Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Damian
Ten-forty-six at night.
It’s the after-party for the engagement gala, and I stand in the corner watching as Rosalie goes upstairs to change her clothing, and Alessio talks to Eivor.
I cannot imagine it’s anything good. I know the man wants me to siphon as much information about the second eldest Dresvanni as I can, and frankly he’s not helping by irritating him.
It's clear the conversation isn’t going well when Alessio walks away drowning himself in another glass of alcohol.
As my primary focus is making sure Rosalie is safe when not at home, I suppose there’s no harm in watching Alessio while he’s here. After all, in this situation he’s the one not at home. He’s the one at the most risk.
So, over the next hour I watch him get more and more drunk. Rosalie is mingling with the few left at the party, looking more comfortable in a less glamourous dress and hair pins removed. She avoids Alessio but not her uncle.
In fact, I notice that when he tells her to talk to someone, she does. She goes over just as he suggested and makes nice with them. She’s quiet, more subdued, than when he’s not around.
I make a mental note of it, and put my attention back on Alessio. I wonder where he’s gone. Perhaps to get more alcohol. His heavy drinking tonight suggests he’s not as happy about the engagement as I originally thought.
The situation in the bathroom earlier told me that Rosalie may not be either.
It doesn’t surprise me, but it’s good to know.
I wonder just how long they’ve known about their engagement, and if they truly had any hand in it or if it was all their families. I’ve yet to meet Carmine, the Don of the Dresvanni’s and Alessio’s older brother, but if he’s anything like Eivor, I can see him pushing Alessio into this.
My eyes find Alessio making his way over to…me? I straighten my shoulders, prepared to handle whatever is thrown at me.
He looks wobbly, and his cup is empty, but his lips are a little shiny with whatever alcohol had been in the cup. His eyes are slightly glazed over. Hair out of place, ponytail askew.
“Damian,” he drawls at me. His voice is a bit slurred.
I eye him from head to toe. His body language says he’s not over here to demand something from me but to stir something up. As he leans against the wall next to me and tilts his head to the side, I begin to wonder what exactly.
“Mr. Dresvanni,” I address him formally, keeping my body stiff and facing straight forward. Rather than facing him or leaning toward him. I don’t wish to give a relaxed impression.
“Please, it’s a party, call me Alessio,” he insists.
I don’t reply to that in particular. He smells of liquor, but also something else. Something warm and musky. I ignore that.
“What is it you need?” I ask him simply, and paste my eyes ahead of me on the party, rather than looking at him.
Suddenly, I feel fingers touch my chin, and I’m surprised enough that I let him turn my head to make me look over. He tilts my head up to look at him.
I tug my chin away from him after pulling myself together.
“You could at-at least look at me,” he smiles as he speaks. “I want to thank you.”
Heat burns in my stomach and groin, but I ignore it. Just as I’m trying to ignore the salacious tone of his voice.
“Thank me for what?” I ask him, my own tone low and quiet. I’m stone cold sober, unlike anyone else at this party.
I glance away from us for a moment to see where Rosalie is.
She’s talking to someone by the fireplace, flipping her hair gently with one hand and holding a glass of champagne with the other.
I look back to Alessio as he leans forward and down slightly.
His long hair slips over the side of his face and forehead where it’s falling out of his ponytail.
“For coming to my rescue at the gala,” he insists. “You watched out for me, not many do.” His brow furrows. I know he’s telling the truth.
Something about the sadness that shines in his eyes for just a brief second makes my stomach tighten.
“It’s my job, Mr. Dresvanni,” I explain. “Thanks are not necessary.”
“Oh, please… You don’t like a little praise?” he asks me, leaning in closer.
I struggle to keep my body facing forward, finding myself turning slightly toward him.
I glance at my watch.
Eleven-fifty-nine.
“It’s almost midnight, I think you should be turning in,” I say slowly, trying to make it clear that he is too drunk for this conversation, without quite saying that. Normally I wouldn’t dance around my words, but I have a feeling this situation is more delicate than usual.
“Would you care to join me?” he asks with a smirk, his voice lowering even further.
“You’re drunk,” I remind him. “You likely won’t remember this conversation in the morning.”
That fact doesn’t stop my chest and neck from becoming hot as I look up at the thinner but taller man next to me. He licks his lips, and I’m looking right at them.
