Page 15 of Velvet Cruelty

“Nope,” I say. “The girl is, though.”

Only then does Adri turn to take in the slumped figure of January Whitehall.

She stares back at him as though she’s going to puke. “You’re the janitor from my dance studio.”

Adriano’s lip curls, revealing his gold incisor. “Is that right?”

I laugh. “January confessed about you too, Adri. She felt bad about your fucked up face. She was too scared to say hello. It’s probably the tatts.”

Adriano looks down at his hands, covered in mementos to hate and revenge. “You feel sorry for me, girl?”

“No!” she squeaks, but there’s an unmistakable softness in her voice. Pity is something we can sense like blood. We exploit it in others; we conceal it in ourselves.

Adriano takes a step toward her. “You talked about my scars?”

“N-No.”

I laugh. That’s the thing about Adriano. No matter who you are, he’s fucking terrifying, which means you can always count on him to liven things up. It would be something to watch him fuck her. That does it for me sometimes, watching ugly and pretty get crushed together. And God how precious January would cry getting fucked by Adriano Rossi.

“Adriano,” Basher warns. “We’re waiting for Eli, remember?”

“Eli’s taken long enough.”

“Have I?”

I sigh. Say what you will about Morelli, the prick knows how to make an entrance. He glares down at us from the top of the stairs in his tight white shirt and charcoal three-piece suit. His gaze finds January. “Miss Whitehall, you’re awake.”

January still looks terrified, but her eyes are feverishly bright as she takes in Morelli’s stupid mug. He smiles at her, and she looks like she’s going to swoon. I roll my eyes. Morelli has this effect on women. He’s pretty as a picture and the extra years in Naples gave him an accent that makes American pussy cream itself. I have to keep him away from the clubs on busy nights or the girls get distracted, and the bottom line goes way down.

Morelli comes down the stairs just slow enough to piss me off, adjusting his sleeves so his platinum cuff links glint like morse code in the fire light. January can’t tear her eyes off him, which is exactly what Eli wants. He reaches the landing and gives her one of his ‘come suck my cock’ smiles. “Miss Whitehall, my name is Elliot Velluto Morelli. It’s a pleasure to have you in my house.”

Her lip twitches. I bet some inborn politeness is trying to make her say ‘thank you for kidnapping me at my wedding.’

Morelli stares coldly at her. “I’m speaking to you.”

“H-Hello, Mr. Morelli.”

“Better. You’ve obviously already met my associates.” He waves a hand toward Adri. “This is Adriano Rossi.”

Again, silence, but now the girl is visibly shaking. Morelli snaps his fingers. “Greet Adriano, Miss Whitehall.”

“Hello, Adriano.”

“Good girl.” Morelli turns to me. “This is Domenico Valente—”

“Doc,” I snarl. “You’re not my fucking mother.”

“Domenico Valente who we call Doc,” Morelli finishes irritably. “He played the part of your priest today.”

January’s green eyes fill with tears, probably remembering her pathetic confessions—staying up too late on school nights, being jealous of her friends for going to the movies. I wave at her. She says nothing.

Morelli sighs. “Miss Whitehall, I was told you were polite. Do I need to teach you manners?”

She looks at Basher in a wordless plea for help.

“Do not look at him,” Morelli says in a silky voice. “Look at Domenico and greet him.”

January addresses my chin. “Hello, Domenico.”

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