She isn’t what I expected to find when I stormed through the doors today. Truthfully, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Maybe someone more worldly, with a calculating gleam in their eyes. Someone who might be capable of orchestrating the operation I only recently learned was happening at Hart Pharmacy.
But just based on the few minutes of watching her work, she seems too professional. Appears too innocent at first glance. And somehow, my gut tells me that might prove to be the most dangerous thing about her.
“Can I help you, sir?” She asks, voice faint through the glass but assertive, not scared. Not yet.
“Are you lost?”
I don’t respond, which I can see pisses her off, as was my intention.
She studies me the way you’d study an insect on the bottom of your shoe, and I quickly realize I don’t like the look of disapproval in her eyes when she looks at me. Not at all.
Normally, I don’t give a shit what people think. Matter of fact, I get off on the disapproval and fear. But for whatever reason, I want this angel to like what she sees. I want her to see who I am beneath the facade I’ve always shown to the rest of the world.
Her eyes hover over my neck. They don’t stay there for long. She’s far too polite for that, but I can see it. The way her gaze lingers for a second, the way her throat works when she swallows.
I’m used to people staring at me, not just because of my size or deadly reputation, but because of the deep scar running below my Adam’s apple, raised and pale against the olive skin of my neck.
I study her as well. She’s petite, maybe five feet tall on a good day, and so small she could fit in my lap. I like that idea, and in my mind, I’d make her stay there until I’m done with her. Done doing all the depraved things that would steal the innocence from her pretty cornflowerblue eyes, fluster her adorable professional demeanor, and make her moan my name.
After seeing her today, despite the glass separating me from her, I have a strong desire to see what’s beneath that lab coat and do all of those things and more to little Evangeline Hart. My cock strains against the zipper of my slacks when I think of the ways I could take her. On her knees, in her pouty lips, with her sweet mouth swallowing every bit of my cum down her throat.
Focus, Dante.That’s not why I’m here. Taking a breath, I will my hard-on to go down before she can see what she does to me.
Wearing faded jeans, a Hello Kitty tee shirt, and pink Converse shoes, this woman might be mistaken for a teenager if not for the white coat with the embroidered letters of her profession. She’s so very fucking young, but obviously not a teenager.
I point my finger at her and motion for her to join me outside her lab. Not a request, but a demand in a simple gesture.
She hesitates just long enough to show she’s not used to being summoned. “Yes? What do you need?” Her brows are raised, and she’s impatient for me to answer. I don’t know her yet, but I like this side of her. The pride, the stubbornness, the sass. I really hope she’s bratty because nothing is more rewarding than taming a brat.
She continues to look at me, trying to look me straight in the eyes. It doesn’t work. Most people can’t stand my eyes for more than a second or two because I’m told they’re too dark, without feeling, enigmatic. No one ever bests me in a staring contest. Just ask Luca. Pisses him off every time.
She lasts about five seconds longer than most.
Then, finally deciding I’m not going away anytime soon, she unlocks the door and steps into the hallway, shoulders back, arms crossed. “Look, my uncle’s not here. If you want to leave a message . . .”
“I’m Dante Vescari,” my voice comes out in a low rasp.
“Okayyy?” she says, almost sarcastically, drawing out the word like that name should mean something, like she’s trying to place me, wracking her brain. “Should I know who you are?”
Hell, half this city knows who I am, but this girl clearly doesn’t. That’s shocking, but then again, she’s never met me. It’s probably a good thing, because seeing me in person doesn’t usually bode well for people.
Any previous dealings my family had with the Harts were through my father, her father, and our fathers before them. I rarely, if ever, make an appearance in the neighborhood, so that might explain why she’s been in the dark. The businesses under my protection usually deal with those working for me, such as Luca or my soldiers on the streets.
Today, however, required my personal attention.
“Again, Mr. Vescari, I’m not sure if I can help you…” she trails off, unsure what to say. For the first time, I see unease in her features.
“You’ll do,” I cut her off abruptly, using few words. “You run this place?” I gesture towards the front, never dropping eye contact. The gravelly tenor of my voice adding to her nervousness.
Most people hear my voice and look away, unsettled, the gravelly rasp making them uncomfortable. I knowthey whisper about its origins behind my back, trying to figure out how it got that way.
Where did the scar come from? There are many theories floating around the city, some crazier than others, which amuse me. They want to know if it was a knife that ripped my throat and tore my vocal cords and how I survived such a horrible injury?
Rightfully, I should have died that night. There are even the very superstitious who think that perhaps I’m immortal. Reborn from the grave to walk the earth, completing unresolved Vescari business, and haunting those who have ever crossed my family.
They can take their pick. I let them wonder. Only my closest associates and Luca know the truth of what happened, but the truth doesn’t matter. What matters is that they fear it.
That they fear me.
