I glare at him through the glass window as I open the car door and climb out. “Fancy another drink in your face, Luci?” I slam the door, daring him to play.
Luciano’s eyes darken again, just like they did at the club. “Next time you want to waste expensive whiskey,” he growls, stepping so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body, “I’ll make you lick it off my body.” His face flushes dark red, his anger barely contained.
“I’d rather lick a cactus,” I retort.
Mattia lets out a low chuckle behind us, clearly amused by my defiance. “Looks like Charlie’s going to keep us on our toes.”
“Vaffanculo, Mattia!”Fuck off, Mattia!Luciano’s chest rises and falls under his cashmere black shirt like a storm about to break. He moves toward me, forcing me back against the car, caging me in. Our bodies press tight together, every muscle, every bulge, I can feel, raw and undeniable. My body betrays me, arching forward slightly, aching to be touched by this handsome Neanderthal.
“Let me be clear, Principessa,” he snarls, his voice showing hints of danger. “My brothers and soldiers are off limits. They’re not toys for your amusement. If you want fun, buy yourself a pretty little vibrator to fuck, or if you think you can handle it, come find me. But LEAVE my men alone!”
With a scowl, Luciano pushes away from me, shoving me aside like I’m nothing but an irritation. His boots thunder against the pavement as he storms towards the mansion, leaving me breathless and slightly drenched. What just happened?
“Come on,” he snaps, his impatience cutting sharp. “Ho cose migliori da fare che farti da babysitter.”I have better things to do than babysit your ass.
I scramble on my feet, stepping in rhythm beside him as my eyes sweep over the mansion in front of me, my dress blowing gently with the breeze. More soldiers stroll along the driveway and two more stand guard at the front door. All the soldiers nod to Luciano as he leads me through the heavy oak doors, their creak announcing my arrival.
Inside, the vast foyer opens, polished marble floors gleam under the weight of the crystal chandelier, sparkling like a million stars. The wealth of the Carlisi family, on full display at the front door, leaves me breathless. It’s crazy to think this could all be mine in a year. I twirl around, taking it all in.
Luciano veers sharply to the right, and the air grows thick with the scent of herbs and roasted meat as we near the kitchen. A hive of activity can be heard. There, standing with the command of someone who’s seen it all, is an elderly woman. Her silver-white hair pinned back flawlessly, as she’s deep in conversation with the chef. Without turning, she speaks with a calm, steady voice to us. “Luciano, my dear, is that Charlie with you?”
My eyes snap wide open, disbelief anchoring me in place. I stare at her, searching for some clue. Luciano takes that as his cue to leave and strides out of the room without giving me so much as a glance or responding to this lady.
“Wait,” I blurt out, holding my hands up in the air. “How did you know I liked being called Charlie?”
She taps the side of her nose, as if that alone explains everything. Taking my hands in hers, she squints closely, as if trying to peer through me, and murmurs, “I can feel the Carlisi blood in you.” I’m not quite sure what to make of that.
She shakes her head like she’s trying to get rid of a bad smell and smiles. “I’m Rosa, sweetheart. If those boys give you trouble, you come find me. They might put on a tough front, but I’m not afraid to put them in their place.” Her hand pats mine gently, like a mother soothing a child.
I smirk. “Does that include Luci?”
Rosa shakes her head softly and steers me away from the kitchen, back down the quiet hallway. “Don’t close your heart to Luciano so quickly, my dear.”
“What?”
She ignores my response. “That is Pietro, our chef,” she says as he waves hello to me and continues to prepare dinner. She ushers us out and gestures to the room beside us. “This is the formal room.”
I peek inside to find a blend of old and new. Plush velvet sofas sit against walls draped with rich tapestries that whisper the family’s long history. Yet the space feels undeniably modern, a seamless blend of tradition and today. She moves us along the hall.
“This is the dining room,” Rosa says, pride in her voice. “The chef has dinner ready by seven sharp every night, unless he has been asked to delay it.”
The room is enormous. You could easily sit thirty to forty people in here. A sleek mahogany table stretches beneath the contemporary chandeliers, its surface set meticulously with gleaming silverware and fine china. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the perfectly private, maintained gardens outside.
“Who comes here for dinner?” I ask, curiosity pricking at me.
“All the boys, my dear.” Rosa pats my hand once more to signal we’re moving on.
“All the boys?” I press, but she smiles and ushers me to keep moving, like we’re wasting precious time.
The next room on the ground floor meets us with a library. Towering shelves of books reach up to the roof, a mix of old and new, neatly organized in rows. My eyes gape. I’ve never seen this many books in one place other than a public library.
Across from the library stands a set of double doors. “What’s in there?” I ask.
“The office,” Rosa says quietly. “You can see it another day. If the door is shut, Luciano’s not to be disturbed.” Curiosity chews at me, but I keep quiet, letting her guide me further into the mansion. “Down that hallway,” she points ahead, “you will find the gym, media room, and billiards room.”
“Seems like we have it all here,” I laugh.
Rosa guides me up the grand staircase in the foyer, its wrought-iron railing twisting upward like a dark ribbon, both elegant and imposing. I can’t help but run my fingers along it as we ascend.
