Page 18 of Caruso
I sound like a possessive asshole, but it’s the only language my brother understands.
A flicker of disappointment is my answer, and I relax as he sighs heavily.
“Message understood loud and clear. Is she staying?”
He jerks his thumb toward Taylor, and I hiss, “Fuck off, Giorgio. I won’t tell you again.”
With a deep sigh, he pushes back from the table and before he leaves, he stares Taylor straight in the eye and winks.
“I’ll see you around, angel.”
I roll my eyes as he flips me the bird, and as soon as the door closes behind him, I exhale sharply.
“I’m sorry about my brother.”
She shrugs and gazes after him with a thoughtful expression.
“Was that blood?”
She appears more interested than shocked, and I nod, knowing there is zero chance of covering up Giorgio’s hobby if she continues to be my house guest.
“He’s a fighter.” She states simply, and I shake my head.
“More than just a fighter, he’s also a judge, jury and executioner.”
“I see.”
Her eyes widen, and she appears thoughtful. I can almost sense her mind working overtime as she processes what I mean by that.
“He kills men.” She shifts uncomfortably on her seat and then adds, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”
I say nothing because she’s right. It is none of her business. Family is everything to the Carusos, and I’m not about to spill our secrets to a stranger, no matter how delightful she is.
She bends her head over her plate and eats silently, every last piece of food cleaned meticulously from it, a sigh of satisfaction signaling she has enjoyed her meal.
As I watch her, it stirs something restless in my heart. She appears to be so broken, fragile, a saint even. But I know better than that. She is a fallen angel, if anything. A demon in disguise because her ability doesn’t come from observation. She snapped that guy’s neck like a twig in the forest despite the fact he was three times her size.
I text the chef for the dessert and pour her a glass of wine, loving how her eyes widen in confusion.
“I don’t–”
“You do, Taylor.” I force a hardness into my voice that she wasn’t expecting, judging from the shocked gasp that belies her thoughts.
“I don’t understand.”
“Call it the beginning of your education.”
“My education. As a wine connoisseur?”
Her light laugh lifts my spirits, and I wonder when that last happened. I have become jaded over the years. That occurs when you get everything you want with no challenge. Not that she is presenting much of one, but there is something about Taylor that speaks to my soul. Is she a project, a fascination, an obsession even? She’s definitely something, and I’m interested in the blank canvas before me. Waiting for me to draw my mark across the unspoilt screen. Making her into the woman I want her to be. Into my woman, perhaps.
Her fingers taper around the stem of the glass, and her pensive expression halts my breath.
She wafts the glass under her nose, which shrinks in disgust, and I smile encouragement.
“It won’t bite.”
She says nothing and tentatively holds it to her lips, the red fruity wine wetting them slightly. My cock hardens as I sense those lips fit for an alternative purpose and as she sips a small amount, her eyes cloud in horror.
