“I don't waste my time on fools, Rosalia. Therefore, you are not one. Besides. You never have to make a fool of a fool. They are what they are without anyone turning them into one.” His hands slipped around my waist, pulling me so close that there was no room between us. “And I don’t try. I do. I’ve never missed. Which means I’m already under your skin.”
“That’s a unique way of explaining fools,” I breathed out, ignoring the second half of his comment. Because it was the damn truth. He was so far under my skin that he’d banged on my bones, slipped in through my blood, and was sitting in the center of my heart like a king—ruling me.
His eyes moved from my eyes to my lips. “Literal,” he said again. “Cuts out any confusion.”
I licked my lips, while my hands moved up his chest. “Let’s see if that’s true.Baciami.”
“Kiss you, ah?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Kiss me.”
He leaned down, and as light as a breath, placed his lips against mine. When he pulled away, I stood still, my eyes closed, fingers to my mouth, greedy to keep the sensation for as long as possible. I loved when he was rough with me. I loved when he could be gentle too. To me, that meant that I was different from anyone in his life. Because to the world, that was all Aniello Assanti was.
Ruthless.
“Rosalia.” His tone was light, but the way he always said my name made me feel like it was almost a prayer to him. Something reverent to have. Something entirely his.
“Yeah?” I blinked a few times, before I focused on him. “I’m here.”
He grinned and, eliciting awhoop!of surprise from me, picked me up. My arms were around his neck, my legs around his waist, his hands under my ass. He started walking toward the areas set up with a variety of outside exercise equipment, like outdoor pull-up bars, as Bambina followed us.
“What are you doing here?” I finally managed to ask. I also managed to take in his appearance, and it made me breathless again. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. He’d come prepared to take advantage of the set up. I couldn’t ever remember a time when his clothes were so casual. He was either in a suit or totally out of it. “I thought you had things to do.”
“Done,” he said.
He set me down on my feet by a group of pull-up bars. He took his shirt off and handed it to me. I took a seat on a bench next to them, Bambina sitting beside me, while he went to one and pulled himself up like he weighed nothing. Every one of his muscles bulged and rippled when he put them under the strain of his weight, even though he made it look so easy. When sweat started to run down his body, I licked my lips and looked away.
We had to talk.
“Aniello,” I said. “Things are changing, aren’t they?”
“Sì,” he said.
Even though my eyes were not on him, I could tell he was still using the pull-up bar.
“Shouldn’t we just leave? I feel it coming. Like a fire. We’ve been dancing around it, but each day we do something a little more obvious. A little more in their faces.”
The next thing I knew, he was sitting next to me, in my line of sight. I was starting to get used to how quick he was. How quiet. Except when he snuck up out of nowhere and I wasn’t expecting him. When he was around, or I knew he was coming, it was a given. It was just the way he moved. Being stealthy was a part of him, as much as his eye or hair color.
He took my chin in his hand. “I refuse to hide what’s mine,” he said. “I refuse to run for the rest of our lives. But the time has to be right. When it happens, it’ll be on our terms.”
“It’ll be a fight,” I said, “if we don’t run.”
“All great things are worth fighting for,” he said in Italian.
“Are worth dying for,” I said.
“Are worth living for.”
Our eyes connected and I nodded once.
“I trust you,” I said in Italian.
“Trust me to know when the time is right then.”
“I do.”
“I know them,” he said. “I am them.”
