“One.” This time, his voice is more of growl as he utters the word.
And before I even comprehend what is going on, he throws me over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you barbaric?—”
His hand digs into my flesh as he makes his way to what I assume to be his car. “Don’t push me. I’m not going to take your shit. You’re not someone I want to be around, but I’ve made a deal with your brother. So make this easier for the both of us and behave yourself.”
He sets me down, and if I wasn’t pissed, I’d take my chance and kiss him.
God, why does he have to be such an asshole?
Nicolo steps back, as if being too close to me will burn him.
Crossing my arms, I give him a scowl. “I have no reason to make this easier on you. I don’t want to leave New York. My brothers want me to.”
Nicolo ignores me, opening the back door with one hand while keeping the other in the pocket of his suit pants. This man is infuriatingly attractive, and I don’t even think he knows it.
I brush past him and get in the car. The brute will probably throw me in there if I don’t get in on my own accord. I watch him round the car’s hood and slide into the passenger seat beside me. His tattooed hands slide over the middle cushion as if he’s greeting his lover and not his car as he signals for the driver to start the car.
“Is there something you want to say, or are you just staring for the sake of staring?” His gruff voice startles me, and my gaze snaps to meet his.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was teasing me.
“Don’t be so cocky. I’m not staring, I was just thinking of a way to get rid of you.” I turn to look out the window as we pull out of my family’s townhouse parking.
We’re stuck at a traffic light when he mutters, “Big mistake.”
“What is?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Showing your hand so early.”
Men like Nicolo always want something: power, control, obedience. And men like him always crack when you give them exactly what they pretend not to want.
Fine.
I’ll do whatever it takes to gain my freedom. I will play the part of the problem he thinks I am, even if it means I have to step on my pride to get what I want.
5
NICOLO
Idon’t know how I got myself into the position of babysitting the younger sister of Emiliano Folonari.Jailbaitwould be a light word to describe this girl.
She’s curled up on the other side of the car like it’s her chaise lounge, wearing a pink romper with little stars on it, soft cotton clinging to her like it was stitched there on purpose. Like someone designed it just to piss me off.
Mara Folonari. Barely twenty-one, but she’s got the kind of beauty that would make saints weep and killers kneel. She smells like strawberries and some floral perfume that costs more than most people make in a month.
She’s twirling a piece of her hair, staring out the tinted window like we’re just on a road trip. Pretending to be completely unfazed.
I don’t look at her, not directly. I don’t need to. I canfeelher. Like heat from a fire too close to the skin.
She turns her head, eyeing me. “You always this grumpy, or is it just around women?”
Her lips curl at the corners, like she already knows the answer.
My jaw tics. If she knew how close I am to pulling her over my knee just to remind her I’m not one of her brothers’ lapdogs, maybe she’d stop testing me. But she doesn’t. Or worse—she does, and she likes it.
“Is that a yes?” she pushes, adjusting her position so the hem of that ridiculous romper rides up her thigh.
