Chapter 4 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
There was once a time I was supposed to lead my family into the future. It’s the role I was groomed to fill—a lifelong apprenticeship, the one, single goal at the end of a long road.
Look where it led me.
“Nobody told you?” The curly-haired brat I thought I was only supposed to drive to and from class is in front of me at the foot of the staircase on Friday night, tapping her foot on the shining floor.
The front door is only fifteen, maybe twenty feet away.
I was that close to escaping for the night.
After hours spent hanging around with nothing better to do than wait for her to finish classes this week, I had the chance to go home and unwind.
Even though I’ve spent the time at my apartment in the city while Giulia is at school, there’s no way to relax when I know the clock is ticking, and I’ll have to leave soon.
I’ve done a lot of pacing, fidgeting, and taking walks with no destination in mind.
It’s not exactly hell, but it’s not exactly fun, either. It’s more like endless purgatory.
“Told me what?” I ask, looking her up and down.
There’s nothing obviously out of the ordinary, except for her being dressed in something other than her usual T-shirt and leggings, which seem to be a uniform she pulls on whenever she’s bumming around the house.
But there isn’t anything unusual about a plain top and a pair of jeans.
“I have a study group tonight. In the city with my friends.”
Bullshit. I wonder if I should look down and check my shoes to make sure I didn’t step in any. “Oh, really? At seven thirty on a Friday night? At the end of your first week? You’re studying together?” I ask.
She shrugs and rolls her eyes, no surprise. “Ask my papa. Really, it’s none of your business what I’m going into the city for. But he approved it, so you’re driving me.”
Right, like I’m going to believe that without confirmation.
It would have been nice for Rocco to let me know personally, but I’m sure he thinks he’s too busy for basic courtesy.
I can almost feel her breath on the back of my neck as she follows me down the hall, her flip-flops snapping rhythmically with every step.
He’s in his study, as usual, and scowls when he glances up to see that I’m the one who rapped against his open door with my knuckles.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, pretending the words don’t curdle in my mouth—courtesy toward a Santoro.
Life keeps getting more bizarre all the time.
“I understand I’m taking Giulia into the city tonight? ”
“Yes, yes, her study group. She knows I at least want her on the road home by midnight, so don’t let her tell you otherwise.” He shoots his daughter a loving look, and I have to ask myself if I’m imagining this.
Does he not see what’s really going on?
Is it my place to tell him?
Wait a second. Why do I care? “Understood,” I murmur, swallowing back my irritation at being the last to know. And again, as far as they’re concerned, I don’t deserve the heads-up. I am here to serve them.
“I told you,” Giulia whispers, following me back out to the entry hall.
Who is she trying to kid? I don’t have it in me to engage her at the moment.
There goes my night. I’ll have the pleasure of sitting around, unable to do anything but wait.
Is this another little punishment? Reminding me that my time is no longer my own?
Where will this end? As I lead the way out to the car, I get the feeling that there is no ending, not until Rocco thinks there should be.
I can’t hide a smirk when Giulia drops her backpack onto the seat before climbing in. The thing is stuffed to the point where I’m surprised she could zip it. She’s making this so obvious, but her parents aren’t paying attention.
Whatever happens to her, it’ll serve her right.
The thought of wasting my night waiting on this spoiled kid makes me slam the door before opening my own.
Neither of us says a word or acknowledges each other as I pull through the gates, replaced after the explosion a couple of months back.
Dante assumed I was the person behind it.
He has no imagination and even less respect for my intelligence.
It’s not until we’re on the road that I hear her moving around.
At first, I pretend not to notice, turning on the stereo and settling on some jazz that would usually soothe the uneasiness I’m struggling with.
I wasn’t raised to be anyone’s servant. Yes, sir.
No, sir. Whatever you say, sir. That isn’t me.
But I can’t shake the sense of betraying myself, even if it means protecting myself at the same time.
The distinctive sound of a zipper being lowered draws my attention, and I look up into the rearview mirror to find her leaning back, lifting her hips off the seat. “Eyes on the road,” she mutters with a narrow-eyed stare.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“None of your business,” she snaps.
“I’ll stop the car here and now.”
Her exasperated sigh sets my teeth on edge before she grunts, “I’m changing my clothes, genius. Happy?” I glance away from the road long enough to see the skirt she pulled out of her backpack to put on.
Don’t look. Don’t look. I’m no better than some common pervert, letting her tempt me like this. The girl is barely on the safe side of eighteen, for Christ’s sake. I’m better than this.
And if I glance in the mirror, it’s because I need to see behind me to drive safely. That’s all.
My pulse is going too fast, and I can’t take my eyes from the mirror as she starts to unbutton the cardigan she’s wearing.
Really, did she think anybody would believe she’d wear a cardigan in late August?
I guess Rocco isn’t as sharp as he used to be, or he’s too lazy to put two and two together.
So long as his perfect little angel appears that way on the surface, that’s all he cares about.
She pulls off the cardigan and shoves it into her backpack, and now she’s wearing nothing but a tank top with thin straps that’s cut low enough to let her tits almost spill out.
My mouth opens, prepared to remind her where she’s going tonight and how walking around looking like that will bring her nothing but trouble, but something holds me back.
For one thing, it’s not my problem. If she wants to parade herself around like that, let her.
She’s only going to end up regretting it once some loser gropes her.
