15. Every Reason Not To
Every Reason Not To
Iwoke from my early evening power nap to a gentle knock on my bedroom door and the smell of pizza wafting in from beneath it. My stomach rumbled in approval.
“Aria? The pizza’s here,” Callum’s voice sounded slightly apologetic, as if he wasn’t sure waking me with that information was a good idea. It was. Food comes before sleep in my book. Always.
“Grazie. I’ll be out in a moment.” I contemplated changing out of my comfy shorts and oversized sweatshirt into something nicer, but I really didn’t have the energy for it.
If this man were serious about marrying me, he might as well see what I looked like eighty percent of the time.
I looked at my sleepy face and knotted hair in the mirror.
He’d probably reconsider his marriage proposal altogether.
Walking into the living room, I found him sitting stiffly on the sofa in his pristine suit, looking like he belonged anywhere but in my messy flat. He offered me a smile as I approached and plopped myself beside him, flipping open the cardboard pizza box resting on the coffee table.
“Shall I get us some plates?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder towards the kitchen.
“No need.” I picked up a slice of pizza and tilted my head back to dip the end into my mouth. I closed my eyes and groaned. “It always tastes better out of the box.”
He smiled, standing up to undo his suit jacket and then took it off, draping it over the back of the sofa. He’d been here for at least two hours, and he was only just making himself comfortable, which I found so bizarre. He was still wearing his polished shoes, for Christ’s sake.
“Alright then, let’s try it.” After he rolled up his white sleeves, revealing strong, veiny forearms, he picked up a slice and copied me.
“Better, right?” I said, nodding with a grin at the look of pure heaven on his face.
“Not bad. God, it’s been months since I’ve had a takeaway pizza.”
“Months? You live in Italy! What’s wrong with you?”
He chuckled. “I have a private chef at my home, Arianna. I have no need for takeaways. And I try to lie low as much as I can.”
Right. He was filthy rich. But shit, if I were as rich as him, I’d be ordering takeaways every damn night.
I turned the TV on so we didn’t have to listen to each other’s munching, and when the pizza was finished, he poured me a glass of red wine.
“Or would you prefer whiskey? I brought some with me.”
I quickly shook my head.
“Oh no. The wine is great, thank you.” I took a sip and watched him over my glass, noticing how attractive he really was.
Neat brown hair, green eyes, and olive skin—I mean, what’s not attractive about those three things?
But he appeared more refined and clean-cut than I was used to, as if his appearance was a shield to keep the world from seeing the real him beneath it.
I preferred my men a little rougher around the edges…
more real. Though clearly that hadn’t worked out for me in the past. My mind flooded with memories of dark tattoos, dark hair, and even darker eyes.
No. Don’t even go there, Aria. Still, there was something about Callum that felt a little intimidating.
“I was so embarrassed when my father called you. You really didn’t need to come over. But thank you.”
He smiled. “I’m glad he called me. I like spending time with you.
You shouldn’t have to feel scared in your own home.
Buccini may have somehow got into your security system and erased all evidence of him being here, which is just another example of how he thinks he’s above the law and can do whatever he wants to whoever the fuck he wants,” he growled through clenched teeth, clear rage in his voice.
I stared at him, knowing I should have felt just as livid about the whole situation, but honestly, I didn’t.
That definitely said more about me than him.
He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “We will get him behind bars, eventually. But until we do, I’ll look out for you, Aria. You’re safe with me.”
I offered him a small smile and exhaled, glancing down at my phone, which I’d turned off.
The messages from Santino had disappeared again, as I expected.
I tried to take a screenshot before they did, but of course, he’d thought of everything, because my phone wouldn’t let me do that either.
It was just another piece of non-existent evidence that everything my papi said about Santino must be true.
He was a ruthless criminal who bent the system to his will.
Yet… when I’d asked him if he was a bad man, his answer that he’d never harm me and I should never be afraid of him really hit hard.
Because I actually believed it. And that had me questioning everything about myself.
Even if he had no intention of hurting me, it shouldn’t matter.
