Sweet Prison (Perfectly Imperfect #10)

I descend the ornate stairway and take a look around. Massimo mentioned that the temp workers from the staffing agency would be arriving at eight. It’s almost time, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. The small sitting area on one side of the stairs seems empty. I turn in the other direction and head across the enormous dining room that’s occupied by a table long enough to seat sixteen people easily. The exterior wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the garden. At one point, the view must have been magnificent, especially the winding vines of jasmine spilling from atop the iron arches over a quaint outdoor nook. Currently, however, the grounds are overgrown and filled with weeds.

The far end of the room leads to a small square space that separates the dining hall from the kitchen, which I spot past the open anteroom door. As soon as I cross the kitchen doorway, I stop dead in my tracks.

Standing by another wall made up of big windows, in the brilliant glow of the morning light shining through the glass, is Massimo. He has his back turned to me while he gazes at the backyard. And he’s dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else.

Every single inch of his upper body is covered in ink. A mix of black and colorful designs wraps over his impossibly wide back, then flows across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms, all the way to his fingers. It’s hard to pinpoint where one image ends and the other starts, as each seems to bleed into the next.