Page 38 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
Sweat drips down the walls, and my skin pulses to the music. Sandrine’s two friends are making out with each other on the sofas, while we hover at the edge of the dance floor, sipping our drinks while swaying our hips to the music.
“Honey, we need to do this more often,” Sandrine says, pulling on a Long Island iced tea. “I didn’t realize how well you let your hair down, mocktail aside.”
“It’s because they never let me out,” I shout over the music before slurping my virgin mojito through a straw.
She laughs because she thinks I’m joking, but it’s going to become my reality before I know it. I’m pretty sure if Savero knew where I was right now, he’d have security lining the walls. I’ve already noticed a few curious heads turning. It hasn’t taken long for word to get around that I’ll be a part of the notorious family in a few short weeks. The only person entirely oblivious to my predicament—partly because she refuses to acknowledge the Cosa Nostra exists, and partly because she wants me to be perpetually single with her—is Sandrine.
Her gaze catches on something, but I’m too happy and adrift to give it much thought. Then she leans into my ear.
“Don’t look now, but there’s a fucking gorgeous guy sitting by the bar, and he’sstaringat you.”
My skin tingles—until I remember that’s not a good thing. In fact, it’s terrible. As demonstrated by my future brother-in-law’s propensity for disabling bartenders who don’t call cabs for drunk women, a man could meet his maker if he so much aslooksat me the wrong way.
“Ignore him,” I shout over the music. “Besides, I’m engaged. I told you.”
Sandrine flicks her hair back over one shoulder and bats her lashes in the direction of the bar. “I’ll believe you have a fiancé when I see him for myself.”
I roll my eyes, because the day Savero lets me parade him around in front of my friends will most likely be the day hell freezes over.
“If you’re not going to make a play for him, I will. How have I not seen him around here before? He’d be a permanent fixture in mydreams, let alone my fantasies. God, he’d make the cutest babies.”
I’m not the type of girl to make a play for anyone, but curiosity gets the better of me. I feign a slow twirl to the music, panning my gaze past the object of her obsession.
The idea was to keep on going, but his stare roots me to the spot.
The look in his eyes islethal.
“It’s Cristiano,” I say on a gasp.
He’s leaning against a stool, his legs spread as if he’s much too tall to be accommodated. His elbows rest on the bar, his jacket falling open. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing just enough bare chest to make a woman’s throat go dry.
Sandrine stops at my side. “You know him?”
His eyes have locked mine into a battle of wills.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Honey, there is no ‘un’ about it. Whoishe?”
“My fiancé’s brother.” As I say the words, they feel foreign. He’s more than that, but it’s way too much to articulate.
Her mouth hangs open, yet she still manages to speak. “Shit. I hope for your sake those ‘I want to bend you over and fuck you from here to Peru’ eyes run in the family.”
“I have to go talk to him.” His expression says it’s nonnegotiable. “I’ll be right back.”
The music pounds in my ears as I weave my way across the dance floor through writhing, sweaty bodies.
He doesn’t move an inch as I step right up to him. Doesn’t even sit up.
Cristiano has seen me on a night out once before, but this time feels different. This time he knows I’m engaged and that I probably shouldn’t be here.
I drop my eyes to the tumbler of whiskey he’s dangling between a finger and a thumb. I slide my hand around the glass, brushing against his, before lifting it to my lips. I’m shocked at my own behavior, but the way his gaze follows the movement and fixes on my mouth makes me feel bold.
I swallow and feel the smooth scotch heating my throat. Then I lick my lips and place the glass back in his hand. “Meeting someone?”
His gaze trails over my outfit, and frustratingly, his expression doesn’t register a thing. “No.”
“Then why are you here?”
