Prologue XI Constantine
Prologue XI
Constantine
It’d been a year since I’d last seen Isabella.
We hadn’t talked since I’d ripped her to pieces over the phone. She didn’t say a word when I finished. Just hung up. I didn’t mean to do it, but I fucking nuked our relationship—or what was left of it.
I blamed her for my brother’s death, and even though I meant it with every fiber of my being, it was the most fucked-up thing I’d ever said. She didn’t deserve it and I should apologize for it, but I didn’t want to open the box that finally felt shut.
I returned to Taormina, nine years after Isabella and I broke up, and walked to Rosticceria Da Cristina after it opened for the day. I’d texted my mom after I checked into the hotel, and she told me she was at the office.
I walked inside and immediately caught up with the boys behind the counter. “My ma driving you crazy yet?”
“Only every day, man,” Georgio said. “It’s not even the high season yet, but it’s already busy. Gets busier every damn day.”
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
We continued to catch up, talking about the restaurant, sports, recent events on the island, the last eruption of Mount Etna.
The second I showed my face, I knew it would make it back to Isabella.
My mom would mention it to her mom, and since neither of them knew what happened last time I was here, they wouldn’t hesitate to tell her.
I wasn’t sure if it would provoke her or if she would continue to pretend I didn’t exist.
Then I felt this stare on the side of my face, scalding like a hot pan and deep like a knife. I didn’t even check my peripheral before I turned to look at who stared at me so hard through the window.
My eyes immediately locked with the green eyes the color of vines . . . with the sparkle of an emerald. There was something mesmerizing about them, something unique even though I’d seen green eyes a hundred times. Something within the color struck me . . . the longing . . . and the sadness.
My vision drew back and took in the rest of her, beautiful brown hair around her shoulders with a gold chain around her throat. She was dressed in just cutoff jean shorts and a deep-blue tank top with sneakers, but she was fucking gorgeous.
God fucking damn.
And she was alone.
She didn’t look away right away, even when she’d been caught, as if she couldn’t stop staring at me the way I couldn’t stop staring at her.
As if time stopped for both of us. Even though she was seated, I could tell she was tall, with long legs for days, every part of her body slender and toned like she was on her feet a lot.
“Con?”
“Hmm?” I kept my eyes on hers.
“Did you hear what I said?” Georgio said. “Your mom is thinking of opening a third location.”
“She said what?” I turned back to him when the news caught me by the midsection. “She can barely keep up with the two.”
He shrugged. “That’s what she said. Look, I’ll show you the plans.” He headed to the office, and I followed behind with the others. He went to her desk, opening the folder that sat there. “She applied for a loan and everything.”
I flipped through it, and while I was disturbed by my mother’s idiotic business plan, I kept thinking about the woman outside.
What if she left and I didn’t get a chance to talk to her?
What if I didn’t even learn her name?
I shut the folder. “I’ll talk to her about this. Make sure this gets canned.” I walked out of the office and left them there.
“Con, where are you going?”
“I gotta take care of something real quick.” I rounded the corner and came back to the front of the store. People were already there, waiting to order. I looked right past them and out the window to where the woman with the green eyes had been sitting.
But she was already gone.
A couple days later, I had dinner at my mother’s house, then headed back to the hotel.
I walked past the double doors and the valet outside, moving around the glass walls that surrounded the outdoor bar, and then headed to the indoor bar, where a pianist played in the corner.
The lights were low, the bar was busy, and I found a table against the wall.
I texted Antonio. I’m at the bar if you want to meet up.
Cool. Be there in fifteen minutes.
I set down my phone, and the waiter came over to take my order.
Then the strangest feeling came over me—the sense I was being watched.
It was the same stare I’d felt days before, through a glass window, warm and purposeful.
I didn’t let myself get hopeful, knowing the chances of it being her were slim to none.
But I looked up—and it was her.
In a little black dress with seashells on the straps, her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder, her eyes smoky with the way she did her makeup.
I was fucking hypnotized.
Jesus Christ, those eyes . . . do shit to me.
And again, they looked sad. Intense, but sad. A little empty too.
It was the first time in my life when I felt paralyzed. Even face-to-face with the Skull King, I didn’t hesitate. I stood my ground, thought quick on my feet, reacted with lightning speed. But with her . . . I couldn’t fucking think.
The waiter dropped off my drink, but I didn’t look away. She broke eye contact and shifted her gaze somewhere else.
I followed her stare, seeing a woman get up from her group of friends and then head toward me.
My eyes went back to her, and I saw it all in a flash. The disappointment, the urgency, the fight-or-flight . . . and then the defeat. She turned back to her drink, got the attention of the waiter, and signaled for the check.
The woman helped herself to the free chair beside me. “Hi, I’m McKayla.”
My eyes were on the woman at the other table. The most beautiful woman in this bar, in the whole fucking village, honestly, and she pivoted her body away from me like she didn’t want to watch me pick up someone else.
She didn’t fight, like she wasn’t a worthy opponent.
“Did you hear me?” McKayla asked.
I just told her the truth. “Sorry, already got my eye on someone else.” I grabbed my drink, crossed the room, and then sat in the chair across from her.
She hesitated before she looked at me—like she didn’t expect this.
Up close, I could really see her eyes now, see that they were even more beautiful than I realized. And I saw the cacophony of emotions in them, like she wanted me there . . . but didn’t believe she belonged there.
I could read people well—my intuition was off the charts—and despite how insanely sexy she was, I could tell this woman didn’t have an ounce of confidence.
And all I wanted to know was why. “Constantine.”
Her eyes continued to study me from behind guarded walls, but the longer I sat there, the less timid she became. “Aurelia . . .”