She wouldn’t be so snide and bitchy then, would she?
My heart skips a beat when she looks up and meets my gaze in the mirror.
I have the excuse of being behind the wheel, so there’s nothing wrong with my looking away quickly.
I’m trying to drive, not make myself look like less of a hopeless loser with nothing better to do than ogle a barely legal girl.
I don’t particularly have a problem with men paying to fuck girls her age—my family has made enough money off of the business, after all. But that’s never been my thing.
“Taking inventory?” she asks in that arch, sarcastic way of hers. Spoiled, bratty little bitch. Always given everything she’s ever wanted. Pampered, indulged. If she’s not careful, she’s in for a big fucking disappointment. There’s a real world out there beyond the stone walls she grew up behind.
“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, little sister.” Yes, that must be why my hands slide a little over the wheel. I always get sweaty palms when I’m bored and disinterested.
“Then why were you looking?” Is she taunting me? It sounds that way. The kid is going to regret it.
“I was looking in the mirror because, surprise, there are cars behind us,” I mutter. “Not everything revolves around you.”
“If you say so.” When I glance her way again, I find her using her phone as a mirror while she applies pink gloss to her lips. Obviously, that’s not enough light for her. She makes the mistake of turning on the car’s interior light, but I immediately turn it off.
“Stop fucking around,” I warn. “Leave the light off. Unless you would rather drive the car.”
“I wish I could. But I’m not allowed, remember?”
“Considering what you plan on doing tonight, you don’t need to be driving anyway,” I mutter.
I watch her in the mirror and see the way she gulps, her nostrils flare, and her eyes narrow.
“What? You thought you invented the concept of telling your parents you were doing one thing, but really doing another? Everybody thinks they invented some new way to sneak around.”
“I bet you invented a few ways, haven’t you?” she asks with a snicker while continuing with her makeup in the twilight.
“Maybe I have. And I’ve been a lot smarter than you.”
Another snicker before she whispers, “I’m sure you think so.”
“I get that you want to do things your own way. That’s normal. But you’re playing with fire right now,” I warn. Why do I bother? Who cares what happens to her? I was raised with no religion other than the burning desire to put her family in their place.
It finally hits me when she folds her arms and scowls.
Now I know who she reminds me of. My sister.
It makes me more of a pervert than I felt like in the first place when I think of her that way, but she has the same fire, stubbornness, and intelligence.
And like my sister, she’s just as stupid as she could possibly be once she gets an idea in her head, and there’s no talking her out of it.
That’s something we have in common.
It’s no big surprise when traffic slows to almost a standstill once we draw closer to Manhattan.
With the skyline twinkling up ahead, I take the opportunity to look her way over my shoulder.
“I know you don’t want to hear it. And it has nothing to do with whether you’re capable or not.
But you’re going to get burned if you keep playing with fire. ”
“Then why don’t I see scars all over your body?” she mutters. “Because you’re practically the human torch when it comes to that.”
A flash of bitter rage threatens to burst out of me and make her regret ever opening her snide little mouth. Somehow, I manage to hold it back, but barely. This girl makes taking up alcohol as a hobby look appealing.
There’s an exit coming up. I have enough time to move into the right lane and take it, then drive her straight back home. It’s what I need to do. It’s what someone trying to keep their job would do.
I can’t shake Dad’s warning, either. He knows what I did out there in Sicily. At least, he knows the outcome, if not the reason why. I might have tried to explain if I believed he’d listen, but I know better. It’s a waste of my breath.
If I fuck this up, I have no protection. It wouldn’t surprise me if he handed me over to people who want me dead for what I’ve done. As shitty as this situation is, I prefer it to the idea of being tortured to death by men who, like me, tell themselves they’re doing what they have to do.
We approach the exit a few yards at a time in the stop-and-go traffic.
She’s texting like mad back there, thumbs flying over the screen, chewing her glossy bottom lip in the light from the phone.
For a second, I imagine the way her face would fall if I took the exit.
Maybe she would start learning not to piss off the person getting paid to take her where she needs to be.
Not to mention the way she’s assuming I’ll keep her secret.
Then again…
“You’re dead set on doing this, aren’t you?” I ask, inching forward.
With a firm nod, she replies, “I am, so don’t bother trying to talk me out of it.”
“And if I refuse to take you into town?”
She lifts a slim, bare shoulder. “You’ll have to explain why you refused. I’ll just say you made an assumption about what I’m doing tonight and wouldn’t listen when I begged you to drive me.”
She would too. And Rocco would believe her, because as suspicious as he is of the rest of the world, he trusts her. He believes her. He’s a fucking idiot.
However, there could be a bright side to all of this.
The little brat wants to get herself in trouble?
Cause drama within the family, drive her father crazy, maybe even embroil them in a minor scandal?
I can see her getting picked up for underage drinking or something like that.
A lightweight like her will probably throw up all over herself before the end of the night and wind up sloppy, passed out, a complete wreck.
What can I say? I’m only doing my job. I’m her driver, not her bodyguard, and Rocco is going to realize that after tonight.
It could even be fun to watch him regret his shortsightedness. If there’s one thing my life is short of lately, it’s entertainment.
“Have it your way,” I decide, passing the exit and continuing toward the bridge.
Sometimes, all you have to do is give somebody enough rope, and they’ll hang themselves for you.
Damn, if I’m looking forward to it.