Chapter 8 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
The blaring car horn disturbs the otherwise idyllic peace and quiet on the Santoro estate. It’s a beautiful Monday morning, with a coolness in the air that’s welcome after a long, hot summer. I’m sure we’ll have a few more weeks of warmth, but this is a nice reprieve.
Maybe I should be grateful to Giulia for giving me the chance to enjoy it while I wait for her, but gratitude has never been my go-to.
Instead, I reach through the car’s open window and press the horn again, letting the sound drag on until one of the guards up at the front door gives me a sour look.
There was a time I would have carved his eyes out of his skull with a spoon for looking at me that way.
All it takes is the memory of a bloated body bobbing face-down at my feet to snap me out of it and remind me of another split-second decision that could come back to haunt me.
I couldn’t have imagined how pulling the trigger that night on the yacht would ripple through my life for months to come.
How it would influence even the most mundane choices.
Such as the choice to take this job rather than bolt the way I would have if there weren’t the threat of retribution hanging over my head.
The fuck is she doing up there? Taking my phone from my pocket, I confirm she hasn’t sent a message saying she’s sick or that there’s been a change in the schedule.
That would be too much like a fundamental consideration.
I’ll have to remember this the next time I’m tempted to cover for her bratty ass.
I don’t expect her to get on her knees and thank me every time we’re together, but she could at least be punctual after I made it possible for her to get away with her big night out.
I’m only a servant. The version of me that used to exist demanded respect from top to bottom, no matter who I was with.
A bartender served me a weak drink? They would never make that mistake again.
A woman paid too much attention to another man while we were together?
I’d remind her who she was out with and what I expected from her.
Once or twice, the people closest to me—the few who could get away with criticism—wondered if I woke up in the morning looking for someone to be pissed at. Looking back, I think I did.
What the hell am I doing, standing here with my thumb up my ass?
The house isn’t off-limits, and if there’s a problem, I deserve to know.
What if Rocco changed his mind about allowing his most prized possession to get an education?
And I used to think my old man lived in the Stone Age.
He’s got nothing on old Rocco, who, in a lot of ways, is only a few steps from being a caveman.
No sooner am I through the front door than I hear it.
A war is brewing, echoing down the hall and drawing me in.
From the volume of Rocco’s shouts, he’s had time to work himself into an epic tantrum.
“Two days! You’ve been on my ass about this for two days, and what have I told you every time you brought it up? ”
It’s the shouted response that makes me stumble over my feet in surprise.
“Oh, poor you! Why does it never matter what I want?”
I didn’t think Giulia had it in her. Giving me every ounce of her attitude? Not a problem. Shouting at her beloved, revered papa? What a shame I’m not wearing pearls so I could clutch them.
“You do not get a say in this, young lady, and you are wasting my time!” He’s hovering on the edge of viciousness, snapping at her, putting her in her place the way I’ve wished I could. “I’m sick of hearing your complaints. Your brother and I are—”
She cuts him off, almost screaming to drown him out.
“Why is everything always about my brother? Pick one, it’s the same difference!
They’re all that’s ever mattered! Not what makes me comfortable, not what makes me happy.
You wouldn’t even consider letting me live on campus with all the other freshmen! ”
“Because you are not like the other freshmen,” he reminds her.
Fatigue rings heavy in his voice by the time I’m standing outside the study, out of sight.
I can easily imagine how his face must sag like the bulldog he’s resembling more every day.
“Giulia, I am not interested in going over this again. Why do you insist on beating the point to death?”
“Papa…” It’s Dante. He’s witnessed this entire argument.
I can’t help bristling at the sound of his voice.
I don’t bear the same intense resentment toward him as I do toward his younger brother, but he is hardly my favorite person.
Brother-in-law or not. “You should at least hear her out, even if she is beating the hell out of a dead horse.”
“I’m not interested,” Rocco grumbles. “I know what I’m doing, dammit! And you are… you are…”
Giulia’s sharp, sudden gasp rings out. “Papa? Papa!” she shrieks.
That’s what does it—the sound of her voice and the panic in it. To hell with discretion. I burst into the room in time to see Rocco fumble for his chair and drop into it, gray-faced, dazed.
Dante is already at his side, hovering protectively. “Take it easy. Where are your pills? Don’t pretend you don’t have them,” he adds with a scowl.
“Drawer,” Rocco grunts, pointing to the desk he’s sitting behind with one hand while the other covers his chest.
Giulia backs away slowly until she ends up bumping into me.
She whirls, surprised, and the sight of her ghostly white face and chocolate-brown eyes that seem to take up twice their normal space makes my breath catch.
She reaches out, touches a hand to my arm, and clutches it tightly. I’m her life raft, keeping her afloat.
Me, of all people.
I’m not sure whether I should feel sorry for her or what.
Dante sounds distracted and unsure of himself when he announces, “He’ll be fine.” I don’t know if he’s trying to convince his sister or himself. It could be me, for that matter. He needs to present a solid image in front of an outsider. “This is why the nitroglycerin is here.”
