Page 253 of Alessio

“Oh, good. Then, we’re on the same page.”

He didn’t want to marry her, either.

Then why were they here?

Ginevra didn’t get the chance to ask.

Just as quickly, he asked, “Did they choose the salad for you, too? Because I wouldn’t willingly eat that without some kind of steak to weigh it down.”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

“They did—heaven forbid you thought I ate too much.”

Andino made a noise, shaking his head. “I prefer women who enjoy themselves, actually. Not that it’ll matter what I prefer from you. Some other man, perhaps, but not me. You would do well to remember that.”

She met his gaze again.

Andino smiled back.

“What does that mean?”

Because she was desperately hoping it meant one thing.

That this wedding wouldn’t happen.

But how?

Andino pushed his plate of chicken parmesan across the table for her to take, winking as he did so. “You’ll find out when the time comes. And here, take my food. At least, you won’t leave here hungry, and my mother taught me to always make sure a woman was happy when she left a table with me. Eat up.”

She did.

Still wondering if she could trust him.

Or what might happen now.

“Holy Christ, Les.”

Alessio licked the salty, heady flavor of Corrado’s cum from his lips as he slinked over his lover’s body, using his hands to fist into the sheets covering their mattress as he hovered above him. Corrado lifted to kiss Alessio, his tongue slashing against his like he was ready to take the taste of him back.

“Fuck,” Corrado said, falling back to the bed.

Grinning like the asshole he was, Alessio flashed his teeth, letting that cockiness of his come out to play. Because that’s what he did, and Corrado liked it. If only because he could challenge it.

Corrado was probably the only person in Alessio’s life—and that had never changed in the nearly five years that they’d been doing this shit together, whatever it was—who could deal with his nonsense. Not to mention, give it back just as hard.

He needed that.

Craved it, really.

Alessio dealt with all sorts of people on a daily basis. People he couldn’t stand, and people that drove him up the wall. He came across too many personalities to name, and very rarely did he find one that actually interested him, or kept his attention.

His job, still being an assassin for The League, meant he went from one person to the next, taking on assignments and seeing the world over and over again.

Yet, he still wanted to be here.

In this bed, or this penthouse.