But then he walked into the bedroom and looked at me like I was sent straight from Heaven to be his.What woman doesn’t like being looked at like that?He didn’t even comment on the fact that I’m wearing all black again.Even the clips I used to put up my hair are black.
And if that wasn’t enough, he gave me that diamond necklace and bracelet to wear… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.Not even in my mother’s collection, which contains hand-me-downs from previous generations spanning over one hundred years.
The necklace and bracelet were made by a master jeweler, the type of master that doesn’t exist anymore.
I almost asked him what woman he’d previously given these jewels to, but didn’t want to ruin the moment.He looked so pleased with the final result once I was wearing them.As was I.
The ride in one of his old cars made me feel even more like a princess.This time he chose a light blue and silver convertible—an old Hollywood classic car even I, who knows nothing about cars, recognized from old pictures and movies.
The walls of the restaurant he brought me to are covered with pictures of celebrities, lots of them from back when Hollywood was still very new.Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, Fred Astair, Lana Turner, Katherine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, and Errol Flynn are just some of the ones I recognize.And what all the pictures also have in common is that most of the celebrities in them are posing with a man that bears a striking resemblance to Matteo.He’s not as muscular, with less darkness in his eyes as he smiles for the camera.But there’s that same intensity in his gaze… I can practically feel the heat of that man’s gaze as much as I ever feel Matteo’s.
I wish I could ask him if that’s his grandfather or something, but he’s left me at the table alone, while he went to deal with something in the back.I don’t know how I feel about him mixing business with what I thought was a night out for just the two of us.But I shouldn’t care.
We’re not alone anyway.He brought five bodyguards, including the sour-faced one—Caputo—who seems to always be by his side lately.I can feel them all staring at me.Except for Caputo, they’re the same men that would call me Gianna the Cursed back at Ferro’s mansion in New York and I definitely don’t like their presence here.I can still feel them whispering that crap behind my back.Even though they’re dead silent.
But even that is almost a pleasant feeling compared to what washed over me as a lanky, tall guy with messy, greasy hair and a crumpled shirt stops by my table.He’s unshaved, there are folds of loose skin under his bloodshot eyes and he looks like he’s been on a bender for a few days.
“He just left you all alone out here?”he asks and sits down next to me.“Just goes to show that the Rovinas are all untrained dogs.Always were, always will be.I did try with Matteo though.”
He grins meanly, revealing coffee and cigarette-stained teeth that look too big for his face.
“I didn’t invite you to sit down.Who are you?”I ask in my most cutting New York voice.The kind that would get me called a bitch.But I don’t like to hear anyone call Matteo names.Especially unmannered men like this idiot.
“I’d like to know the same about you?Where did he find a prime piece of ass like you to flaunt around?”he says.“Just a few weeks ago he was surviving solely on groveling for my mercy and now he’s strutting around like he owns the place.”
“You’re Dante Moretti,” I whisper.I didn’t mean to say it.The words just tumbled out.
This is the guy that created all that darkness in Matteo.Darkness that led him to do all those things I can never forgive him for.I don’t think I’ve ever hated a stranger before.But I hate this guy with a passion that makes me want to slap his face.
But the heat of that urge has nothing to do with the heat engulfing me now—Matteo’s back and if looks could kill, Moretti would be a dead man.The heat coming from Matteo’s eyes is uncomfortably hot now—not just desert sunshine, more like pure hellfire.
And as he reaches the table, I’m sure he’s not even going to speak.That he’s just going to murder Moretti right where he sits.That black knife of his is already in his hand.
But I can’t let him do that.
Not here in public like this.
I have no doubts that this Moretti guy deserves to die.And I won’t stop him from dealing that death.But there’s a time and place.And it’s not here.
Moretti stands up as Matteo reaches the table and there’s definite fear beneath that sneering look in his watery eyes.
“Welcome back, Rovina,” he says.“I was just getting to know your new woman.But when are you coming back to work for me?”
Just as I predicted, Matteo doesn’t speak.He just raises his arm to plunge the knife into Moretti’s neck.I stand up too and grab hold of his elbow.My touch destabilizes him, and he looks at me, blinking as though I’ve just woken him from a trance.
“Not here,” I tell him quietly, but pointedly.He nods once, like he understands.
“Not anywhere, Rovina,” Moretti says sneeringly, but he’s already backing away from the table and three of his bodyguards are encircling him.
Who’s a dog with his tail between his legs now?
Our own bodyguards are surrounding us now too.
Matteo turns that fiery look on them.It still burns.
“What part of watch over her didn’t you understand?”he asks.
The guys exchange glances, cowed for the most part, and who wouldn’t be, under all that Hell’s heat in Matteo’s eyes?
