It turns out nearly getting my neck cut makes me hungry as hell. I demolish the giant plate of seafood pasta Dom hands mein a few minutes. He shakes his head when I catch his eye and try to point unobtrusively towards the buffet for a second helping.
It’s definitely a punishment for the bodysuit.
Slumping, I blink as another helping slides onto my plate. “You know, Morelli, people are going to start talking if you keep doing nice things for me.”
“Eat your pasta.” His voice is moody, and when I glance up, his eyes are still pinned to my neck. “And then go and get that looked at.”
Assessing the pasta and ignoring Dom’s irritated face, I decide that it’s highly unlikely Luc would poison himself just to get to me and start working my way through. It takes me a few minutes to come up for air. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks fucking horrendous.” His knuckles are white as they wrap around the arm of his chair. “Don’t be a fool, little crow. You get too confident, and someonewillcatch you. You’re not invincible.”
“You say that like you’d miss me if I was gone.”
The words slip out, teasing in a way I’d normally reserve for Domenico, and I’m too late to yank them back. Frowning, I stare into my empty plate.
For Dom, yes, but not for Luciano Morelli. Our discussions are normally a mixture of veiled threats and pointed jibes.
When we were fourteen, he spent an entire year editing photos of me with spots all over my face and sending them to my phone. All because I hadoneparticularly gross spot on my chin, and I turned up at a Cosa Nostra social with a little too much concealer on it. He laughed himself hoarse. I made my father pay for a specialist skin treatment.
When we were sixteen… well. We don’t talk about that particular moment of insanity. Ever.
But this is not what we do.
Enough time passes that I deem it safe enough to look up. But it’s a mistake.
Because when I do, he’s right there, those too damn pretty hazel eyes fixed to my face.
“Maybe I would miss you,” he says softly. “Because this world would be a fucking miserable place without you in it, little crow.”
It might be the single nicest thing he’s ever said to me. And my fucking stomachflips.
Shit.
Shit.
I stand up in a fluster, pulling myself together just enough to watch for any more flying knives as I almost run from the hall. Dom and my entourage of bodyguards follow me, Dom demanding to know what the matter is as I fend him off with weak excuses about my neck hurting.
He doesn’t buy it. I know he doesn’t. But neither of us say anything as he patches up the cut, cleaning it and confirming it doesn’t need stitches before I tell him I need space. Ignoring the hurt in his eyes as he leaves, taking up a post outside and telling me to lock the doors.
Once I’m locked in, I crawl into bed, tugging the covers over my head. Breathing deeply, I try to work out exactly why thefuckI seem to be having feelings for three men at the same time.
None of whom are an appropriate choice.
All of whom seem to be looking in my direction.
I’m no good at this. Put a gun in my hand and point me at a target? I’ll hit it every time. Knives? Fuckingyes. The possibility of death? I’ll face it with a smile on my face and I’ll take as many of my fucking enemies down as I can with me.
But men? That’s a minefield I’ve never been particularly good at navigating.
Pulling out my phone, I send Amie a message to ask if she’s still awake, but the phone remains dark in my hand.
This is something I need my one and only female friend to help with.
I will also need wine.
Lotsof wine.
Chapter nineteen Caterina
