Page 40 of Hot-Blooded Killer

So El Toro is sending his men to kill me and to claim her.

I’m determined that won’t happen.

CHAPTER17

GIA

Let’s meet at La Sérénade.

I glance between the text on my phone and the restaurant sign and shake my head.

We really need to find someplace else to frequent as our favorite restaurant. But Sarah and Adele are, as usual, determined to go to the trendiest spots.

With any luck, Vegas high society will soon tire of the DeSantis restaurant.

In the meantime, though, I take a deep breath and head inside. Gino follows me, taking up his post inside the door, leaning against the walls, and crossing his arms, far enough away from our table to avoid overhearing anything we said, but close enough to keep an eye on me.

Sarah and Adele stand and offer air kisses as I arrive at our table.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?” Adele asks, grinning at me. “What are you doing meeting us out?”

“You invited me,” I remind her with a smile. “Besides, Lorenzo is working today. Something came up at the clubs.”

Sarah and Adele give each other a significant glance.

“What?” I demand.

Sarah glances down at her perfectly manicured nails resting on the edge of the table. “So how are you spending your days?”

“I’ve been redecorating our suite in the Beneventi home.”

“Oh, fuck,” Adele mutters under her breath, and I follow the line of her gaze to see Elio DeSantis making his way toward our table.

A hot flush rises in my face. This is the first time I’ve seen him since beginning my whirlwind “romance” with Lorenzo.

Still, I manage to gaze at Elio more or less objectively.

He’s definitely attractive. Then again, all the DeSantis triplets are, with broad shoulders narrowing down to a tight waist, medium-brown hair, full lips, big brown eyes.

“Which one of the DeSantis brothers is that?” Sarah whispers.

I shake my head. I’ve never been able to understand why most people can’t tell the DeSantis triplets apart. Although I recognize that they look alike, I’ve never had any difficulty knowing which one is which—not the way so many other people seem to.

“Elio,” I hiss, then paste a bright smile on my face—one that I’m sure doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

Elio reaches our table and flashes his own sunny smile at us. But his expression doesn’t reach his eyes, either. “Ladies,” he says. “So nice to see you again. It’s been so long.” His last words are directed at me, and his gaze turns particularly hard.

Guilt slashes through me. I should have been more direct with him. Instead, I broke up with him over the phone, hanging up when it got too uncomfortable.

“You look well,” I say softly.

“So do you,” he replies shortly. Then he turns his attention to my friends, smiling and flirting.

My stomach twists into knots. I know him well enough to know his feelings are hurt.

And yet, somehow, I think I should feel even worse.

But Elio was never anything other than a temporary fling for me.

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