Page 4 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I didn’t want him.
Lie.
But being sprawled on his bed wasn’t a sexual invitation, and I had an endgame to think of. I stood on my feet and met him just short of the doorway. “Just seeing what I’m dealing with here.”
His eyes ran down my body and returned to mine. Maman always referred to them as a rapturous shade of amber, but I was sure that, like mine, his opinion was less favorable. He cocked a brow, and I realized that I was staring, my hand suspended in the air by my side like an idiot.
Had I been about to touch him? I slid my foot back as subtly as I could, taking whatever distance the movement allowed.
His lips twitched, and I felt the most ridiculous urge to touch them. “Have your fill yet? I may have to charge admission, and I guarantee you can’t afford the price.”
Pull yourself together, Ren.
I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. I was tall for sixteen, but he was so much taller. “The most I’d part with for you is the gum beneath my shoe.”
Amusement danced behind his eyes before they slid, once again, down my body. “I have no doubt you’re the type with plenty of gum beneath your shoe.”
What was that supposed to mean?
I reminded myself that I had a goal. “Well, this has been riveting, but I’m jet lagged. Bye.”
I stepped forward before he could answer and bumped into his shoulder on the way out, using the movement to distract him as I slipped my fingers into the pocket of his hoodie. My pointer and thumb fingers swiped his smartphone, and I hid it in the sleeve of my cardigan as I barreled past.
He was right. I was a princess. But sometimes, the princess saved herself. Except, I’d stolen his phone, and just like earlier, I hadn’t planned for the worst that would come.
And making an enemy of Damiano De Luca was the biggest mistake I’d ever made.
A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.
Marina Tsvetaeva
The Present
Liars were a dime a dozen. Good liars, rarer. But the best liars were the ones who lied as much to themselves as they did to others. The woman beside me was a liar. I usually read people well, but with her, I wasn’t sure which category she fit in.
Ariana De Luca fidgeted in her seat, a movement that would have gone unnoticed to the untrained eye. I let the silence simmer a moment longer as I reveled in her discomfort. The wooden pillar dug into our thighs, but I knew it wasn’t the source of her irritation.
“Am I bothering you?”
We were at a funeral, after all, so I kept my voice low and my eyes forward, where Giovanni Romano was giving what was probably a moving eulogy for his deceased twin, Vincent. I wouldn’t know. It was hard to pay attention when the woman that very same Giovanni had been asking around about sat beside me.
“No.” Her voice wasn’t clipped, but it didn’t welcome conversation either.
I suppressed my smirk, quelling the part of me that loved stirring up shit. Really, Ariana De Luca was the shit-stirrer by entering Romano territory with my last name. Did she think either family wouldn’t notice?
Silence spilled between us, no doubt heightening her discomfort. I studied her as she sat beside me. Looking at her was like looking at a picture of a younger Nana. Un-fucking-canny. Same Italian features. Dark hair. High cheekbones. Upturned nose.
Little Tessie Romano made her way to the seat between us, scrambling over a few laps along the way. If Dad were here, he would have dripped disdain. As far as I was concerned, everyone here could thank me for his absence—though bloodstains littered my path to the De Luca throne.
I allowed Tessie a small smile. “Ciao, piccola. Come ti senti?” When Ariana stiffened, it occurred to me that she didn’t speak Italian. Because riling women up was a specialty I took pride in, I continued in the language, “Your uncle was a good man. He will be missed.”
Tessie turned to me. “Grazie, Damiano.” Her somber eyes squinted in a sudden smile, and she waved at a brunette as she walked past.
Fuck. Me.
Nope.
This wasn’t happening.
