Chapter 6
DANTE
I find Ruby in a quiet corner overlooking the water, and though the twinkling lights are gorgeous, she’s even more so.
“You were supposed to wait so we could dance,” I say, failing to keep the reproach from my tone and moving to stand next to her. I thought she’d left, and it hollowed me out in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Sorry,” she says quietly, looking down. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“I was longer than I intended.” There was a small crisis with the neighbouring London mafias, and I had to make some phone calls.
The need to touch her is overwhelming. The irony that this is the woman my body finally reacts to is off the scale. She’s too young. Despite being here, she’s not part of my world. She’d probably be horrified if she knew anything about me.
“Thank you for your help today with the wedding, and all that you did beforehand.”
She waves a hand. “It was nothing.”
“It was a lot. My niece’s wedding could have turned out very differently were it not for your quick thinking.” I wince inwardly.
“You had some pretty good saves yourself,” she says, and nudges me with her elbow. It’s so unexpected that it takes my breath.
She touched me. When did someone last dare do that?
“Their hair looked nice.” I give the compliment because I can’t say what I mean, which is that she herself looks good enough to eat. Repeatedly.
“Thanks. It’s my job.” She gives a little self-conscious laugh. “What do you do? Like, as a job.”
“This and that.” My standard answer doesn’t feel right, but I can’t bear seeing fear or disgust from Ruby if I tell her I manage a corrupt empire that works outside the law, and deals with threats using deadly force.
“Oh.” She sounds sad and hurt in that small word. “If you don’t want to tell me about yourself—”
“No, it…” I cut in but can’t find the right words. “You can ask whatever else you like. But my work has no place on a beautiful summer night.”
“Mmm.” I can almost see her wondering why it’s okay to talk about her work, but not tell her about mine.
“Tell me what you do for fun, tesorina.” That sweet pet name slips out, as easily as Ruby has settled into my heart.
I am so fucked. I’m not in love. Am I? I really cannot be.
“Oh, nothing interesting,” she replies.
“Now you have me curious,” I tease. “You have to tell me.”
“It’s boring,” she protests, and even in the soft yellow light of the outside lanterns it’s obvious she’s blushing.
“Then you can say, since it’s not an embarrassing hobby like…” Cruel and unusual punishment of my enemies. I could put Al Poochino on staff to help with that. But possibly I shouldn’t have started this conversation, because my hobbies are work and the destruction of people who get in my way.
“It’s a bit silly.” She laughs but puts one hand over her eyes. Slowly, I reach over and slip my fingers into her palm. There’s an immediate tingle on my fingertips, like energy flows between us. She inhales, as though she feels it too. Then I turn her hand, and duck so I can see her under it.
“Tell me.” It comes out as a rasp.
She licks her lips, and my cock responds. Fuck, she’s so pretty.
“There’s a series of books I really like,” she confesses in a whisper, and that’s an excuse for me to lean closer, so I can hear properly.
“They’re set in a big fantasy world, and I…
ohhh.” She makes a pained noise. “This is so nerdy, but I make fan art. I draw pictures of the characters and stuff, and sometimes people ask me to make images to go with their fan fiction.”
“Fan fiction?” I query.
“You don’t know what that is?”
“I’m extremely old, not on social media, and totally uneducated about anything fun,” I reply dryly.
“That’s not true,” she giggles.
I fear it might be. “Indulge me.”
She toys with a lock of her hair, and leans in closer.
She’s flirting with me. And as I bring her hand away from her eyes but don’t let it go when it’s resting on mine on the stone wall, I’m flirting back.
Which is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.
When do I flirt with women? Especially young women the same age as my niece.
“People write stories based on books they like. Sometimes taking the story forward into the future, or the same characters in different settings and situations. There’s a special website for it and everything. And I draw pictures of those stories, or from the original books.”
“Will you show me?” I’m so entranced by this girl.
She winces and hides, tilting her face away again.
“Go on,” I murmur, and she nods.
I reluctantly drop her hand so she can search in her purse for her phone, then lean over her shoulder, our faces almost touching to see the little images she brings up.
I’m not sure what I expect, but when the first appears, I breathe in. It’s so good. The composition is perfect, the detail elegant, and the colours exquisite.
She flicks straight past it.
“These are kinda early, and not that good.” She scrolls past several more. They’re obviously hand-drawn digitally. “This one is okay.” She pauses.
“And these are…” I point at the female character with brown hair and the male with black hair and tattoos. Almost like us.
I slide my gaze sideways and look my fill at Ruby as she explains about the story, and zooms in on details of the picture. Then seamlessly, she’s showing me another drawing, and I’m torn between gazing at her, and at her pictures.
Except I’m not. I only want her.
I’ve leaned in, and so has she. Our closeness is undeniable. The night air is warm and fragrant, but the hint of orange is from Ruby’s hair. I know because I’ve been catching it in my nose all day, ever since she collided with me and my arms closed around her.
I shake my head, both in denial of what I see and a reminder to myself that I cannot have this girl. She isn’t for me.
Instead of kissing her, I ask, “How did you end up cutting hair when you’ve so much more artistic talent?”