Page 60 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
Apparently, it’s entirely possible to be intimidated by a closet.
The next closet contains drawers. A brief look into each reveals Cristiano is a fan of Marie Kondo, or his housekeeper is. I’ve never seen underwear rolled and stacked in real life before, and he doesn’t make a habit of storing secrets in his clothing. No guns, no business cards, no mementoes.
I pull a pair of running shorts from a drawer dedicated solely to this particular breed of shorts and pull a T-shirt from one of the hangers above me. Both drown me, but I have very few other options. Stay naked or walk around in a towel all day.
I cast my gaze across the rest of the room. It looks like it’s never been slept in. The bed is enormous and made of solid wood. The sheets are dark and pristine. There are two nightstands, each boasting simple but very expensive-looking lamps. On one sits a John Grisham thriller and a pair of reading glasses. I try to imagine Cristiano wearing reading glasses and then immediately squash the idea, because eventhatmakes my legs tremble.
I leave the room and walk back to the kitchen. Cristiano glances up and does a double-take. Then he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead.
“It smells good.” I perch on one of the stools around the island. “Arrabbiata?”
He scoffs as if creating something so simple is beneath him. “Puttanesca.”
My stomach rumbles despite the fact I don’t feel any form of appetite.
A corner of his mouth curls slightly before he wipes that away too. “It’s a specialty,” he adds. “Whore’s pasta.” He picks up a bottle of vodka and splashes some into the sauce.
“Shouldn’t a good little Italian boy leave the cooking to the mamas or the wives?”
He arches a brow and reaches for two bowls. “Who says my wife will know how to cook?”
Something flares inside of me, and I laugh nervously. “All Italian girls are expected to be able to cook.”
“And who says my wife will be Italian?”
I frown. “But isn’t that the Cosa Nostra way? All made men must marry an Italian woman.”
“I’m no longer a part of the Cosa Nostra,” he says, spooning pasta into the bowls. He picks them up and turns to face me, his eyes hard and dark. “So I can marry whomever I want.”
I feel his words like a punch, and it knocks my gaze to the floor. “Are you trying to make me jealous?” I ask quietly.
I hear him place the bowls on the counter. “No.” His footsteps grow nearer until he squats down and brings his face to mine. “I’m simply telling you the facts.”
Emotions collide in my chest. Part of me wants to push him away, because being this close to him is taunting me.Taintingme. But another part of me wants to push my fingers through his hair, dig my tips into his scalp, and pull his lips onto mine. I breathe heavily, sure he can smell the lust on my breath.
“No one ever leaves the Cosa Nostra,” I whisper.
His eyes take on a heavy tincture. “As I said, I’m the exception. On account of my mother’s murder.”
“Didn’t you want to stay and get your revenge?”
He grinds his jaw. “Yes. More than anything. But I moved on. For her. She loved my father, but she hated this life. She lived in fear every day that one of us would be taken too soon. I made a vow to stick around for as long as I could, and that means getting out of this life. Of course, it helped having the city’s most lethal don for a father.”
My gaze roams his face. He really is staggeringly beautiful. It makes my knees weak and my heart hurt. Without thinking, I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, and his eyes dip. His chest seems to swell, and his breathing deepens. Then he stands quickly. He pushes a bowl and a fork toward me.
“Now eat.”
Cristiano sits on the other side of the island as though he doesn’t trust me or himself. But he watches me intently as I push the food around.
“It’s delicious,” I say, feeding another piece of penne into my mouth. It really is delicious, but there are so many butterflies racing around my stomach I’m worried I might throw up if I force any food down.
“Is that why you’ve only taken three bites?”
“I told you, I’m not very hungry.”
“When you’re in my house and under my watch, you’ll do as I say. Eat three more bites.”
My eyes widen. I’m about to protest, but his steady, threatening gaze halts me.
