Page 72 of A Beautiful Crime

Her real dilemma is she already knows who she is meant to be, she’s just afraid of how the world will perceive her.

My beautiful complex woman. Keeping me on my toes.

“Will you miss it?” I ask her once we reach my private elevator that grants access straight up to my penthouse. By procedure I do the retinal scan followed by my fingerprint. I’ll have Rico grant her access as well.

Unlike Savio, Carina will not be the princess held prisoner in the tower.

“Miss it?” She questions as she proceeds inside the elevator first. I follow her in, closing the distance between us as I press the close button. My arm brushes along her breasts and she stiffens. But I take notice of how her breath hitches, and as I move my arm back, deliberately slow, her nipples are peaked.

Dio Mio. My cock stiffens.

I imagine them the same dusty rose shade as her lips. What I wouldn’t give to have a taste.

I clear my throat as I position myself in a stance that appears leisurely. “Your home?”

Hatred and resentment swirl in the depths of her eyes. “No.”

“Very well, then.” Her answer I had expected. I remember our conversation at Saint Peter’s Cemetery vividly. Some nights, it replayed in my head like my very own movie. I had noticed then how she referred to it as her papa’s home and never hers.

I wonder if she ever felt as if it was one, even when her mamma was alive. Carina had been so blind then. Rose tinted glasses. Innocence. All of that had been lost when her mamma had killed herself.

One day those luscious lips of hers will tell me the truth of what had transpired between those walls. For now, I must settle with unspoken truths.

Those unspoken truths have surely not been forgotten.

Luca will pay for what he has done to her. In time. No decision in haste is ever a good one. My own father had taught me such at a young age.

Never make rash decisions. You must wait until the dust settles. Wait until they think they’ve bested you, then you strike, and they’ll never see it coming.

He was right, of course.

He was right of so many things.

I often wish I could pick his brain apart to this day. He was the only one who I found to be the most thought provoking. If I thought one way, he would beg me to think another. In every way I thought I knew what was best, my father knew a way that was better.

I’m not ashamed to admit I miss him.

He wasn’t the best of men, not by society standards, but he was the best of men to me.

May his God that he believed in rest his soul.

The sound of the elevator softly dings and I open my arm wide, welcoming Carina to just a slither of my world.

I’m not a bashful man, if anything I can be a bit too boastful. But I attest, how else does a billionaire spend their wealth?

The penthouse is a little over eight thousand square feet with a view of my dark beautiful city. Floor to ceiling windows encompass the penthouse offering a different view from each room. An open floor plan extends from the kitchen to the living area. The living area's main feature is the expanded skylight. During the day, the skylight illuminates my most valued paintings, and when night falls there is the brilliance of the stars. Brown marble floors bring warmth along with earthiness, at least that’s what I was told from my interior designer. All modern appliances, the best of which money can buy, and custom pieces of furniture to which they are comfortable.

My wealth isn’t as extravagantly shown as others who come to money. Whereas Savio has his home done in poor taste, feeling more like a monstrosity of a museum, I prefer mine to feel livable. This is, after all, where I sleep. This is who I am whenI’m not out there. And although business never ends, not in our world, I would rather be myself than pretend to be someone I’m not.

Intently I watch her. She stands beneath the middle of the skylight, her head tipped upwards with an unreadable expression. Her eyes remain staring out the skylight, wide and. . .lost. It pulls on the strings that reside in the cavity of my chest.

With her eyes still searching she shares with me monotonously, “Mamma loved the stars. When I was a young girl, too young to understand, she told me about the great beauty of the stars. That light can shine in the darkness.”

I dare to take a step closer to her. Seeing her remaining still I keep my steps one step at a time until I swallow the distance between us.

She pays me no attention, her eyes still cast upward, but her body is aware of my nearness. It always is.

Goosebumps appear across her skin and her breaths change. They’re a staccato.

---