“It’s been over a week since I last saw you,” the man calls out, voice light and teasing. “And now you’re bringing in a bride? Here I thought you’d never settle.”
He sounds young. Playful. Not the least bit scared of Maleciandro.
Cugì?
I wish I knew Italian!
“Alessio,” Maleciandro huffs, clearly losing the patience he was holding on to. “What are you doing down here?”
I finally glance back—and freeze.
Same otherworldly golden gem eyes as Pedro, he looks a lot like him. But this one has bright red hair.
His aunt’s son, then. Has to be.
Though... she looks way too young to have a son his age.
Couldcugìmean cousin?
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Alessio pouts dramatically.
Then I spot it: a crescent moon scar carved into his left cheek. Just like the one on Maleciandro’s forehead.
Oh no.
This weirdo’s heading my way.
I turn back to Maleciandro for any sort of help—but Alessio grabs my chin, forcing my eyes on him.
“Alessio,” Maleciandro growls.
I hold my breath.Thank God that growl wasn’t meant for me.
That tone? That’s not a warning. That’s a countdown to ruin.
“Go upstairs. I’ll deal with you later.” His voice is sharp, hot enough to burn. Nothing like the ice he uses on me.
They’re definitely related.
“I just wanted to say hi to our new friend here,” Alessio grins wider, digging his fingers into my cheeks.
I finally let the ice back into my stare and glare at him through my crushed lips.
“I’m. Not. Your. Friend.”
The bastard laughs.
Then leans in close, lips nearly brushing my ear.
“The enemy of my enemy,” he whispers, “ismyfriend.”
Did he listen in on us?
Malec
Alessio is playing with fire again, and it hasn’t even been a few hours since he got back from Vegas. Pedro should’ve kept a better leash on him. Roran’s that bastard’s daughter; we need to move smart, not recklessly.
The fact that I can’t read her? Every flicker of emotion, every shift in her body language?
