Page 10 of Brutal Legacy

The prosecutor shook his head. “No catch. Work for me, do what I say without question… within working hours, and you get room and board. We got a deal, kid?”

Do what I say without question?That remark alone had my hackles rising, but I couldn’t afford to refuse. I could run away easier from some bougie house than a jail cell.

“Deal.”

The man smiled with satisfaction. He nodded to the driver, and the car started again, carrying us away from the police station.

“I’m Alfredo. Alfredo Bellisario. I run this town, unless Salvatore De Sanctis is visiting his country house,” he chuckled.

“You’re friends?” I ventured. I wanted to find out a little about this mercurial man who’d spared me an uncomfortable night on a bench in a cell.

“Old, old friends. Sal grew up around here, before he started the family business. He scratches my back, and I scratch his. Don’t worry about the wallet. I’ll tell them we’ve come to an agreement.”

The car stopped, pulling in behind an apple-red Mini. The door was opening, and someone was emerging.

The driver exited to let Alfredo out. I opened my own door; I didn’t think the new stable boy merited the chauffeur opening his door for him. My feet sank into the gravel of the driveway, and I peered across the impressive forecourt at a pale terra-cotta villa surrounded by fig trees. Shit. This place was nice. Well, clearly it was nice if they had stables, but still, I’d never set foot in a house this nice.

The sun beat down on the back of my neck. God, it was hot. I hadn’t washed in days. I felt disgusting in that moment. Starved and reckless, dirty and desperate.

That was when I saw her.

The girl from the restaurant.

The prosecutor’s daughter. Of course it was her.

She shut the door of the red Mini and stared at me, raising an elegant eyebrow before sliding on huge sunglasses, shielding her eyes from me. She glanced over at her father, who was deep in conversation with a man who seemed to be the gardener, from his uniform.

She walked across the gravel. She had red heels on and a white dress with printed cherries scattered across it.

“I thought you’d been arrested,” she said. Even her voice was beautiful. Deep and smoky, older than her years.

I shoved a hand through my unruly dark waves and hoped I didn’t look as dirty as I felt.

“Yeah, well, your dad realized he needed a hand around here, and I was more than happy to oblige.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to be working here?”

“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” I said.

She tossed her hair back over a shiny brown shoulder. “They haven’t. Nothing ever happens around here. You’ll see. I give it a week and you’ll be wishing you were arrested because you’re dying of boredom.”

“I don’t know, I like boredom. I think it’s underappreciated, and besides…” I let my gaze drop down to her slender ankles, up her bare legs, and over her body, meeting her gaze again, wishing I could see her eyes. “I think living here will be plenty interesting.”

“Is that right?” Her red-tinted lips tilted at the corner. “What’s your name?”

“Elio. Elio Santori. And yours is Georgia.”

A slow smile spread over her beautiful mouth. “And you know that, how?”

“I heard it at the restaurant.”

“Interested, were you?” she teased.

I chuckled and shrugged. “Just curious about the girl who lied for me. The prosecutor’s daughter. I don’t know if your daddy would approve.”

She sighed, and I had the feeling she’d just rolled her eyes.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and I stepped closer. Her father was still occupied, and I’d be damned if I didn’t want to smell the lemon and lavender clean scent of this girl again. It was surprisingly addictive.

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