Page 19 of His Vicious Vow
He nods. “My dad was Luca Moretti’s second, Luca’s uncle he was named for. Dad should have taken over when Luca was killed. But the mafia is all about nepotism. If there weren’t a chance I would succeed him, Gianni Moretti the Don out of Chicago might have allowed it. Since Moretti saw Vegas as belonging to the Moretti’s whether Luca had the last name or not he ordered it to be Al as Al was basically only a place-holder until Luca was old enough to take over.”
“You helped Luca take over when Luca was eighteen and you were how old? How did that happen with Luca so young?”
“Nineteen. Yeah, Al was an idiot. He slowly ran the business into the ground because he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He attempted to renegotiate with the Reyes cartel on the cost of what we paid. The dumbass got shot and lost the shipment we paid for. So me, my dad, and Luca went after it. It didn’t go well. Well, in the end it did but…it took a minute.” His forefinger runs around the base of the glass.
Unease fills me at how sad his blue eyes are. “What happened?”
“I got shot and ended up in a hospital bed for two months. The doctors said I would never walk again. My mom wouldn’t let that happen. Every day she was at my bedside. She worked harder than the doctors and physical therapists on me. If it hadn’t been for her, I would probably be dead. I wanted to eat my gun a dozen times in the first few weeks.” He clenches his jaw tight.
“But you walk fine now. Because of your mom.” I long to run my hand over his jaw. The idea of him in a hospital bed twists something deep inside my chest. I don’t like him. But I don’t like the idea of him hurt, shot…
He shakes his head. “No, because it cost my mother her life. She started drinking to cope with the stress and fear of me in the hospital. My mom was never a drinker but she went from a glass every once in a while to full blown alcoholic within a year. Then she got in a car and drove. Thank god, she only killed herself but the guy she hit got banged up too.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s such a pitiful word.
“It happened a long time ago.” He shrugs.
Desperate to fill the quiet. “So, your sister, does she live with you?”
“Yeah, she spent the first year at UNLV in the dorm, but she hated it. Right now, we live in the penthouse suite in the property in old Vegas. When I go back, we’ll move into the penthouse suite of the property on the strip. That reminds me, did I read in your file you’re allergic to cats?” Lines on his forehead appear and deepen.
I nod. “I wish I weren’t. But even the ones I’m not supposed to be allergic like the Siberians leave me scratching until I draw blood, my eyes don’t just water it looks like I’m sobbing or something. I’ve been checked and the doctors say I don’t have asthma but when I’m around a cat I wheeze like I’m asthmatic.”
A sigh. “Bianca’s going to be a brat. We took care of Bella’s cat for a few days and she asked me for one. I told her yes. Don’t tell her you’re allergic though. I don’t want her taking it out on you. I’ll tell her I changed my mind. She’s going to live with us but the penthouse is large enough you’ll have your own space too, for an office or whatever.” He assures me.
“I thought you said I would have my own room.”
One side of those thick, plush lips slide up. “That was before I tasted your pussy. I have no desire to chase you around the penthouse in front of my little sister.”
I’m refusing to acknowledge his dirty words. “How old is your sister?”
“She’s twenty-one, only a year younger than you.” The look of disgust is clear on his face.
“What?” My chest twists wondering what the look of disgust means.
His sigh is heavy. “If a man fifteen years older than my sister tried to get with her, I’d cut his balls off. Then there’s the fact you’re cute. Cute isn’t supposed to be sexy. Yet you’re this improbable mix of sweet and sexy. It feels all kinds of wrong.”
God, why does he have to be so…mafia men didn’t care about women. Women were chips to be bartered with, to have babies and cook meals and sit down and shut up when it came to their husbands sleeping around. But they also have to smile and stand up beside them in public.
Before I can find my tongue again our food appears. This time the waitress isn’t as wide eyed and smiling.
We eat in silence for the most part. He offers me several bites of his appetizer and I offer him some of mine. It’s oddly, safe and comfortable two things I’ve never felt when I tried going out with a man and eating in front of him. I was always self-conscious. Sandro seems happy when I eat, not carefully counting each calorie like Ben did in the past.
Nothing about the way he’s been tonight is how I thought he would be after the first meeting in the library. I remember him saying he couldn’t let Carlo know he was pleased with me. Pleased, what did that mean? Was it how much he wanted to fuck me? Would he be this nice if he didn’t want to? He had said in the library I would have my own room and time to get used to being married. Then tonight he said he changed his mind. Did that mean he expected me to just give in and have sex with him? What would he do if he found out I was a virgin—would that be good or bad?
Confusion is running through me as he asks if I want dessert.
* * *
Sandro
There was a plan for tonight. Even before I met her. It would be where we could freely speak about what we both wanted and outline how we saw our marriage happening. Except once again the moment I’m near her the plan goes up in flames.
I hadn’t intended to touch her tonight—yet I couldn’t resist the moment I got close to her. I should be ashamed at the way I handled her—greedy for the taste of her mouth, for her whimpers of my name, for more of her come flooding my mouth. If I hadn’t remembered the ten minutes I requested from the hostess I would have laid her out on the table and had her pussy for my dinner.
Tony Sabatini was right. Carina is so much more than what was in the file. I want to know everything inside her head, her dreams, desires, fears, everything. I want to give her everything and protect her from her fears, from the world. Anything to keep her talking, to get a smile, her smiles are addictive.
I will never tell her how easy she is to read. She thinks she isn’t, and maybe if I hadn’t spent my childhood in a casino watching people and their tells she wouldn’t be.