Chapter 22
MATTEO
Goldie is this weird mix of soft, naive innocence and hard as steel will. The first is probably to do with her age. The second something she’ll grow into. None of that is my concern. She’s just a means to an end now.
I’m glad my charm is working so well on her. A few smiles. A few personal comments. A little touching. Never fails with the innocent ones. Or women in general.
It’s all down to the ruin curse. All of us Rovinas have a magnetism that comes in the blood and can’t be turned off. My sister Bella had so much of it, she sent our whole family down a spiral that left most of us dead.
Maybe I can make a whole batch of new Rovinas with Goldie here once this is all over. If Ferro lets me keep her after he’s done overthrowing her father, or whatever his plan is.
That’s like the tenth time I’ve caught myself thinking about that and it’s stupid. She’s already caused me enough grief and misfortune to last a lifetime in the few short days that I’ve known her. I will not be signing up for an actual lifetime of it.
No matter how well her own brand of magnetism is pulling me in. I don’t remember the last time a women occupied my thoughts as much as she does. Maybe way back in the beginning, when I was young and only just learning that falling in love was possible.
We’re strolling out of Central Park where she’s spent the last hour or so pointing out the different famous places as though one bedrock formation is different from another, or one field of grass more special than another.
I’ve been enjoying the view of skyscrapers rising beyond the treetops and the sound of her voice.
More than is good for me, it seems, because I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind listening to her talk all the time.
“So where to now?” I ask when we reach the park’s gate. I’m kind of hoping there’s more she wants to do. Even another carriage ride.
“How about some dinner and a drink?” she asks.
“Are you old enough to drink?” I ask and watch her cheeks turn that golden bronze color that makes it look like the setting sun is illuminating her face. Even in the dark. Probably why I said it. To see that. Not good.
“Yes, I can drink,” she says, showing me the steel that’s just beneath her soft, sweet beauty. “I can probably drink more than you.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right. I don’t drink much.”
I did drink a lot when everything fell apart and I became Moretti’s slave. Then I stopped, vowing to stay sober until I get my revenge. But lately, with Goldie constantly on my mind and everything else going on, I’ve started to drink again. Not great.
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me.
“There’s a new restaurant just around the corner,” she says. “I saw the opening from my bedroom. It might be Italian. Or something similar. Let’s go see.”
She starts down the sidewalk and I follow.
There’s something so sad in the way she chose this restaurant…
seeing it from her window, not able to just go down there to check it out whenever she wants to.
She’s caught, trapped in her life, just as I was in mine with Moretti.
Hers is a softer, more comfortable cage, but a cage with iron locks nonetheless.
And there I go again, letting her get to me. Letting myself get close to her.
She’s a tool. A key that will unlock all I desire.
But not if lose sight of that. Not if I let her in.
But damn, with the way her ass sways on those shapely legs of hers and the way her voice sounds like morning bird song even over the screeching, wailing and booming New York City traffic, it’s proving very hard to keep her out. Bordering on impossible.