Page 17 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
He cocks his head and looks genuinely perplexed. “Anyway…” It’s hard to tell with his face being so damn chiseled but I’m detecting an affronted scowl. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“You, um,what?” I tip an ear in his direction. “You thought I’d bepleasedyou just shot someone to death two feet to my right, for no apparent reason? Are you insane?”
I pause for less than two seconds. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
In a beat I like the barber chair a lot less than I did a few minutes ago. Bernadi plants his hands either side of me on each arm rest and brings his face close to mine. In a bid to not stare at the ragged scar down the left side of his face I focus on his eyes—dark olive pools dancing with annoyance. They’re almost disarming.
“What were you doing?” I say in a scheming whisper. “Showing off?”
“Yeah.” His voice is playful. “Flowers and chocolates don’t do the trick anymore. Seems only a bullet can get a girl’s attention these days.”
The longer he stares at me, the shorter my breaths become. I can feel sweat surfacing through my pores. I’m protected against this man but somehow he still manages to make me feel afraid.
He pushes his weight off the chair and folds his arms across his chest. I notice he’s removed his jacket and his sleeves are rolled up. Ink upon ink upon ink. He doesn’t look like a law-literate advisor to me; he looks like amobster. I need to swallow.
His jaw works from side to side. “He was stalking you.”
I tip my chin slightly. “Yes, I know.”
He lowers his glare. “Youknow? Did you know he’s been stalking you for six months?”
I fold my own arms in front of my chest, noticing his gaze dip then quickly return to my face. “Trythree years, actually.”
His head ticks to one side like he must have misheard or something, but he doesn’t respond.
“He was harmless,” I say with a sigh. “Sure, he would hang out in the shadows and follow me when it got dark?—”
Bernadi flings a hand toward the window and his voice pitches. “He was following you today and it’s broaddaylight.”
“Well, yeah. I guess he’s become a bit more bold the last few months?—”
“Threeyears?” Bernadi runs a distractingly large hand through his thick, black hair. “Why didn’t you tell someone? Your father? Cristiano?”
I wriggle off the seat in the manner of a toddler who can’t reach the floor, and stand, wobbling only slightly. Then I glare at him.
“Where have you been, Bernadi? You know what my family has been through. First, my mama’s murder, then my sister’s engagement to that trigger-happy, child-traffickingfreak. And the mess Papa had to unwind once Savero was gone…” I throw a glance to the window and back. “That guy out there was harmless. What would have been the point in making my aunt and Papa worry when they really could do with a break?”
He seems to recoil slightly without moving a muscle. “What about your safety, Contessa? Your future.”
That makes me laugh. “Like you care about anyone’s future.”
His brow furrows in confusion but I’m not going to waste my time educating him on what exactly has formed my immovable view of his outlook on life. “I have a dance class to get to.”
I’m about to turn when his fingers sear into my upper arm.
“Don’t I at least get a thank you?”
The look of confusion has slid from his face and it’s been replaced by a devious glint in his eye. Well, I don’t care how bordering-on-handsome that glint makes him look, I’m not entertaining him a second longer.
“For what? Shooting a guy in the head or introducing me to perhaps the comfiest chair known to man?” I punctuate with a sweet smile.
He ignores my question. “Like it or not, Contessa. I probably just saved you.”
A thread of dark hatred wraps itself around my spine and lowers my voice to the level of vindictive. “Well, in future, don’t bother, Bernadi. I don’t need saving. Least of all from you.”
Then I walk straight out of the barbershop to the sound of a razor being rinsed, a comb tapping against a metal dish and a couple jaws dropping.
Benito
