8. Chapter 8
Dario
Showing Jasmine around my place may be the highlight of my year. I delight in the way she gasps and stares at the beauty of it. I find myself doing the same when I look at her.
When my siblings and I purchased the twin properties, we named them Angelo and Demone, after our angel of a mother and devil of a father.
The outsides of the towers are both sleek, black glass with neon signs displaying their names.
Angelo is featured in gold, naturally, while the script for Demone is in red.
The major design changes are found inside.
Stepping into Demone is like falling into a Gothic dream.
The tiles on the walls and floors are the color of midnight.
Modern furniture shares the dark hue, though they did manage to toss a few red throw pillows to brighten up the place.
Hell, even the front desk is black; your only way of discovering it is by the red neon lights dimly glowing behind it.
It’s stunning, I’ll give my brothers that, but it’s depressing as hell.
I smile to myself as I consider that my companion today may be better suited for my brothers’ casino with her black cat energy, but boy, does she shine here in my place.
Despite having my own space at the family estate, nothing quite feels like home the way Angelo does.
It would explain why I keep a suite here for me and stay in it more often than not.
I enjoy the sounds of laughter that fill the hallways as opposed to the silence of my father’s home, only interrupted by the occasional grunt of approval or derision.
Unlike my brother Luca, my father isn’t the strong, silent type, but by the time I came along, his heir had been born, and he had no use for me.
He has no problem reminding me that’s still the case.
“I can see why you’re so proud of this place,” Jasmine says, returning me to our conversation. “It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
I take her in. Jasmine’s black jumpsuit makes her stand out in the sea of light, her golden hair a halo. She’s the angel who came to rescue my darkened soul, and she’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen. “I have.”
Her eyes stop roaming the expansive lobby we’ve returned to and fix on mine. I offer a soft smile, and for a moment, I think her beautiful face will reciprocate. Instead, she clears her throat.
“I appreciate the tour of the grounds, but I think it’s best if I head home now. Goodbye, Mr. Caruso.”
Spinning on her black stilettos, Jasmine strides to the door, and it takes me a moment to release myself from the absolute chokehold she put me under and come to the realization she’s trying to escape. “Wait,” I say to her beautiful backside, “you haven’t even seen the casino.”
She quickens her pace, pretending not to hear me. As she reaches the doors we entered not nearly long enough ago, I quickly contemplate whether or not to hit her where it hurts. A good man would keep his mouth shut and allow her to leave. Unfortunately for her, I’m a Caruso.
“It would be a shame to have to tell Mr. Jorgensen that his newest attorney walked out on me.”
Her heels silence before she slowly turns around. If her eyes were daggers, I have no doubt I’d be dead. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket with a smirk and shake it at her. Jasmine charges my way, as though she’s a bull and I just waved the red flag.
“Calm down, mio toro. I would only call if you actually left. Fortunately, it looks as though you plan to stay and see the other side of my business.”
She huffs, and I grin at her bullish ways. She’s so fucking cute.
“You truly know how to infuriate a woman,” she mutters.
I grin. “I started at a young age.”
“Since birth?” Jasmine snorts.
I shrug. “Since conception.”
“Your poor mother.”
“My poor sister,” I correct, and I can’t help but smile when I see Jasmine’s eyes widen.
“You have a sister? Who? Where is she? I didn’t see her listed on any of the properties. It was only Giovanni, Luca, and Dario Caruso.” Her barrage of questions and piqued curiosity gives me hope she might not end the tour sooner rather than later.
“If you want answers, I suppose you’ll have to follow me into the casino.” I extend my arm in the direction of the bells and whistles that bring my patrons a false hope. She eyes me skeptically, but eventually her inquisitive nature takes over and she steps into my territory.
Weaving around tables where chips are tossed and cards are played, Jasmine continues with her questions, “Wait, you said since conception, as in, you’ve been a pain in the ass since you were in the womb. Is your sister your twin?”
“See?” I smile. “Your twang can’t mask that brilliance.”
She pulls the signature roll of her eyes, then speaks carefully. “You have a twin sister.”
“I do.”
“Living?” Jasmine asks.
My tone darkens. “She better be.”
“You’re not sure? When’s the last time you spoke with her?”
My steps falter, and I rub my chest where a sudden pain has lanced through. The memory of my sister is distant these days, and while I’m the one who teased Jasmine with the mention of her, I wasn’t prepared for it to be such a heavy conversation. “Twelve years.”
Jasmine stops beside me, her face outlined in hurt. “What happened twelve years ago?”
“She married.”
Her face contorts into confusion. “Why would that stop the two of you from having contact? Did she marry your best friend behind your back?”
“Definitely not.”
“Okay…” She draws the word out. “Then your mortal enemy?” Her tone deepens on the last two words, and I can’t help but smile at her like this. It’s a softer version of the serious side I’ve seen.
I shrug. “It’s what her husband wants. They had their wedding, and when she took his last name, she cut ties with ours.”
Her nostrils flare and her hands ball into fists, and I can’t help but smile at the fire stirring inside her. “What he wants? What about what she wants? What type of husband doesn’t allow his wife to speak to her family once they get married?”
The type who runs the Irish Mob, but I can’t tell her that. I shrug. “It’s the arrangement that was made. Her husband checks in with my father weekly, discussing business, their status on procreation, and an update as to what she’s doing.”
“Their status on procreation?” Jasmine is gritting her teeth, and if she wasn’t so damn sexy right now, I might be scared.
“It’s the arrangement that was made,” I repeat.
“What kind of marriage has an arrangement like that?”
I laugh. “An arranged one.”