Chapter 4
Dominico
The little flower Basilio has been hiding is not what I expected.
She is tiny, not even five feet two inches tall.
Her short black bob contrasts sharply with her fair skin, though it doesn’t quite suit her.
The sharp edges are too harsh against the innocence in her eyes.
A small scar cuts across her right eyebrow, the only blemish on her face besides the slowly fading red handprint she received when she ‘fell.’ I find it curious that she is reluctant to name the culprit that even I can identify after my short time here. She probably fears retaliation.
But it is no surprise that Camille is jealous.
Basilio is smitten. This woman is beautiful in a way that requires little effort, which is probably where the envy originates.
I can see it in that gold digger's eyes—how she views this woman as a threat.
And I doubt it is solely her beauty that has my cousin captivated.
She possesses an innocence I have not seen in a long time.
In our world, that is nearly unheard of.
It makes me wonder how she ended up here.
Yet, as innocent as she is, she is bold .
Usually, it takes me a while to discern the color of anyone’s eyes.
Few either don’t dare to or cannot maintain eye contact with me for longer than a few seconds.
My little flower, however, cannot seem to look away.
Eyes the color of whiskey gaze at me not with fear but with curiosity, and her head tilts to the side as she assesses me.
Her small hands fidget first with each other before moving to the hem of her black shirt, which has long sleeves and a very conservative style considering the environment.
The other servers wear low-cut, sleeveless black uniforms—all identical.
Basilio has made her the exception. Interesting.
Her clothes do little to showcase or flatter her figure, which is barely discernible under the loose-fitting material.
Perhaps this is what Basilio wants to achieve.
Shield her beauty in a den of thieves and bad men.
Alas, true beauty shines through no matter how it is wrapped. So my cousin has failed.
Looking over Basilio’s shoulder, I see two servers standing by the bar, their eyes on Daisy and their dissatisfaction evident.
She wasn’t well-liked around here because Basilio had made her his pet.
Her presence at this table has undoubtedly further diminished her popularity.
My gaze returns to hers as her brows furrow while she looks around.
“Are you famous or something?” The words make me chuckle. This woman's naivety is quite refreshing. Dante chokes on his drink, his hand slapping his leg as he recovers, and his loud laugh interrupts the silence at the table.
“Ahhh, cousin, I can see why…” I say to Basilio, my eyes still fixed on the woman furiously blushing under my scrutiny.
Basilio is in love. And not with the gold-digging whore upstairs.
My peripheral vision confirms this as Basilio pales, his body language confirming that I have hit the nail on the head. I wonder what is holding him back?
“This must be the first person since that guy in Prague five years ago who doesn’t know who you are. I need to mark this day on the fucking calendar,” Dante snorts, humor thick in his voice.
“You clearly don’t read the news,” I say to Daisy, her face still puzzled by my capo’s words.
“I couldn’t…” she murmurs, trailing off before quickly correcting herself.
“I mean, I don’t. There’s too much violence in there, and it makes me sad for the world.
” An answer befitting a little lamb. She looks at Basilio for reassurance that what she is saying is okay.
That irks me. That he seems to be her compass in this situation.
But, as with everything in my world, that is a state I can easily remedy.
“Leave us. All of you. I will speak with Daisy privately.” Her eyes widen, panic swimming in them.
Nero and Dante don’t hesitate; they get up and head to the bar for another drink.
Basilio pauses as Daisy looks at him, pleading silently for him to stay.
He knows better, and with a sympathetic tilt of his head, he rises and departs.
“Here. Closer.” I point to the seat beside me.
She hesitates only briefly before getting up and sliding into the booth, her leg inches from mine.
She looks up at me expectantly, the panic no longer visible in her eyes.
She almost seems to have reconciled herself to this situation, waiting for the scenario she has imagined to unfold—a curious little creature.
Instead of asking her all the questions I want answers to, I reach out, cupping her chin between my thumb and forefinger.
She flinches, closing her eyes, but doesn’t pull back, the reaction speaking volumes.
My mother exhibited the same response whenever my father touched her.
I wait for her to calm down, her eyes fluttering open once she has.