Nitroglycerin. Heart problems. I had a feeling there must be something.
He hasn’t deteriorated the way Dad has, but he’s not the man he used to be.
When I was a kid learning to shave, Rocco Santoro was a lion. The only man on earth Dad both hated and respected, though he would have bitten off his tongue before admitting any respect.
It doesn’t take long for Rocco’s color to start coming back once he’s taken the pill. “Much better,” he murmurs as he takes a glass of water from Dante, who poured it at the bar in the corner of the study. “Thank you. ”
“Papa?” I barely hear Giulia’s choked whisper. She finally lets go of my arm before taking one slow step toward him, then another. Like she’s afraid to get too close. “Are you okay? Really?”
He manages a weak, brief smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Once I catch my breath, I will be fine.” He glances at me, and the truth behind the lie becomes clear. He might be fine today, but time could be running short. His heart is a ticking time bomb.
The old man manages to sit up straight, gathering himself. “You’ll be late for class if you don’t leave now. You had better get moving, or what else am I paying this tuition for?” There’s love in the question, and it’s clear he’s trying to lighten the mood for her sake.
“I don’t want to leave you now,” she whispers.
It might not be my place, but then I’ve never cared about shit like that. My hand closes over her shoulder. She’s shaking, cold, and I have to resist the impulse to pull her into my arms until she relaxes. “He’ll feel better if he knows you’re getting on with your day.”
“That’s right.” Rocco’s flash of gratitude might be the most surprising part of this morning.
I’m not sure why I care about any of this.
I only know something in me demanded I go to her once I heard the panic and pain she was in.
Nothing could have stopped me when I listened to the sound of her voice.
Now I lead her out of the study and nudge her down the hall. “How am I supposed to go to school now?” she murmurs, vague, lost.
“You’ll do it because it’s what he wants you to do,” I remind her as we leave the house once she grabs her backpack from where it waits by the front door. “Besides, he’s already looking better. It was a spell, that’s all.”
“A spell?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “I would expect everybody else to offer weak comfort like that, but not you. You, I expect the truth from.”
The truth is, he might be dying.
The truth is, it’s no wonder he wants to step down and let Dante take over. He can’t handle things the way he used to. A simple fight with his daughter, and he winds up with palpitations or whatever that was.
We come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, where the car still runs. When I open the door, though, she doesn’t move. The cool breeze stirs her hair, sending vanilla-scented sweetness my way. It washes over me, lighting up parts of my brain that have been dark for too long.
“I did that to him,” she murmurs. “It was my fault. I could have killed him.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” It’s a thoughtless response, and I regret it before she has the chance to flinch.
Her features pinch together in pain, and there’s a poison edge to her voice when she retorts, “What you call dramatic, other people call having actual human emotions.”
“What I meant was, you can’t blame yourself. He’ll be fine. And now, you know to take it easy on him.”
Is this happening? Am I coaching a Santoro through protecting a man I’ve hated my entire life? The enemy. The man in control of what should have rightfully been ours, according to Dad, anyway.
I made it my mission to destroy him, and now I’m coaching his daughter through coping with his health crisis.
That’s not the most surprising part.
Neither is the moment she turns toward me, leaning against me, her cheek touching my chest, and for one brief, sweet moment…
She doesn’t say a word.
Neither do I.
I’m too busy wrestling with the surprise of my arms wrapping around her. She fits perfectly against me, my chin touching the top of her head. We aren’t enemies now. We aren’t adversaries. She isn’t the infuriating brat who only infuriates me more by being so damned alluring.
She’s someone who needs a friend. I’m someone who understands all too well how empty life can be once friends are cut away one by one.
Yet when she raises her head and those unfathomably huge eyes find mine, friendship is the last thing on my mind. Deep, driving, primal hunger wraps itself around me and leaves me wondering what those plump, pouty lips would taste like.
My head lowers a few inches before I know what I’m doing, my mouth seeking hers. She’s here, she’s soft, she’s warm and willing, and she wants me. There’s no doubt in my mind.
Just as there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d lose my balls if one of the Santoro men saw us like this.
Amazing how suddenly desire can fizzle when castration is on the line.
“Come on,” I whisper, releasing her against my wishes since I like my balls where they are. “Let’s get moving.” It isn’t easy to ignore the hurt written across her face or the way her cheeks flush like she’s embarrassed, but it’s for the best.
One of us has to be smart about this.
I’m so lost in my conflicted thoughts that we’re halfway to the city before I remember the fight I overheard.
A fight that most likely started with her complaining about me. All weekend long, according to Rocco and Dante. She wanted to get rid of me, but the second there was trouble, who did she turn to?
And how good did that feel?
She might have had the right idea, campaigning against me. I started this shit job knowing she would drive me crazy, right?
It’s only been two weeks, and I came damn close to kissing her where anyone might have seen and strung me up for it.