Chapter Nine SANTINO #2
“You’ll bring trouble,” I’d replied. He’d grinned. Same face as mine. Brighter soul. “Same thing.”
Aurora’s voice cut through the memory. “This place is ridiculous.”
I looked over. She stood near the edge of the path, staring out at the gardens with her arms crossed, trying very hard not to look impressed.
“You hate it,” I guessed.
“It’s offensive.”
I smiled. “To whom?”
“Poor people. Architecture. God. Possibly birds.”
A laugh tore out of me before I could stop it. She looked at me sharply. Like she’d been waiting for it. Like the sound mattered. That was dangerous. I cleared my throat and kept walking.
She followed. I showed her the garage first. Bad idea. Her eyes lit up the moment the doors opened. I watched it happen. Watched anger and suspicion flicker beneath genuine awe as she stepped inside.
Sunlight spilled over polished concrete and chrome. Rows of motorcycles sat beneath custom lights. Black. Silver. Blood red. Machines built for speed, danger, and men with poor survival instincts.
Aurora walked between them slowly. Her fingers hovered near a matte black bike but didn’t touch. “Do you collect these?”
“Some men collect art.”
“These are not art,” she scoffed.
“They’re better,” I smirked. She looked back at me. For one second, there was no hatred on her face. Only interest. Curiosity. The girl she might’ve been if her life hadn’t been arranged around men with guns.
“What was that one?” she asked, nodding toward the bike she’d ridden. My chest tightened. Marco had stayed outside. Smart.
“That one,” I said, “was Angelo’s.”
Aurora went still. Her gaze moved to the motorcycle. Then to me. The room seemed to quiet around us. “Oh.”
One word. Soft. No joke after it. No dramatic comment. No attack. Just oh. It hit harder than it should have. I looked away first. Coward. “Come on.”
The rest of the tour was easier. Docks. Boathouse. Security post. A shooting range built into the far side of the property where the cliff curved inland. Aurora stared at the targets. Then the guns. Then me.
“Absolutely not.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking something,” she accused.
“I’m always thinking something.”
“That must be exhausting for everyone around you,” she said. “Your friend seems permanently annoyed by you.”
I smiled. “Marco loves me. Do you know how to shoot?”
“No.”
That surprised me. In our world, girls like her were usually taught enough to hold a gun incorrectly and panic beautifully. “No?”
Her chin lifted. “Papa said women didn’t need guns if men were doing their jobs.”
The temperature inside me dropped. Slowly. Completely. I thought of Lorenzo Ventura. Dead. Good. I always thought he was slimy. Still not dead enough.
“And what do you think?” I asked.
Aurora stared at the gun rack. “I think men are rarely as good at their jobs as they claim.”
Christ. I liked her. I liked her so much I wanted to put a gun in her hand and teach her how to never need anyone again. Which was absurd. Because I also wanted to lock every gate in the world and make sure nothing ever touched her. Contradictory.
I stepped toward the rack and selected a small pistol. Checked it. Unloaded. Then held it out grip-first. Aurora looked at it like I was offering her a snake. “No.”
“It’s empty.”
“I don’t care,” she insisted.
“You should learn.”
“I should do many things. Run away. Call the police. Develop better taste in men,” she muttered.
My mouth twitched. “That last one would be tragic for me.”
She ignored that. But her gaze stayed on the gun. A second passed. Then another. Slowly, she reached out. Her fingers curled around the grip. Careful. Unsure. Her wrist dipped from the weight. I stepped behind her before I could think better of it. She stiffened. Completely.
Every muscle locked. I stopped. Not touching. Close enough to smell wind in her hair. Apples. Salt. God help me.
“You still have a choice,” I said quietly.
Her breathing changed. I watched her throat move as she swallowed. “I know.”
Two words. Soft. Not mocking. Not angry. Something in my chest went tight. Then she ruined it, because of course she did.
“But if you say anything weird like good girl, I will find a way to shoot you with the empty gun.”
I laughed against the back of her hair. Couldn’t help it.
Didn’t want to. She relaxed by half an inch.
Victory. I lifted my hands slowly, giving her time to object.
When she didn’t, I adjusted her grip. Her skin was warm beneath mine.
Small fingers. Delicate bones. Dark nails.
A hand that should’ve held champagne glasses and silk skirts and maybe some poor bastard’s heart.
Not weapons. Except she looked good with one. Too good.