I shouldn’t want him. He clearly had a warped moral compass.
So why the hell was I still constantly thinking about him in a more than unholy way?
Why did his messages and flowers still make me smile?
Why did my heart race out of excitement, not fear, every time I heard the growl of a motorcycle?
I was falling further and further into madness.
Santino Buccini’s madness. And it had to end.
I had to snap myself out of these feelings.
I stared at the side of Callum’s face as he sipped his wine, still holding my hand, and my heart started pounding as I considered what it might be like to be his wife.
“What makes you think Santino will leave me alone if we do get married?” I asked softly, a little nervous to be directing the conversation into this territory.
“The Buccinis may not always respect the law, but they do seem to honour the sanctity of marriage. They have never harmed, kidnapped, or seduced a married woman. Not all mafia men share these values, but that is the only decent rule I believe the Buccinis follow. If we are married, Santino will have no option but to leave you alone. His brother would never allow him to continue tormenting you.”
I swallowed, glancing down at his hand resting on mine, rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb.
I hated that my stomach dropped at the thought of never seeing Santino again.
But that’s why this was so dangerous and terrifying.
Because I was feeling too much for that man.
He was already getting to me, and I couldn’t be the reason my father’s campaign failed or put his life in danger.
There was no future between me and a man like him, so I couldn’t let him use me against my own flesh and blood.
“We barely know anything about each other,” I said, turning to face Callum on the sofa. “Don’t you want to marry someone you’re in love with?”
“Who says we won’t fall in love, Arianna?” he husked, reaching up to brush a stray lock of my messy hair away from my face. Nerves built, but I couldn’t tell if they stemmed from excitement or anxiety.
Our eyes met, and I knew he was going to kiss me.
All the signs were there. Part of me, the really stupid girl who was crushing hard on a dark, forbidden criminal, was shouting at me not to let this happen, but I silenced her with logic.
Santino Buccini wasn’t the man for me in any reality.
But this man could be. So I at least owed it to myself to give it a chance, didn’t I?
He leaned in, and I didn’t pull away. His fingers gently traced the nape of my neck, tilting my head for a better angle, then his lips pressed to mine.
I closed my eyes, trying to block out all other thoughts and focus on him.
His lips were soft and tentative against mine, seeking permission rather than claiming.
It wasn’t at all how I imagined Santino Buccini would kiss me.
In fact, he’d never even tried to kiss me.
What the hell was that about? Surely, that was the biggest sign that the man didn’t actually have any real feelings for me and was using me.
Oh my God, Aria. Stop thinking about that psycho when another man’s tongue is caressing yours.
The kiss was slow, gentle, and… nice. Callum was a good kisser—another quality to add to his list of perfect traits. But sparks weren’t sparking. Fireworks weren’t exploding in my head. In fact, my body wasn’t reacting at all. Maybe it just needed a bit more encouragement. A little more passion.
I let my fingers glide through his hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, hoping it would ignite the feelings I craved.
It certainly did for Callum as he groaned and shifted forward, forcing me back against the cushions.
His hand wandered up my side and then cupped one of my tits over my sweater as the kiss became a little more urgent.
Again, I was waiting for the unbridled desire to kick in and make me want to rip his clothes off…
A knock at the front door tore our mouths apart. I looked up into Callum’s hooded eyes as he panted on top of me.
“Expecting someone?” he whispered, but I shook my head. He kneeled up on the sofa as I sat up and looked over at the door. A persistent knock sounded again. My heart pounded with equal parts thrill and fear at who it might be.
“Stay here,” Callum ordered, his tone deeper and edgier than usual. I watched as he moved cautiously towards the door, reaching behind his back for something as he approached. My eyes widened when I saw him pull a gun out from beneath his shirt. Callum carried a gun?
“Is that thing loaded?” I whisper-yelled from my position on the sofa.
He pressed a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet and nodded once.
He peered through the keyhole in the door, his body tense and finger hovering over the trigger, and I hated what that did to me.
Because instead of worrying about his and my safety in this situation, I was concerned that if it was Santino behind the door, Callum was about to shoot him.