7. Basilio
Basilio
T he light turned green and I drove down the road until we came to a stop in front of Corso Vittorio, a high-end shoe store that was owned by one of the wives of the men that worked for me.
Wynter remained quiet after my declaration. Speechless more like it. I really dropped it on her.
But fuck it! Why beat around the bush?
I knew what I wanted and she was it. Without a single shred of doubt in my mind, I fucking knew it. And I’d have her. But I meant what I said. She’d want me too. Until then, this would be purely platonic.
“Corso Vittorio’s shoes are expensive,” she muttered. “Way too expensive.”
I pulled on the car door handle and came around the car, then opened the passenger door.
“Let me worry about the money,” I answered her. “We’re getting your shoes here.”
Her eyes flickered toward the store. “It looks like they are closing,” she protested.
“They’ll stay open for us,” I assured her. I extended my hand and without hesitation, she placed her fingers into the palm of my hand and met my eyes. God, I loved the way she looked at me. Trust, curiosity, and something else.
Stars flickered above us, lights and passersby of Manhattan buzzed around us. Yet, if you asked me who stood next to me or behind me, I’d never be able to tell you.
There were two rules I always followed. Never go anywhere without my .45, and never care for someone so much that losing them could destroy you. Yet now as I stared at this young woman with stars in her eyes, I knew I had broken the second rule. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing her.
I had barely touched her and I was burning up. I wanted to nurture the fire until it consumed both of us.
Dante and Priest would laugh their asses off if they knew. The smallest touch and it had me worked up, hungering for more.
Wynter Star settled me and unsettled me. Such a confusing, contradicting feeling that I was unfamiliar with.
“Let’s go get you shoes, Cinderella,” I drawled as I shut the car door.
She chuckled warmly, leaving her hand in mine. “Lead the way, Prince Charming.”
Prince Charming. Nobody ever called me that. The devil prince maybe. A villain definitely. Certainly never charming.
Without her shoes, she barely reached my chest. She appeared too small and fragile.
Though breathtakingly beautiful. And I wasn’t the only one that noticed.
Pedestrians that rushed left and right couldn’t help themselves but to give her a double take.
Admiration and hunger on men’s faces and envy on women’s.
Pulling her closer to me, our fingers intertwined and we walked into the store just as Vittorio’s wife, Emilia, was about to lock the door. Emilia was the wife of one of my father’s men.
“Basilio,” she exclaimed with a big grin. “What are you doing here? Vittorio is not here.”
Emilia fluttered her eyes and smiled seductively. She has been trying to crawl into my bed for years. It’d never happen, but it never stopped her from trying.
“I’m not here for Vittorio,” I told her, pulling Wynter closer to me. I’d never understand why that man married her, though I suspected my father had a hand in it and Vittorio regretted it immensely. The woman was a snake.
Her eyes darted to Wynter, watching her curiously. Emilia was in her forties, but still carried herself as if she was in her twenties. Dressed like it too. She wore a thin red dress that matched her bright lipstick and knee-high boots.
“We have an emergency,” I told her, glancing down at Wynter's feet. “We lost her shoes. Do you mind helping us out?”
“Who is she?” Emilia’s eyes narrowed on Wynter. “She looks like those damn Russian women.” I felt Wynter stiffen slightly next to me. A threatening growl formed in my throat, overprotectiveness surging through every ounce of me.
“She’s important to me,” I said, locking the lazy, autocratic stare I was known for on Vittorio’s wife.
The warning was clear on my face. Besides, who in the fuck was she to judge when she put her own daughter up on the auction block back a few years ago.
She didn’t hesitate to use her daughter, Thalia, to settle her debt to Benito King.
Unfortunately for her, it was my father that jumped to purchase her.
Not that there were many upstanding men participating in those auctions she’d have fared better with.
Emilia was a disgrace of a mother. She always feigned sadness, but I didn’t buy it for one fucking second. She offered Thalia up instead of using herself to pay her own debt.
Displeasure shone in her dark eyes. “I never heard of her,” she sneered, her cold expression on Wynter. It pissed me the fuck off. “She looks like a Russian whore.”
I leaned over Emilia, scowling. “I’ll cut your tongue out if you say another fucking rude word. Or even look at her wrong. And you know it’s never a good thing to be on my bad side, Emilia. For you or your husband. So you will show my woman respect.”
She paled. I wanted to hammer the point home. Wynter was mine and Emilia would never be. And if she upset Wynter, there’d be hell to pay. She knew my threats weren't empty. It was a quality of my father's that had been passed down to me. Except, I could be much more vicious than the old man.
In this case, I didn’t mind because Emilia would think twice before she said another word about her.
A forced, fake smile flashed on her face. “Of course. Shoe size?”
Again, she barely glanced at Wynter. I wondered if she ever even thought of Thalia, her own daughter. Emilia was selfish beyond reason.
“Seven,” Wynter muttered, her shoulders tense while Emilia disappeared to the back of the store.
Holding her hand, we strode toward the sitting area.
“She seems mad,” Wynter whispered with Emilia out of earshot. “Don’t make her more upset.”
Her gaze met mine, and I could see worry swimming in those big eyes.
“Don’t worry about it.”
We’d get the shoes, I’d leave Emilia with extra cash, and we’d be on our way. Let that fucking woman ponder on the consequences of her words and actions.
Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, her gaze fleeting in the direction of Emilia’s clacking heels. Then she sighed a resigned breath.
“Why does that make me worry more?” Because Wynter had good instincts. “Bas?”
