Page 58 of The Merciless Don's Bride

But having sexual attraction is one thing. Liking him is another.

“You really are beautiful, Cassandra Luciano,” he murmurs.

This time I shiver for a completely different reason.

****

I breathe a sigh of relief when we finally arrive back home.

Sometime in the past couple of weeks, I’ve started to think of the huge mansion as home. And I’m not even upset about it. The truth is, the mansion is warmer than the home I grew up in. I’ve only ever really had my dad. My dad and my best friends. But Maxine and Chloe didn’t live in the same house as me.

It was just me and my dad. And it was lonely at times.

The Luciano compound is anything but lonely. There’s always someone no matter where I turn. Whether it’s stuffy bodyguards. Or Renata, Lila and Ana, Sofia, hell even Damien himself. It’s really hard to feel alone here. Maybe that’s why it’s grown on me so much.

We’re standing in the foyer, waiting while Luca and the rest of the men do a sweep of the house and our rooms. Damien’s being extra cautious because nothing went wrong at the wedding. No drama, no attacks. It’s almost too good to be true.

I now live in a world where nobody dying on a special occasion seems suspicious.

“Can I just go? I’m exhausted,” I murmur crossing my arms over my chest.

Damien’s leaning against the wall beside me. An entire day of festivities and he still looks amazing in his suit. Although he’s taken off his jacket and tie, and his sleeves are rolled up. Which is such a dangerous look on him. Entirely too enticing.

I look away, my jaw clenching as I try to banish any unwanted thoughts.

“You’ve barely eaten all day,” he points out.

“I’m not hungry.”

He arches an eyebrow in disbelief.

“It’s late,” I say, backpedaling. “Renata’s asleep and so is everyone else, probably. I’ll just eat in the morning.”

“Or you could eat now,” he says, pushing off the wall. “Come on, I’ll cook for you.”

My mouth nearly drops open, “You’ll what? You can cook?”

“Don’t act so surprised,mi vida. I’m multitalented.”

“When did you even have time to learn how to cook? Between learning to kill people and building a mobster empire?”

“Pretty much yeah,” he replies easily.

Despite my lack of belief, I follow him down the hallway toward the empty kitchen. Once we get there, he gestures for me to take a seat while he starts pulling out ingredients to make the fettuccine alfredo. I watch him as he does his thing for a bit, both of us quiet. Which is nice, but of course he has to break it.

“You haven’t said anything, you know.”

“About?” I question.

“What you remembered.”

I shift a little in the chair, exhaling softly.

“I have nothing to say.”

“How about sorry for forgetting you, Damien?”

I glimpse some genuine hurt in his eyes and it makes me feel slightly guilty. It’s easy to think of Damien as steel. Untouchable and utterly unshakeable but the truth is he’s human too. A human with feelings. Feelings I probably hurt by forgetting a night that meant a lot to him.

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