12. Piadina Doesn’t Count As Stalking…Right?
Piadina Doesn’t Count As Stalking…Right?
“Lunch was lovely, and so is your home,” I said as Callum helped me into my coat by the front door of his villa.
I wasn’t lying. I’d had a lovely afternoon with him.
He’d hired a private chef to cook for us and given me a tour of his immaculate, modern home.
It lacked any personal touches and felt more like a show home, but it was still stunning.
“Thank you for coming,” he replied, shoving his feet into his designer shoes and grabbing the keys to his Porsche.
“Oh, you don’t need to take me to work. My driver’s outside.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind. I’d like to make sure you get there safely, with everything going on.”
I glanced down at my feet, cursing the heat that was crawling up my neck at exactly what was going on.
I’d once again allowed myself to be seduced by Santino Buccini in a very inappropriate place at a very inappropriate time.
But that was yesterday. This morning, I woke with a newfound determination to ignore the man and hope this whole thing would disappear.
I had no future with a criminal at war with my father, so what on Earth was I doing?
“Grazie, but that’s what my papi is paying the driver and bodyguards for.”
His fingers slid under my chin, and he gently guided my head until I met his gaze.
He really was attractive. Short, light brown hair, green eyes, and a sharp nose that gave him a bit of character.
He was also well-built, as I could tell from the way his suits moulded his body like a second skin.
And there hadn’t been any awkward silences all afternoon.
He’d been an open book, telling me about his upbringing in the UK, how he’d loved the sound of living in Italy before finally deciding Rome was the place he belonged.
We really had a lot in common. Callum D'Ardenzi was a catch. He was exactly the type of man I should want to be with—someone stable and safe. So why the hell couldn’t I stop thinking about the forbidden gangster tormenting me?
“Aria, I know this isn’t ideal and may feel rushed or forced, but I wanted you to know I like you.
I’m not doing this as a favour to your father.
I believe this could genuinely be something if we gave it a chance.
I have a very secure estate and just as many resources, if not more, than your father to keep you safe.
I realise it probably feels too soon to consider marriage, but... the offer is there.”
I blinked at him, stunned. We’d just had our first official date, and did he… just propose?
“I–um.”
“You don’t need to give me an answer right away.
I know this is sudden, and we still have plenty of time, but my grandparents had an arranged marriage, and it worked very well for them, so I don’t see the problem.
I’m a logical thinker, Aria. You need security, and I’d like to find a beautiful woman to settle down with and start a family.
My schedule’s demanding at the moment, so I don’t have much free time for dating and honestly…
” He took one of my hands and kissed the back of it.
“I can’t imagine finding anyone as amazing as you.
We’d fit well together, Arianna. And I believe there’s a strong possibility that it could blossom into love. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”
“Um, okay. I’ll think about it,” I whispered, unable to say more as my brain struggled to determine whether that was an actual proposal or a business pitch. But then again, what did I expect from a man like him? At least he was honest and upfront about who he was and what he wanted.
He stepped into me, and his hands cradled my face.
I froze, realising a second too late what was about to happen.
He pressed his lips to mine, and my eyes widened.
I didn’t push him away, but I also didn’t kiss him back.
I was too surprised to react. He released me with a smile, then opened the front door.
“When can I see you again?”
“Uh–” Find words, you fool. “I–um–can I let you know? I–er–need to check my work rota.”
“Of course.” He grinned, his green eyes sparkling under the floodlights on his porch. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
I gave a nervous laugh and walked down the steps, glancing back to give a silly little wave. He closed the door as soon as I reached Damiano, who was waiting by the car.
“Pleasant afternoon, Signorina Caruso?” Damiano asked as he held the door open, and I got into the Maserati.
“Um, yeah. It was.” I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “And I told you, Damiano, please just call me Aria. I can’t stand the formality.”
“As you wish,” he answered with a wide smile as he slowly closed the door. “Aria.”
I frowned at the way he’d said my name in an almost flirtatious tone. I watched him walk around the side of the car to the front. He was such a strange man. I couldn’t figure him out. Sometimes he was robotic and cold, but other times he was overfamiliar and a little inappropriate.
