Page 30 of Scorned Beauty
Proof or I don’t believe you.
I burst out laughing.
“What’s going on?” Phil asked, his mouth twitching in amusement.
I swiped the tears from my eyes. The evening was going better than I expected. Phil provided surprisingly fun, no-pressure company, and I had good friends who worried that I was alone for the holidays. I guess I was the type of person who wanted to be invited, even when I knew there wouldn’t be any chance I’d accept. Bianca had a lot of love surrounding her, but she was so empathetic, she wanted to share her family with me. Admittedly, I was reluctant to depend on anyone, especially with the way I grew up, asking for favors came with a price. Being around Bianca and her family had shown me what unconditional love looked like. I just wasn’t sure it was meant for someone like me.
I showed Phil Bianca’s text because I was still laughing.
“So I’m a hot guy, huh?”
“You know you are.” I gave him a wink. “But this is still not a date.”
“Lady, I wouldn’t take you to a bar for our first date.”
I stared at the text message. “Should I send her our picture?”
“Sure,” he chuckled. “Don’t want to make you a liar.”
I raised my phone to take a selfie.
“Here, let me do it.” He took my phone and held it up.Click.
We actually looked good together. For some reason, I was pleased.
I sent it off to Bianca.
Me
There, happy now? Can you relax so I can relax with my guy?
Bianca
Wow. Okay, let me show the girls.
“Hey, can you send that to me?” Phil asked, whipping out his phone. “I’ll send it to my sister so she can quit bugging me to fly to California for Christmas.”
I had him from my contact list because of Harriet’s move and dropped it to him.
Before I set my phone down, I saw a notification of a message from Dom.
This pissed me off. The timing probably meant that he was at the De Lucci dinner and he saw the picture I sent Bianca. Nothing I did broke the rules. If I had an inkling of attraction to Phil, I would have sent Dom a text ending our arrangement.
Dom could fuck off.
Chapter
Nine
Dom
“He’ssix-six and two hundred forty pounds, but he’s dumb as a rock,” Matteo told Sandro.
We were having drinks before dinner and the men were talking about the Game of Bosses, a tournament sponsored by the Moscow mob that was held every five years. The next one was coming up in May. Many crime bosses waited until the games to settle their differences. If you asked me, it was simply a lot of testosterone posturing. Being boss was more than brawn.
Sandro was being challenged inside the Rossi crime family. Apparently there were lurkers still wanting to usurp the position, especially since Sandro had turned the family around and sent their profits soaring.
“I’m not worried.” Sandro glanced at me. “Didn’t Luca win one a long time ago?”