Tilting her head to the side, I examine the handprint on her face, the skin slightly raised.
There was force behind the slap. My thumb grazes the skin, her eyes drifting closed as I do.
Up close, she is even prettier. Long eyelashes brush against pale skin, and her pink lips part slightly to let out a breath. Why does she look so familiar?
Letting go of her chin, her eyes snap open as if surprised that they had been closed in the first place. A blush creeps up her neck, dusting her cheeks with a pink hue that complements her lips.
“Does this happen often?” I ask, my thumb still rubbing the raised skin.
“No.” Her response conveys firmness, as though she is trying to persuade me.
“The staff don’t like you. Nor does Basilio’s girlfriend,” I state, watching her intently.
“It’s that obvious?” she asks, not denying what is clear to anyone with eyes.
“Why do you stay? You are qualified. I have reviewed the books, and they are perfect. Why are you hiding here?” She didn’t seem to fit into this world, yet here she was. Something was wrong with this picture.
“I’m not hiding.” She cannot look me in the eye. She doesn’t lie well, my little flower.
“Is it because Basilio is in love with you? Do you have feelings for him?” Her head whips back up, her eyes meeting mine.
“What are you talking about? Basilio has a girlfriend. He isn’t in love with me, and I definitely don’t have those kinds of feelings for him. I owe him a lot for helping me when I needed it most and for still helping me. But that’s all. You must be mistaken,” she whispers.
The way she vehemently denies having feelings for my cousin sends a wave of relief through me—the feeling foreign. I frown, trying to understand why this slip of a girl evokes such emotions.
Her eyes drift over to where Basilio stands, leaning against the bar while watching us.
“It can’t be?” This question she asks herself, nervously biting the corner of her lip .
“If you don’t stop, I will do it for you,” I say, pulling her lip between my fingers and freeing it from her teeth.
This time, she doesn’t jerk away, her eyes meeting mine in surprise.
She even leans in slightly before pulling back, only after I let her lip go.
Her cheeks remain rosy as she squirms next to me, her knees squeezing together while her hands stroke her thighs nervously as if her palms are sweating.
I intimidate her. Good. That thought makes me smirk.
“Something is funny?” she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown.
“I’m amused by the effect I have on you.” Her brows furrow even deeper as her head moves slightly back, as if she is offended.
“What effect are you implying?” Her defensive tone adds to the humor I feel.
“You are afraid of me. This is normal. On you, it amuses me.” I realize the sadistic nature of my words, but this is me. Perhaps I take pleasure in other people's fear. No one ever said I was a good man.
“I’m not afraid of you. There are monsters far worse…” Her cryptic words at the end come out soft and gloomy, but I hear them nonetheless.
Her words possess me, infuse me with a need to make her fear me, and then make the monsters she thinks she knows look like angels in comparison.
My hand shoots out, grabbing the slim column of her neck and pulling her towards me.
She gasps and her small hands dart out, finding support as they palm my chest. With a flick of my wrist, I could snap her neck. End her life.
Her body stiffens as I lean in. She shivers, her throat working under my hand to swallow.
Leaning further in, I let my nose graze her jawbone, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact.
Goosebumps erupt all over her as I inhale deeply, the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine lingering on her soft skin.
It feels like touching the finest Peruvian silk .
Her lips part, a breath escaping as my finger drifts over her cheek, tucking the black hair of her bob behind her ear. “Your body is trembling.” My lips are inches from her earlobe, and my eyes wander over her face.
While I expect to see fear there, the look is one I prefer even more than the one I was aiming for: lust.
“ Il mio fiorellino ,” I whisper into her ear and then nip the lobe, a moan escaping her lips as I once again feel her throat working to swallow. My grip on her neck is not hard, just firm, and I revel in the way I can feel her frantic pulse under my palm.
“Interesting.” That single word pulls her from her trance as she gazes at me in confusion.
“Go home.” I release her neck, and she tumbles backwards, a fierce blush coloring her entire face.
I nod toward the bar, indicating that the others should return as Daisy rushes off, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Basilio’s gaze follows her as she moves through a door at the back, her hurried pace showing her need to escape.
Run, my little flower, for tomorrow brings a new day.