“Yeah.”
“I-I just can’t get in trouble.” Her gaze came back to me. It was an odd comment but I chalked it up to her knowing who I was. If she had looked me up, she’d know trouble followed where I went. “Okay?”
“Principessa, I’ll keep you out of trouble,” I assured her softly. “Nobody will hurt you.”
At that moment, Emilia was back with several boxes, placing them on the little ottoman and opening the first one. Pink designer heels and Wynter’s soft gasp filled the space around me. It seemed Wynter, like many other women, loved shoes.
Emilia handed the shoe to Wynter, but I took it before Wynter could.
“Let me,” I told Wynter.
I dropped to my knees, grabbed her foot and slipped the shoe on. “Look at that. A perfect fit.”
Wynter’s soft chuckle filled the space. “And they don’t disappear at midnight,” she teased. Her gaze traveled to Emilia who watched us like a hawk. It was almost comical. “Your shoe designs are incredible,” Wynter commended her. “I’ve loved them forever.”
“Have you come to this store before?” Emilia questioned her and Wynter shook her head.
“Not to this one,” she explained as I watched the exchange. “I’ve been to the one in San Francisco.”
A second of silence.
“You seem familiar.” Emilia eyed her, as if she was trying to remember something. There was no chance in hell anyone who had seen Wynter, they’d forget her.
“I get that all the time,” Wynter told her.
“Who are your parents?” Emilia continued grilling her and I was about to cut her off, when Wynter answered her.
“Well, my father is dead and my mother’s a sports coach,” Wynter told her, the softness of her voice an unmistakable tale that she cared about her mother. “She’s one of the best. Of course, I’m biased.”
Wynter chuckled but Emilia didn’t bother responding to her and Wynter averted the gaze from her back to me.
“Umm, these are fine. Can we just go?”
I never hurt women. Nor intimidated them. Though I was seriously tempted to do so now. Around Wynter my protectiveness surged tenfold. Emilia made Wynter uncomfortable and I wouldn’t tolerate it. I suspected the warning glare I just bestowed on Emilia came out murderous.
“We’ll take all of them, Emilia. Are there any flats in those boxes?”
“No, no, Bas,” Wynter protested quietly. “It’s too much. Just one pair.”
“Yes, one pair of black and one pair of white flats,” Emilia answered, ignoring Wynter’s protests.
“Bas-”
I grabbed her chin gently and stopped her protest. “Which do you prefer to wear tonight?” I asked her softly, keeping her eyes on me. Emilia would pay for her disrespect.
“White flats, please.”
Wynter slipped on her shoes with my help and I rose to my full length, meeting Emilia’s gaze. Taking an advanced step toward her, I gave her a cold smile.
“Keep your mouth shut about our visit,” I warned.
“If you do anything to jeopardize Wynter or speak of her to anyone, I’ll be back.
” The warning of what would follow hung in the air.
Emilia’s expression slipped for a moment and her eyes filled with fear, but she quickly masked it with defiance. “Understood?” I growled.
She took a step back, quickly nodded and lowered her eyes. Emilia liked to stir trouble for those she considered less worthy. Wynter was definitely more worthy than her, but Emilia didn’t see it like that. Unless she had power and status, she was nobody to her.
My muscles brimmed with tension, the need to make her pay for upsetting my woman clawing at me.
“Bas?” Wynter’s soft voice soothed the anger inside me and I inhaled deeply, her honey scent seeping into my lungs. She was so goddamn beautiful and kind, it almost hurt to look at her. She was so much better than I deserved. “Are we ready?”
I nodded, wrapping my arms around her and meeting her gaze. God, those eyes of hers could soothe the beast inside me on the darkest days. There was something remarkably calming and consoling when you drowned in her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, we were back in my car.
“Thanks again,” she said softly. “I-I didn’t want to say anything at the store, but I can’t take all those shoes home.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m still in the dorm. I’ll be moving soon and explaining to the girls about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of shoes will be hard.”
“What university are you attending?” I asked her. “Here in the city?”
She shook her head, her golden curls bouncing. “Not in the city. I go to Yale.”
My lips curved into a smile. “Smart girl, huh?”
She chuckled. “I’m not super smart. Davina, my friend, is brilliant and savvy. I got in on an athletic scholarship.”
“What type of athletics?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “The general kind.”
Odd. She avoided specifics and it struck me odd that she’d feel uncomfortable to share it.
“What are you studying?” I inquired curiously. Maybe Wynter’s family wasn’t well off financially and it made her feel uncomfortable to talk about the scholarship. Of course, she’d never have to worry about money again.
“Mathematics and physics.”
“And you say you’re not smart,” I teased. “Math and business were my majors, but not even I could pull off physics.”
She let out a bell-like laugh, the sound ringing through the car.
“Somehow I doubt it.” She smacked my forearm playfully. The girl really did not fear me. I fucking loved it and as she beamed with happiness, I couldn’t peel my eyes from her.
Noticing my eyes on her, she raised her eyebrows. “What?” she asked, her beautiful lips curved up and her eyes shining.
“I like your laugh,” I admitted. And then decided to bring it back to her original question. “I’ll keep the shoes for you at my place,” I offered. “I want to see you wear them all.”
Her face lit up, and I found myself pondering how I could keep all her smiles and attention to myself.
“So does that mean I get to see you again?” She locked her eyes with me, her gaze soft and hopeful. If she only knew the ideas floating through my brain. I wanted to lock her up and throw away the key.
“I’m counting on it, principessa.”
Because I’d never let you go.