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Angelo decided it was easier to keep everyone inside until the clean-up was done, and it would save the media from getting wind of anything before Angelo worked stuff out with the Feds.
I pour myself a sizable finger or two and walk back to the kitchen to sit at the table.
I don’t even know if I’m going to wind down at all tonight. Sleep seems so far out of reach.
I take a sip and let the alcohol burn the back of my throat.
It’s good to feel something other than death and destruction. Even if it was deserved, it’s still never an easy thing on the conscience. I know my brothers would disagree with me.
I’m not opposed to what we do, but it doesn’t come as naturally to me as I think it does for the others. I would never deny or fail Angelo, but the killing doesn’t do it for me. I don’t enjoy it, even if the motherfuckers deserve it.
While I’m deep in thought, about nothing in particular, I hear movement behind me.
I turn to look over my shoulder and do a double-take.
Mia is standing there in a long, flowing robe, looking every bit of an angel. I sit up straight.
“I just came down for some water,” she says, as I try to keep my gaze at eye level.She’s wearing fucking silk. “I didn’t know anyone would still be up.”
My cock springs to life at the mention of the words being up. I’m constantly fucking up wherever she’s concerned.
You’re Dante fucking Medici. Act like a man and not a coward,I tell myself.The Medicis were once royalty. Not fumbling fools who get tongue-tied over nothing.
“I’m a part-time insomniac,” I tell her, waving the glass of scotch in the air. “Care for a nightcap?”
She smiles and does that lip-bite thing that has my eyes flicking down to her mouth momentarily. “Don’t mind if I do.”
8
MIA
I walkover to the sink to fill up a glass of water. I haven’t slept a wink.
Dante smiles, and not for the first time, I notice his dimples. He is by far one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. All the Medici men are equally gifted, but Dante has a softness that the others don’t seem to have. He has this look about him that tells me he’s safe. He’s never going to hurt me. He also has this intensity that sometimes jolts me and brings me back to life. Like he’s looking directly into my soul.
I don’t know why I feel this way toward him. Maybe it’s because he was a part of the worst and best day of my life.
Holding out his glass to me, tempting me with his bourbon, I move closer to him.
He’s wearing those sweats again, and no freaking shirt.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him half naked, and I shamefully take all of him in.
He’s what Caroline would call ‘sex on a stick’. He’s ripped beyond ridiculous proportions. His body is beautiful, muscled. The ridges of his abs have me staring as my eyes follow the smattering of hair on his chest and at his navel. My mouth goes dry as the ache between my legs grows.
He watches me, his eyes intense as I swallow hard, trying not to look like a fool or spill the brew because my hand is shaking so much.
He notices and says, “Are you cold?”
Typical Dante, always checking on me. His attentiveness, whenever we meet, doesn’t go unnoticed. Not for the first time, I wonder if he just feels sorry for me and if this thing I have in my head is simply one-sided.
Maybe he doesn’t feel what I do; that burning electricity between us.
I shake my head, even as a shiver runs down my spine. Only it’s not from the cold.
I take the glass, our fingers brushing, as he takes a shallow breath, his eyes fiercely guarded. My core throbs at how close we are. I imagine what those fingers could do to me, what his body would feel like next to mine, what it would be like to have him whisper sweet, seductive things in my ear. Tell me what a good girl I am.
If I were brave, I’d reach out to him and press my lips to his. See how soft they feel. I’d push my body up against his to see how hard it is, how strong he is. How he reacts to me.
