Page 17 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
The entire way home, I chew over mine and Matteo’s conversation. He must have had a crush on me or something. Why else would he suddenly take the opportunity to vie for my hand? Though really, he’s not. I could walk away after six months. The offer is a strange one, and I can’t help but think that it’s a little desperate on his part. He doesn’t have the lack of emotion needed to force me into a loveless marriage, yet neither does he have the courage to simply ask me to date him. Truthfully though, in our world of war, death, and power alliances, where is there room for simplicities such as dating?
When I arrive home, the house is quiet. I make my way to the kitchen and am halfway through smearing peanut butter on a bagel when Gabi finds me.
“How was your meeting with Matteo?” she asks, startling me. The knife in my hand clatters to the counter, spattering peanut butter everywhere.
I turn to face her, wiping a glob off my hand. “Good. I think.”
She waves her hand through the air, hedging for me to say more. “Well, what did he say?” she finally gives up.
“He’ll help me.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” she says, tilting her head to the side.
I nod. “He wants me to marry him.”
Gabi scoffs before an incredulous laugh falls from her lips. “What?” She almost growls the word.
“He’ll help me take the Bianchi seat, and then he wants me to become engaged to him. He said, if I don’t want him after six months, then he’ll walk away.”
“That’s…”
“Generous?”
“No. God, Adelina. It’s like marriage proposals have become an old hat or something to you. Why do these men in power think they can just take a bride and aid their own cause?” Her fists ball against her thighs, and her cheeks tinge pink.
“It’s the way it is, Gabi. You know this.”
“Well, it needs to change!” She starts pacing along the length of the kitchen island and then back again. “I thought better of Santori.”
“Gabi, in his own way, I think he’s trying to do me a favor.”
“No. You can’t do it. I won’t let you barter yourself like this again.”
“He offered me an out remember. He’s not really trying to get me to marry him, just…date him, I guess.”
She stops and narrows her eyes on me. “You’re really considering this? You want to whore yourself out to Matteo just to gain power.” She looks disgusted, and it annoys me.
A humorless laugh slips from my lips. “Daddy would be proud.”
She opens her mouth to speak but freezes when a throat clears behind her. When she spins around, I see Sasha standing in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame and thick arms folded over an unnaturally broad chest.
“Sasha.” His name seems to get stuck in my throat as his eyes lock with mine. They’re ice cold and unforgiving. “I didn’t hear—”
His eyes shift to Gabi. “I have a name for you. Sergio Fonzo.”
I frown. “Who is Sergio Fonzo?”
“The man you need to kill, Ms. Bianchi.”
Ms. Bianchi. That’s new. I’m not sure if he means to wound me, but the cut strikes deeper than it should. “Or should I say, the man you’re going to pay me to kill?” The tension makes the air suddenly thick. His indifference and professionalism are one thing, but why does he sound so bitter? That’s not like him.
“Gabi, can you give us a minute?” I ask.
My sister hesitates before moving toward the door. “Sure.”
Sasha steps aside to let her pass before focusing on me again. He’s positively terrifying right now, and I truly believe that if he were paid to kill me, he would. There’s not a trace of mercy or warmth to be found in his glacial gaze. He is every inch the weapon he was trained to be.
“What is your problem?” I demand.
He lifts one brow almost lazily. “I have no problem.”
“You’re not a good liar, Sasha.” I find myself creeping closer to him.
“I did not lie.”
“You don’t want to kill this guy? Is that it?”
“I’m more than willing to do a job. Despite Nero’s belief, I have better things to do with my time than sit around and watch you play mafia boss. Or is it mafia wife? Again.”
Realization washes over me. “So, you overheard my conversation with Gabriella?”
“Yes.” And he’s clearly bothered by it. Good.
“It upsets you.”
“I do not get ‘upset,’” he says blankly.
“And yet you’re making sarcastic remarks. Let’s be honest, humor isn’t in your nature.” I push him, hoping I’ll set off enough of a reaction to crack that icy veneer. I need the man beneath the cold soldier, and I know he’s in there. I’ve seen him, kissed him…loved him. I don’t realize I’m only a foot away from him until I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact. He tilts his chin down, and his breath washes over my face. I can see the emotions he keeps so well leashed bubbling to the surface.
