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He glances up when I walk in. The corner of his mouth tilts into a wolfish grin, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on which flickers in his eyes. As if he knows something I don’t.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stop at the sofa, not wanting to be close to him. His dark eyes lock on mine, but then he trails his gaze over me as if he’s assessing me and my outfit, which has awareness skittering down my spine.
“Work.” His response is cold and detached, a contrast to how he’s looking at me. He doesn’t make a move to come toward me, which calms me somewhat, but deep down, I know it’s only for show. This man could probably move so quickly, he’d catch me before I even made it to my bedroom door.
He’s trained.
A killer.
“Okay,” I say before turning for the kitchen, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear his computer lid shut with a click.
“He will never love you, but you don’t have to be faithful either.” He’s not joking. There is no amusement on his face, and for a second, I wonder if he’s propositioning me. “There are men out there willing to be discreet.”
“Is that the life you think I want?” I challenge, my hands fisting at my sides as anger shoots through me at the thought of being nothing more than arm candy for the likes of the De Rossi clan. Mario doesn’t respond. It’s as if he’s shocked at my outburst.
But then he sighs and pushes to his full six foot three inches and locks those gray eyes on me. “All I meant was that you don’t have to be lonely.”
“If I’m married to a man who doesn’t love me, it doesn’t matter who’s bed I sleep in, I’ll always be lonely.” His brows shoot up at my words, and my chest tightens.
“You’re an intelligent girl,” Mario says softly when he reaches me. His expression is serious when he leans in close. His cologne is spicy, and warm reminding me of a roaring fire in the coldest of winters. I wonder why he is so warm, and yet the man I’m going to marry is so ice cold. “Maybe, just maybe, you will change him.” His words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, my brows furrow.
I tip my head back, forcing myself to meet his stare. “What makes you say that?”
This time, the corners of his mouth tip upward and I’m gifted with what I can only assume is a very rare smile. “Because you’re the first woman who’s ever been around him that doesn’t seem affected by his position in this life. Also, I quite like seeing him challenged by someone so young and pretty.” Mario winks. It’s a playful gesture which makes him seem younger than what I imagine him to be.
“And what if I do change him?” I ask as curiosity burns through my veins, warming me from the inside out. If I could make a man like Enzo de Rossi fall in love with me, perhaps this life my uncle has pushed me into won’t be so bad.
“I’d like to see you try,” Mario tells me earnestly. “You have a month before the wedding,” he says. “If you can change his mind within that time, you’ll not only be a queen and revered by the men of the Familia, but you’ll have the adoration of someone who loves deeply.”
“How can he love if he’s never had a woman stay longer than one night?”
Mario laughs out loud at my question, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest. The corners of his eyes crinkling as the amusement paints his expression in lightheartedness. “Oh, sweet girl, he does love. He loved his mother and father very much. And me, I’m his best friend, and even though I’m meant to take a bullet for him within our hierarchy, he would take one for me just as quickly.”
When silence hangs between us after his admission, my mind races with thoughts of perhaps changing the leader of one of the most feared families in New York. Mario’s cell phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, his expression sobers.
“I have to go, but your dance studio is ready, and your classes start at ten,” he informs me as he shoves the device back into his pocket without responding to the message. “If you need anything, the phone on the counter has been programmed with my number.”
I glance over my shoulder to find the iPhone lying in wait for me. When I look at Mario again, he offers me a nod and smile before turning for the door. “Thank you,” I call out to him, feeling as if I’ve connected with someone. This life isn’t something I chose for myself, but perhaps I can make it my own.
