Page 6 of Die for You
“Who do you belong to?” I ask, unable to contain my amusement.
It almost feels foreign to laugh.
“Are you hungry?”
He barks happily.
Just as I stand, I hear a branch snap. On instinct, I turn and throat punch the young man behind me. He clutches his throat, gasping for air. I’m about to poke out his eye when the dog runs over to the man and anxiously circles him, ensuring he’s all right.
It’s apparent this man is the dog’s owner, and I just throat punched him.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” I say, trying to help him. He waves me off, backing away as he gasps for air.
Not that I can blame him. I did just attack him.
“You shouldn’t trespass.” I try to reason that my actions aren’t totally unhinged. But to keep a low profile, I can’t be punching people in the throat.
Note to self…
A string of Sicilian leaves him when he eventually gets the air back to his lungs. I have no clue what he’s saying, but it’s evident he doesn’t mean any harm.
“No Sicilian,” I say with a smile.
Although I know Italian, the Sicilian dialect is foreign to me.
“No English,” he replies with a thick accent.
Whether I’m lonely, or maybe the company is a distraction from the thoughts in my head, I make a hand gesture asking if he would like a drink.
He nods and waits for me to lead the way, seeing as I just attacked him. I doubt he wants a repeat performance of that. So I turn and walk up the stairs. The steps are hot, and it’s only now that I realize what I’m wearing, and it’s not much.
Sleep shorts and a tank. And that’s all. No underwear. No shoes. And my hair is a snarled mess. Not that it matters. I don’t plan on seeing him ever again.
I look around the large kitchen, wondering where the glasses are kept. I’ve been drinking straight from the tap, which is uncouth. I suppose I should try to act semi-human if I’m to oversee Gianna’s business.
I open and close the cupboards, hunting for glassware. I eventually find them and open the fridge, and I’m surprised to find it stocked with food and drinks. No doubt, Gianna’s doing.
Even thousands of miles away, she’s still looking after me.
I reach for the bottle of juice and pour us each a glass. I offer it to him and only just realize how tall he is. And how blue his eyes are. They contrast with his black hair. His handsome face is chiseled and covered in a five-o’clock shadow, which emphasizes the cleft in his chin.
He appears a little older than me. Maybe twenty-two. Not that it matters, but why am I suddenly wondering what his name is?
He sips his juice, watching me over the rim of his glass.
It’s quite comfortable being in his presence. There is no pressure to talk, seeing as we don’t understand each other.
“Mi chiamo Nico.”
“I’m Valentina. What’s your dog’s name?”
He arches a dark brow, clearly not understanding me.
I reach for a white bowl and pour some water into it, then place it on the floor for the dog. Nico understands when I point at the thirsty K-9.
“Lupo.”
I smile as I pat the dog’s scruffy head. “Hi, Lupo.”
