Page 108 of Handsome Devil
Raffaella ‘Lila’ Ferrante only noticed my presence when my frame cast a shadow over her kiddie table. She stared up at me, sapphire eyes flaring in panic. She was not used to being acknowledged by nonfamily members was my guess.
“Hello, Raffaella,” I said slowly, softly, as you would to a toddler. From the corner of my eye, I saw four Ferrante soldiers stand up from their seats, as did Enzo and Luca.
Her eyes immediately went in search of them, terrified and unsure. I ignored the way the chatter in the room died altogether.
“Would you like to dance?” I drawled.
She wasn’t yet eighteen. I wasn’t a pedophile and wasn’t attracted to her, but sometimes, it really paid off to be seen as the most debauched creature alive, because then people assumed the worst about me.
Lila’s eyes longingly drifted to the dance floor, but she pursed her lips, shaking her head no.
Every soldier in the room held their breath, waiting for an order.
Every underboss tuned in.
“It’s okay if you don’t know how,” I coaxed, knowing full well I was ruining the dance for Achilles and Gia, as they both stared at me for very different reasons. Even just chatting Lila up was enough to make a point. But I had a feeling I was going to persuade her. I knew want when I saw it in someone’s face.
Lila’s throat rolled with a swallow. Her gaze cut to her parents, to her brothers, then back to me. I didn’t even know if she understood what I was saying.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” I added.
I could not give two shits what would happen after I made my point, but she didn’t have to know that.
Finally, the frightened little creature put her bony hand in mine.
Ten men sprang toward me the minute our hands touched. Vello raised his palm, a silent order for them to stand down. They halted. You could cut the tension in the room with a butter knife. The entire ballroom watched in horror as I escorted her to the dance floor, like leading a newborn lamb to slaughter.
I stopped next to Achilles and Gia and assumed a waltz position. Lila was stiff in my arms, disoriented.
“Do you know how to waltz?” I asked.
She stared at me dumbly, blinking.
“Do you know how to talk?” I stifled a groan.
Another horrified blink.
With a sigh of annoyance, I planted her heeled feet on top of mine and started moving. She didn’t know how to dance. Didn’t know how to speak. But I watched the way her eyes glimmered. Her lips twitched.
She was no fool and definitely not intellectually challenged.
What the fuck was her family playing at?
Vello had his eye on us the entire time. So did every other man in the Camorra.
Achilles and Gia shuffled closer until we were almost shoulder to shoulder.
“Every Achilles has his heel,” I said and grinned. “I think I just found yours.”
“You’ve crossed the line.” He bared his teeth at me.
“Impossible. I have no lines when it comes to my wife,” I responded. “I thought I made that clear last time we spoke.”
“She has an intellectual disability.” Achilles spun Gia expertly to distract her from our hushed conversation.
Blinding, searing jealousy struck me. I was unaccustomed to that emotion. Toanyemotion. My stomach churned and twisted. I did not like what the sight of Gia in another man’s arms did to me.
“She’s human,” I clapped back. “You treat her like a French bulldog. She wanted to dance.”
