Page 57 of Caruso
He grips my face between his hands and kisses mehard before whispering, “No, you don’t, but it will save me a shitload of worry.”
My heart actually flutters as he demonstrates how much he cares. To be honest, they all have, even Tommaso this past week.
They don’t expect me to lift a finger, and anything I want is provided. They live their lives like kings, and subsequently that means I get to live like a queen. I never expected this when I walked into their hotel. At best, I wanted to ask for their help, to pay them back somehow by working for them. This superseded my wildest dreams, and yet it feels so right. As if I was always meant to be here—with the Caruso brothers.
Giorgio has a word with the mysterious Hallam, who merely nods and then continues to stare around with an angry frown.
Then Giorgio points to a seat in the corner and says roughly, “Stay there and don’t move. Watch and learn, my little butterfly. If I lose, you have my permission to finish the job.”
“Kill you?” I pretend to think about that before shrugging, “If you insist, it will be my pleasure.”
His eyes gleam with lust, and I shiver inside. Giorgio is an unpredictable Casanova. His attention is all-encompassing and I doubt I will match him in the bedroom. I’m new at this after all, and I’m guessing he has particular tastes that don’t align with mine—yet, anyway.
As he strips off his t-shirt, my mouth waters. He is fit—really fit. His muscles are huge and dance as if they have a life of their own. The ink that is similar to Matteo’sdecorates his body, and I notice the initials LC intertwined with a rose. Matteo has the same tattoo, and I wonder if it’s their mother. It could be. They don’t talk much about their family, then again, I try not to either. I’m aware they had a hard upbringing, but there is something dark in their past they are not telling me about.
If anything, that makes me sad because it means they don’t fully trust me yet. I have told them every detail of my life, but I know little of theirs.
The bell sounds, and my attention diverts to the ring and I note the beast heading toward Giorgio, whose face is a frozen glare of derision.
I hold my breath as they square up to one another, the noise from the crowd deafening, and as the bell rings, I gasp as the beast throws a punch that could kill a man on contact. However, Giorgio is lighter, faster and as he pummels into the beast, I note the blood flying from the guy’s nose, his hands covering his face as Giorgio pounds him relentlessly. He attempts to fight back, but Giorgio catches him on the ropes, and the crowd chants, ‘Finish him’ in a mad frenzy of bloodlust.
Giorgio throat punches the guy, and his hands fly to protect it as he roars his defense while Giorgio sticks two fingers in his eyes. The man howls and flays around wildly and then Giorgio grasps his balls and twists, causing the man to double up in agony. All the time Giorgio’s fists fly, left, right, up and down. Blood is flying everywhere and loud angry bellows of rage come from deep inside the guy who is attempting to defend himself but not succeeding at all.
As the bell rings and the referee holds up Giorgio’s arm and declares him the winner, I stare at the scene with complete fascination.
Well, fuck me, that shit turned me on way too much, and now all I can think of is how long it will take to get back to the penthouse.
Giorgio is invincible. It certainly seems that way and collects his prize money, apparently with no spare thought for the man who is in need of hospital attention. I guess he knew the rules, knew the score, and the damage he suffered was a consequence of that because Giorgio won the fight fairly and with dishonor.
I’m concerned as he wipes the guy’s blood from his face.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not at all.”
He appears more angry that he was a pussy and didn’t put up a good fight.
With a sigh, he grasps my hand, intent on getting the hell out of this place.
“You won a lot of money.”
I remind him as we spill into the daylight, and he shrugs. “If you say so.”
“Deny it then.”
The fact that he earned twenty-thousand dollars for this fight is certainly a huge payday forsome, but I’m guessing not for a man who owns a third of the most successful hotel and casino in Vegas right now.
“Take it.”
He stuffs it into my hand, and my heart races.
“I can’t take your money.”
“Our money.” He pins me with a firm glare. “You are one of us now, Taylor. Money isn’t an object anymore, and that is yours to do what the fuck you want with it. Save it, spend it on shit, or gamble it away in the casino. Donate it or merely toss it in the trash. I couldn’t give a fuck.”
“But–” I stare at the bag in my hand. It looks as if I grabbed takeout. Nobody would know there is a huge stack of dollar bills in the brown paper bag, and I wonder what else Vegas hides behind an unobtrusive disguise.
“Call it payment if you like.”
