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She finally pauses and turns to me. “Thank you.” Her eyes lock onto mine and her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the stove.
I can’t resist. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb along the hot flesh, then bend down to whisper in her ear. “You know this means payback, right?” I slide my hand across her cheek. “You’ve started a game you won’t be able to win.”
“I’ll guess we will have to see who the last one standing is, won’t we?” She slides a plate to me, then sets the coffee and orange juice on either side. “Here. Breakfast.”
I blink at the food, almost not believing her. There’s no way she made me breakfast. “You made me breakfast?”
“Doesn’t my husband,” she flicks the napkin so hard it pops after she says the word, “need breakfast?” Rosie sits down at the barstool, stabbing her eggs with the fork.
I nod my head to Gianni and Matias, telling them silently to leave. They both nod, taking their plates and coffee with them.
“Thank you, Rosie. It looks delicious.”
“I was cooking. It isn’t a big deal.”
It’s a big deal to me. It means she has warmed up to me, not a lot, but enough to think of me to make me a plate.
I call it progress even if progress means clipping the ends of my socks.
I want to take the seat next to her, but I opt to give her space instead and we eat in silence. It isn’t awkward, but I know she’s choosing to stay quiet.
The eggs are fluffy and have an amazing flavor. Matias was right.
I peek up at Rosie every few bites and when I do, she looks away from me. I smile to myself, liking that she at least wants to look at me.
I feel like a teenager again, hoping to get a girl’s attention, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt like that, I’m out of my element. I kill men. I torture them. I gather taxes from businesses that require our protection or owe me money from a loan. Sometimes, I smuggle drugs and weapons.
I do horrible things without blinking an eye. Those things do not keep me up at night.
But she does.
Making this work between us does.
Having her feel something other than hate for me, does.
When I’m done, I wipe my mouth, gather my plate, washing it off in the sink before putting it in the dishwasher. I do that with all of the pots and pans she used too.
“You’re cleaning the kitchen?”
“It needs to be cleaned, doesn’t it? You cooked breakfast, it only makes sense for me to do my part.”
“I figured you had someone to do that.”
“Mmm, my brother did. He has a wife and kids though, so he needed the extra help. I do most of everything myself. I like it and the other men who live here have responsibilities too. No reason to hire someone if I can do it myself, right?”
“Most men don’t do that,” she says.
I wash out the glass and place it in the top section of the dishwasher. “I’m not most men, Rosie. I hope you learn that in time,” I say gently. “I know how we met is unconventional. I know I only gave you so many options and you feel forced to be here—maybe that’s true—and I’m sorry about that. I know we both can get something out of this though, not just what we agreed to.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything, and when she is done with her food, I place the plate in the dishwasher, then clean off the countertops with cleaner and a towel.
When I’m done, I take my chances and walk around the kitchen island until I’m next to her. Grabbing the barstool, I yank her closer to me and she yelps. I spin her around until I can cage her in, one hand on either side of her. I want nothing more than to kiss her. This might be the moment, but she might regret it after and I don’t want that, so I’ll have to wait.
“Maybe, I’m not so bad, Tesoro. Have you thought that maybe I’m everyone else’s villain, but not yours?” I dare myself to wrap my arms around her, but I start with one hand draping over her back, my palm settling in between her shoulder blades. “Have you thought that maybe—” I lean forward until her legs are between mine “—That I could be the one thing you need?”
“Ari,” my name is shaken as she speaks, closing her eyes as she fights to answer me.
“Do you?”