“Even better,” he mumbles.
“You’re out of line, Mr. Dresvanni,” I tell him roughly and turn my head to look in front of myself ahead.
“I just want to thank you,” he tells me, his voice rumbling ever so slightly.
Goosebumps climb up my back, and I ignore those as well.
“You’ve thanked me quite enough,” I say. “You should get back to the party.”
Just as I’m saying this, Rosalie exits her conversation and looks in our direction. I meet her gaze, and she looks a bit flushed from the alcohol she’s been drinking as well.
“Your fiancé is looking for you,” I inform Alessio. “Perhaps she’ll take you up on your offer.” This is my way of reminding him that he’s engaged, and his fiancé is literally in the same room. Regardless of if they’re really interested in each other.
I hope they are.
Don’t I?
Alessio sighs and turns to look just as she walks over to us.
“Is he bothering you?” she asks. “Alessio, how much have you had to drink?”
Alessio scoffs. “Frankly, my dear, not enough,” he slurs ever so slightly.
Rosalie eyes him and then looks at me. “I don’t think you’re needed anymore tonight; you don’t have to stay down here for the entire party,” she says, then turns more to Alessio. “Why don’t we go up to a room? It’s getting late, too late to go to my flat.”
It’s after midnight. She’s right. Despite the fact that it would be me driving them, it is late and the best option is to stay the night here until morning.
“If you insist,” Alessio replies and hands me his glass.
Rosalie rolls her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking and takes Alessio’s hand.
I watch the two of them exit the party and go up the stairs as I hold Alessio’s glass. Alessio doesn’t look at me before they disappear, and I’m almost disappointed.
I look down at the glass he left with me, and see there’s a small sip left in it. Looking around me for a moment to see that no one is paying attention to me, I lift it to my nose and sniff.
Brandy.
There’s a faint impression of his lips on several spots of the glass that I see through the flickering firelight and string lights all around the room.
After a few seconds of deliberation, I place the glass to my own lips and take that very last sip.
Strong. Vintage. And I’d swear I can taste the lips that were there before mine.
What am I doing?
Three days later, 9:34 am. The last few days have been rather uneventful, and I’ve had very little opportunity to get information on the Dresvanni family, Alessio in particular.
Posting up outside of the house will get me no more information either, so I need to get closer.
Closer to the family. Closer than just keeping an eye on Rosalie is allowing me.
So, when I discover that Alessio is going to target practice this morning, I decide to invite myself along. After all, I’m a guard, and we need practice with our guns occasionally as well.
Plus, I’d like to see how Alessio is with a gun. How big of a danger he might be—to others, himself, me.
Eivor seems to think it’s a fantastic idea, and finds a way to keep Rosalie busy at the estate with her wedding dress so that I’m not forced to keep an eye on her instead of joining Alessio.
I’ve not eaten breakfast. All I’ve had is a tall black coffee with a few sugars.
It’s all I need in the morning. I get dressed in the guest room that Eivor has provided me on the estate, and while Rosalie is getting fitted in her dress in the parlor room, I head to the chosen shooting range that rests in a middle ground between the Fiorelli and Dresvanni estates.
Nestled into the ground in a cement block that’s padded for noise suppression.
My gun of choice is on my hip, and I find myself wondering what Alessio’s is. I have yet to see him carrying.
The security here is lacking, but that’s not my problem. If I need to be the security while Alessio’s here, so be it. Though, protecting him isn’t explicitly in my job description. For a moment I wonder what Eivor would do if something happened to Alessio. Who would he have Rosalie marry then?
That thought leaves me immediately when I see Alessio standing in one of the boxes, sandwiches between glass and wood, a gun pointed at several white and red targets in front of him.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him wearing jeans, but even then, they’re perfectly pressed and dark wash, matching his silk navy button up shirt expertly.
His long hair is pulled back and curled into a bun at the back of his neck.
My eyes trail down his back to his ass, to his calves and booted feet.
“Are you going to shoot or just stare at me?” Alessio asks without even looking behind his shoulder. Due to the ear protection he’s wearing, his voice is louder than he likely intends.
I swallow hard and narrow my eyes before heading over to the space next to him. I shrug off my black winter coat and toss it to the side.
“What gun are you shooting?” I ask him as I slide the protection over my own ears. It’s still possible to hear each other talking.