Page 91 of The Beast Who Bought Me
He turns to me, somehow surprised that I’m not gonna lock myself in there with him. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“You don’t ask questions,” I remind him.
He sighs. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
I shut the door on him and lock him in.
I shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing him again as much as I am.
CHAPTER 33
DAMIANO
I spendthe next two nights sleeping in one of the guest rooms down the hallway.
It’s helped clear my head to stay away, even though the Clemenza grew more and more cold every time I brought in a meal—or more protein shakes. Having tasted one of those things myself, I can see why he objects.
Frankly, his spunk was a lot tastier.
But he’s definitely getting healthier. His skin has that glow to it that caught my eye at his father’s funeral. He was eighteen and trembling in the rain under an umbrella, but he still had that rich-kid aura about him.
He lost that sheen over the next few years. But when I saw him on the Obelisk stage, shining with golden dust, it reminded me of that first day I laid eyes on him.
I hadn’t considered him at all before that funeral. Hadn’t ever seen him in real life. And I hated him the moment I saw him. Made my decision then and there, that he’d pay for his father’s sins.
Things have gotten a little complicated since then, so staying away from him is a good way to clear my head, no matter how madhemight get.
But today is the day. This morning, when I took in his breakfast, the Clemenza’s skin had returned to its natural glow, the one that always made me think of him as his Family’s golden boy, long before I ever saw him covered in the real stuff.
And just after lunch, a big fucking delivery van pulled up at the service entry, and I had to raise the security system just to let a fashion show troop into my house.
The suit is here. And so are all the other clothes I asked Benedetti to provide for the little prince. Truth be told, I kind of forgot about that. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Well, I hope the Clemenza likes them, because he can think about that high-end wardrobe while he’s languishing naked in the basement again for the rest of the year.
When I open my bedroom door, he’s draped in my robe, walking around the room aimlessly like he’s about to lose his mind. He stops dead and folds his arms to glare at me, but says nothing. I know why he’s pissed. It’s because I haven’t given him a chance to manipulate me for the last two nights. Must be frustrating for him.
“C’mere,” I say, and crook a finger at him. He approaches cautiously until I back up out of the doorway. “Move it. We’re going to visit your Uncle Tony.”
At that, he practically shoots out the door.
“Downstairs. To the great room.” He follows my orders without complaint, but when we get to the room he stops again to stare.
The minions Benedetti sent over with the clothes spent some time setting up a rolling rack of what his wife bought for the Clemenza, and laid everything that couldn’t be hung all over the sofa. “What’s this?” Caligula asks suspiciously.
“Looks like clothes.”
He approaches them as cautiously as he approached me upstairs, reaching out to touch one of the shirts as though he’s not sure it really exists. “What…” He turns back to me, a strange look on his face.
Ah, fuck. I think it’s hope.
“Sometimes I’m gonna need to take you out, prove to Luca D’Amato or Big Gee that I ain’t killed you yet,” I tell him. “You need clothes for that. That’s all it is, golden boy.”
It doesn’t seem to have dampened down his delight in the clothes any. He takes his time running his hands over them, testing the fabrics and holding them up to himself just to see how they fall.
They’re all perfect. I guess the Benedettis spent some time tailoring the off-the-rack stuff to fit the little prince as well.
“We gotta make a move,” I say at last. “Get across Midtown traffic to see this uncle of yours.”
“He’s not really my uncle. But yes.” He turns to me with an air of business. “The suit?”
