Page 26 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
I saunter slowly to where I left my towel. A small puddle forms at my feet as I take my time bending to lift it, then leisurely wrap it round my body. Only when I’ve secured the towel in a knot above my breasts do I dart my gaze to the figure at the other end of the terrace.
He’s still staring at the piece of metal in his hand. He hasn’t moved. His body is still angled slightly away, just as it was five minutes ago. My lips tighten over my teeth and I turn sharply and walk back to the house.
Benito
I wait until I hear the terrace doors close, then I lift my head and lower my gun to the lounger. I only cleaned it two days ago but I neededsomethingto focus on.
Ripples still roll softly to the outer edges from where Contessa Castellano exited the pool. I breathe steadily and watch them settle until the sun rays reflect off a sheen of stillness.
I’ve been sitting out here since six having lain awake all night. I tried convincing myself it was down to the adrenaline generated by the hit we made on the Marchesis’ drug drop. It was a close call and I shouldn’t have been in the center of it all but I can’t help myself. Call me a psychopath but I get a total hard on for annihilating my enemies. Whether that’s by blowing uptheir fortune, blowing off their head with a round of ammo or squeezing the life out of them with my bare hands.
I’ve never been the kind to pay someone to do my dirty work. I prefer that blood to be onmyhands, not some paid help’s.
But I’m not convinced that is the reason. I have a shady and unwanted feeling my inability to sleep was caused, equally as much as and perhaps more than the hit, by a certain dark-haired Castellano sister showing me the full length of her leg in Cristiano’s kitchen.
She’s been nothing but petulant towards me, and I don’t care for petulance, no matter how long it’s legs are or how fuckingprettyit is.
When I saw her at Gianni’s funeral, I thought I was up for a bit of fun taunting, but there’s only so much teenage button-pushing I can be bothered with, and I thought I’d hit my limit last night. Feeling the softness of her skin before she gnashed her teeth into my hand lit a fire in my belly, but her petulant reaction to the news I’ve moved my office above her studio put that fire right out, and it pissed me off. I hadn’t planned on giving her those police reports but she needs to know this isn’t a mereduel.
Her safety isnota fucking game.
But when she sauntered onto the terrace this morning, completely unaware she wasn’t alone, I was struck by the pure, unguarded truth of her. I couldn’t tear my gaze away when she lifted her face to the sun,warming it in the early morning rays. When she swam a few lengths she looked so graceful and liberated. And when she stripped off her two-piece,holy fuck, she came alive.
My gaze wasn’t glued to her because she looked so disturbingly attractive, it was sucked in by the way she looked sofree.
It was a surprise to see her devoid of black, and not just in clothing. The shadows beneath her eyes were gone, the darkness in her usually tight shoulders seemed to have washed off in the water. She’d shed her armor along with her two-piece and she’d never looked more beautiful.
I permitted myself a long look as she swam away from me, then averted my eyes when she turned to face in my direction. Forcing my gaze to stick to my gun was almost distressing but there was another surprising development. She knew I was there.
Sure, she didn’t see me at first, but I heard her sharp intake of breath when she spun around. I pretended to be absorbed in polishing my pistol, thinking she might be embarrassed. I wanted to save her from that horrible feeling, but knowing I was there didn’t stop her from flaunting herself freely in the water.
She swam three, four more lengths of the pool and took her goddamn time climbing out. I physically couldn’t extract my gaze at that point—the scene looked like something from a Bond movie. Her rounded hips were practically moaning at me, her slim waspish waistglistened beneath droplets of pool water sliding down her back. My dick groaned against the tightness of my pants, the crown feeling outright sore. When she turned, I caught a small triangle of dark hair between her legs before I looked away, causing me to painfully swallow a primal growl.
Then, to my combined regret and relief, she wrapped a towel around her, darted an obvious glare in my direction and stomped off into the house.
Only a few minutes later, while I’m still reeling from the sight of Contessanaked, Nicolò saunters onto the terrace. The thought that if he’d been only ten minutes earlier, he too would’ve been privy to that tight white body gliding through the water with only a sheath of black hair for coverage, makes my blood heat.
I’ve been planning to speak to Cristiano about his future sister-in-law at some point over the next few weeks, and she just pushed up my timeline. I know her family pretty much leaves her to her own devices, but I didn’t know she was naiveté personified until I had to explain why I’d killed her stalker friend, or stubbornly defiant, as evidenced by that naked swimming exhibition.
She should be thankful it was only me who saw. If it had been anyone outside of the crime family, they’d have met a bullet between the eyes.
Nicolò walks around the pool and settles beside me on a chair. “Did you get the papers I left for you?”
“The cop reports? Yeah. I gave them to Contessa last night.”
Nicolò’s brows rise a touch. “Wow. Youtryingto traumatize her?”
My eyes narrow on the door as if willing her to re-emerge any second now. “She wasn’t taking the threat seriously enough.”
Is that why I shoved the papers at her? Or was it because she wasn’t takingmeseriously enough?
Having Benito Bernadi move in right above where you hang out most days should be a relief. It’d be a fuckingprivilegefor most people. But instead of looking grateful, she looked like she’d just been caught out in something. I know it was dark in the kitchen but I swear the blood drained from her face.
A voice in the back of my head says it had nothing to do with me providing a layer of protection—even Contessa isn’t naïve enough to believe that wouldn’t be an advantage right now. The voice thinks there’s another reason why Contessa freaked at the thought of me being in that space. And it isn’t going to fucking shut up until I find out what that reason is.
“Fair enough.” Nicolò’s voice in the distance draws me back to the terrace. “Any word on Fury?”
Fazio ‘Fury’ Marchesi is—was—the boss of our biggest rival gang in New York. He stepped down as don in the early hours of this morning following our hit on his latest cocaine smuggling operation last night.