The moment I stepped into the hospital, I knew it would be one of those nights.
The air was thick with pent-up stress, exhausted staff, and grumbling patients.
It was hectic for no apparent reason, and I groaned, preparing myself for a long night of fighting one fire after another.
To make matters worse, and spoil my already diminishing good mood, I was greeted by another ostentatiously gigantic bouquet in my office with a handwritten note. This time, just a single line.
La mia bellissima ribelle,S-ignor A-dmires N-aughty I-nnocence.- S
And goddammit, I smiled. Because it was just so ridiculous, yet witty.
The words spelt out his name, the one I refused to call him out of spite.
I threw the card into my desk drawer with the others and placed the flowers next to another patient.
I didn’t even get to sit behind my desk for more than ten minutes before I was called out for another emergency, and Damiano had no choice but to tag along to them all.
By the middle of my shift, I was flagging.
“You should take your break, Aria,” he suggested as we left the overflowing ER, and I ordered three more beds to be placed in the corridors.
“I’m fine. I’m used to nights like this.
But if you need a break, please take one,” I snapped unintentionally.
He didn’t deserve my frustration, but he was really getting on my nerves.
Every time I turned around, I collided with his broad chest and felt him breathing down my neck.
It was suffocating. And patients watched him uneasily while staff whispered behind my back about why he was following me like a lapdog.
“If you’re fine, I’m fine. But you seem tired,” he said to my back, his footsteps matching mine as I marched down the corridor towards the hospital lift. I rolled my eyes, biting my tongue. I wasn’t tired. I was frustrated. I needed to breathe without sharing the same air as him.
I stabbed at the button, venting my stress on it, and looked up impatiently to watch the floor numbers rise.
When the doors finally opened, we both stepped inside, and the claustrophobia became even more unbearable in such a tiny space.
Damiano’s phone alerted him, making me jump.
I fought the urge to rip it out of his hand and stamp on it when one of the security team’s voices came through in broken segments.
“Repeat,” Damiano ordered and waited for the man to speak again, but it never came. I watched his frown lines deepen around his eyes as he waited. “I didn’t catch that. Repeat.”
Leaning against the elevator wall, I closed my eyes, trying to shut out my babysitter and his annoying voice.
“I must have no signal in here,” he muttered to himself. The doors opened, and he made the mistake of stepping out first, too caught up in trying to communicate with the other bodyguard outside the hospital to notice that I hadn’t moved. My heart flipped at the tempting idea that formed in my mind.
Let the doors close. Stay inside. Ride the elevator up and down for a few minutes to enjoy some alone time.
Damiano turned just as the doors closed, his eyes bulging and his hands darting out to catch them.
When he missed by a second, I smiled. Yes.
Peace and quiet. I pressed the top floor button and closed my eyes, exhaling some deep breaths to centre myself.
Damiano would be furious, for sure. But I honestly didn’t care.
I was alone in a square metal box anyway, perfectly safe.
My eyes flew open when the doors on the next floor parted, letting someone else in.
The towering man stepped inside, and I became paralysed to the spot.
Biker trousers, a black fitted T-shirt beneath an unzipped leather jacket.
An expensive, sleek black helmet concealed the man’s head, with a black mirrored visor reflecting my pale, wide-eyed expression.
No way. It couldn’t be. Surely not. There were plenty of other bikers in the city.
I swallowed when the doors closed, trapping me inside with him. He didn’t speak, but the tension grew thicker with each passing second. My chest rose and fell as I chased air, keeping my eyes focused on the floors we were passing.
He suddenly leaned forward, his arm sliding across my body and pressing the emergency stop button. The lift lurched, and my arms flung out wide against the wall as a small squeal escaped my lips.
“Ti mancavo... eh, Ribelle?”
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He lifted the helmet from his head, and his messy black hair bounced into place, dangling across one dark eye as his lips curled into a ruthless smile.
“You shouldn’t be here. I told you to leave me alone.”
“Aren’t hospitals the best places to be for medical emergencies?”
“You seem to be very accident-prone. What a coincidence.”