Page 41 of Brutal Legacy

13

GEORGIA

Then

The stables smelled like hay and leather, with subtle undertones of horse shit and sweat, nearly completely drowned out by the sweet fragrance of the lavender bushes just outside and the night-blooming jasmine that lined the walkway to the stone building.

I followed the path, tonight, more than other nights, eager to reach my destination.

I smoothed my hands down my dress. Creamy white satin. It was ankle-length, and there wasn’t a hint of cleavage at the top, but it clung to my body like a second skin. I didn’t think my father had thought about that scandalous possibility in the cut and material when he’d let me design my own dress for tonight.Cena dei cento giorni.The last dinner for my high school class. Americans called it prom and went all out, or so the movies made it seem, while in Italy, dinner was the focal point. We’d eat together and later go and dance somewhere. School had finisheda few months ago, but punctuality had never been my friends’ strong suit.

I’d been Tommaso’s date tonight, since he couldn’t take the guy he’d really wanted to go with.

Now, finally finished, I wanted someone else to see me in my dress.

I crept into the stables. My heels sank into the packed dirt. They were silver with sharp stilettos, and they might even bring me up to Elio’s sternum, if he was barefoot.

I’d been signaling with the little flashlight I kept in my bedroom at the window for a while but had gotten no response. It was our little code.Come to mewritten in Morse code and expressed with flickers of light. Since there’d been no reply from the stables tonight, I was taking matters into my own hands.

“Cittaiolo?”I whispered into the night stillness. I was here to see my city boy, after all; why else had I bothered with the new dress? The design was mine, but my father had picked the color. Pure as snow, virginal white. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what my father wanted to convey to the village with this dress.

She’s off-limits. No one touches my daughter. Don’t get close.

Unluckily for him, thecittaiolodidn’t care about his rules.

Elio Santori was a rule-breaker by nature. His very existence seemed to bend the fabric of the world itself. No one should be so damn charming and troublemaking all at the same time. No one should make me feel like he did with one slow smirk.

I tried to hide how much he affected me. Playing hard to get was all the rage. Yet, when he cornered me after church or caughtme in the kitchen when no one else was around, it was like I was melting. Everything in my life ceased to matter except his touch, his smile, the way his fingers played with my hair.

I was a goner.

“Elio?” I whispered again when the stables remained silent to my call.

I advanced, checking out each stable. Sometimes he bedded down in the hay with a sick horse and stayed the night. He was a natural with the animals; it was a shock to find out that he’d never so much as seen one outside the racetrack until he’d come to town.

I reached the end of the aisle that ran between the berths and peeked in the last one.

There he was.

Sun-darkened olive skin glowed in the low lights. His arms, lined with slim muscle, were stretched over his head. His T-shirt had crept up his flat belly, and there was a trail of hair that circled his belly button and ran downward, disappearing into his jeans. I longed to trace it and see where it went. I wanted to see every single part of this boy who had turned my boring life upside down and painted it with brilliant colors.

His face was soft in repose. He was usually scowling at someone, or something, or laughing. His face was lively, expressive as hell. He couldn’t hide his thoughts; they were painted across his brow. Now, his face was slack with sleep, and I got to simply stare, just like I always longed to.

He was classically beautiful. He had the kind of face that would have inspired a marble bust back in the day. My art historyteacher would sigh over him if she ever caught a glimpse. A strong jaw and aquiline nose, slightly bumped on the bend, just enough to be intriguing. He was no angel, that was certainly true. He caused too much mischief and mayhem for that comparison to be drawn.

I hovered over him, reaching out a fingertip to lightly trace down his cheek.

I didn’t see the knife coming.

One second, I was bent over, trying to balance in my heels and tight dress. The next, there was a flash of silver and a blade at my neck, and Elio’s hot, hard body pressed against me.

“Cittaiolo,it’s me. Wake up,” I murmured, my heart racing.

He made a noise. Something between agreement and complaint. The knife remained where it was even as Elio tipped my chin up with his other hand, and his eyes hit mine. Those eyes. If I forgot everything else about this man, surely, I’d never forget that pale-jade stare. Thick dark lashes surrounded those eerily beautiful eyes, and dark winged brows framed them. The man was distractingly good-looking.

“Thank fuck I was only dreaming… For a second there, I thought I was a goner and had arrived at the pearly gates. It’s the dress…” he murmured, leaning back to gaze approvingly at me.

“You thought I was an angel, and you still pulled a knife?” I wondered.

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