“Both hands,” I murmured.
She obeyed, then looked offended by herself. “Like this?”
“Almost.” I nudged her stance wider with my shoe.
Her head turned slightly. “You are enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“Disgusting,” she said.
“Focus.”
“You focus,” she insisted.
“I am.” The words came out lower than intended. Her breath caught. Tiny sound. Barely there. I heard it anyway. Every instinct in me sharpened.
No. Not here. Not like this. Not when she was still learning whether my hands meant danger. I stepped back. Cold air rushed between us. Aurora glanced over her shoulder. For one second, something flickered across her face. Confusion. Maybe disappointment. Then it vanished. Good. Probably.
She aimed at the target. Badly. Terribly. Adorably. I should have corrected her again. Instead, I noticed she’d put the earrings I’d given her on. But there was only one sparkling diamond, not two.
My entire body stilled.
“Aurora.”
She lowered the gun slightly and glanced back at me cheeks still flushed from the lesson. “What?”
I stepped closer eyes locked on her left ear. The single diamond caught the light mocking me. My jaw tightened. “Where’s the other earring?”
Her brows pulled together in confusion. She reached up automatically fingers brushing the lone earring. The moment she realized her face changed. The color drained from her cheeks. Her lips parted but no sound came out at first.
“I… I had both,” she whispered voice cracking. She touched her other ear frantically as if the missing diamond might magically reappear. “I put them both on before we came out here. I swear I did.”
She spun around eyes wide with growing panic as she patted her hair her neck the collar of her shirt. Nothing.
“No no no…” The gun forgotten in her hand she took a shaky step back. “Santino, I didn’t, I would never…”
Her voice broke completely. Devastation crashed over her features. Those dark eyes that usually sparked with fire or defiance now filled with something far worse. Guilt and loss so raw it hit me straight in the chest.
“That was your mother’s,” she said barely above a whisper. “Angelo’s… yours. And I lost it.” Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. For the first time since I’d taken her Aurora Ventura looked genuinely devastated. Not angry. Not defiant. But heartbroken over something that belonged to me.
I stared at her, the single diamond glinting in her ear like a cruel reminder.
Despite the irritation twisting in my chest at the loss all I could focus on was how fucking beautiful she looked standing there trembling with guilt.
How badly I wanted to fist my hand in her hair, yank her against me and kiss that devastated look off her face until she forgot everything except my mouth on hers.
How desperately I wanted to pin her to the nearest surface and remind her exactly who she belonged to.
It did matter. The earring. The memory. The last fragile piece of my mother I had left.
But the sight of Aurora like this her chest heaving her lips trembling her body practically vibrating with regret did dangerous things to me.
My cock twitched at the worst possible moment.
I wanted to devour her. To punish her. To comfort her.
To claim her so thoroughly she would never lose anything of mine again.
And the look on her face told me she already knew exactly how deep in trouble she was.
My phone buzzed.
One glance at the screen killed every pleasant thought in my head. Marco.
COME TO THE OFFICE. NOW.
I looked toward the security post. Through the glass wall, Marco stood inside holding a tablet. His face told me enough. Trouble. Aurora lowered the gun. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She turned fully. “You are such a bad liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar.”
“No. You’re an excellent criminal. Different skill set,” she said.
I took the gun from her hands. “Go inside.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.”
“Aurora.”
“Oh, I hate when you say my name like that,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Inside.”
“What happened?” she asked, worry sneaking into her voice.
I looked at her. Really looked at her. Wind tangled her hair around her face. Sunlight caught the defiant lift of her chin. She had no idea how many men would kill to use her. Hurt her. Own her. No idea how quickly the world became teeth once it realized a person mattered.
And that was the problem. She mattered. Already. Fuck.
“Please,” I said. The word surprised both of us. Her face shifted. Just slightly. I hated that it worked. Hated that I’d meant it. She looked away first.
“Fine.” She stalked past me toward the main house, angry enough that every step sounded like an accusation. I waited until she disappeared inside before walking to the security post. Marco didn’t waste time. Good. I hated wasting time when I was about to become violent.
He turned the tablet toward me. A grainy image filled the screen. A man standing near the marina road in a gray coat. Another beside a black SUV. Both facing the estate. Watching.
My blood went cold in the old familiar way. Not fear. Recognition.
“Who?” I asked.
Marco’s jaw tightened. “Edoardo’s men, Paolo and Ginevro something.”