What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, bellezza?

The thought pushes ideas into my mind I shouldn’t have.

I should get that drink I came for then get my ass out of here, but this girl has my attention.

The bartender returns to her and I feel jealous again, then I have a really bad idea, one that my father would frown upon if he knew what I was thinking.

I don’t care. I need a fucking break. I work damn hard, so I deserve one, and I’ve decided I’m spending it with the beauty at the bar.

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