Page 32 of A Beautiful Crime

“And if we wouldn’t have made the offer it would’ve been another Don with his daughter offering the same,” Savio says stiffly. And dio mio, I have to give it to him, he has the balls of an elephant. “Carina isn’t special, Constantine. She’s doing her part for The Fiore Famiglia. As are many other women who do the very same.”

If I could throttle the man I would. Worse, if I could take my pocket knife that rests on the inside of my suit jacket and slice his throat to create a beautiful ribbon, I would.

For him to think so lowly of his daughter. To see her as only a tool to work in his favor. To make her believe that she is nothing more than a business transaction.

Dio mio, it makes my blood boil and my hands twitch with the need to paint this atrocity of a house red.

However, I wear the perfect poker face. I keep my cards close to the chest so that no one can see them. My emotions, however murderous and vicious they might be, stay concealed.

With a voice that is colder than ice I say, “And shall I hear these other offers? Do you think their offer, their daughter, will be of more worth than yours? If she’s not special then maybe I shall leave and see who else comes wanting to make a deal with the Devil.”

Savio’s eyes widen with alarm and I can see that in that puny brain of his he is regretting every word that he just said. “No,” he responds tightly, so tight that it sounds as if someone is choking him.

I raise a brow but repeat in a humored tone, “No?”

He swallows thickly. “No, Carina is much more suitable, much more presentable than any other woman who might be offered to you.”

His reasoning leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but it’s one I must become accustomed to, for now.

One day he’ll be choking on his own blood by saying those words.

But not tonight.

“Then what is the problem with her leaving with me tonight?” I ask tiredly. Talking to this man is exhausting and frankly I want to clean myself of the stench that reeks from his pores. No matter how presentable and suave Savio Fiore is he has a stench that soils his blood that will never come clean.

“She isn’t here, Signore,” Luca answers for his dear papa.

Odd.

Very odd considering I’ve had eyes on Carina from the moment I saw her across the street.

As I have said, my obsession with her may be considered a hair bit unhealthy but it’s the only thing that has kept me relatively sane. If one can believe it or not.

“I would advise not to lie to Constantine,” Pietro warns Luca in a steel tone.

Luca’s eyes flicker to him with the returning flash of annoyance before he settles them on me. The annoyance is gone as well as every other emotion. His eyes are a blank canvas. Luca’s eyes are never a blank canvas.

The only one in this Famiglia who has truly mastered that art is Carina.

The only time I have seen those eyes of hers rise from the dead was when I had her in my arms.

I intend to keep them that way.

Eyes as beautiful as hers should never suffer that fate.

“Fine,” Luca relents and I can practically feel the satisfaction emitting from Pietro. “She’s feeling terribly unwell and is resting in her bedroom. She forbade us from disturbing her.”

My lips twitch. “Is that so?”

“Very much so,” he affirms woodenly.

My suspicions are still raised. “So,” I begin in a conspiring voice, “if I were to walk myself upstairs and find myself in her room would she be there?”

“Of course,” Savio answers in a lighter tone. “We respect her privacy because she does not want others to see her in a vulnerable position.”

I would believe that, I would because that sounds eerily like the Carina I’ve come to study, but I don’t believe Savio nor his son.

“Carina is strong headed, then?”

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