AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Context?” I snort. “Whenever I’m in their presence, the housekeeping staff hiss the same phrase at me. “‘Sandro odia la sua fidanzata.’”
“You tell Sandro?”
“We’re not speaking.”
Tommaso looks alarmed.
Of course, whatever they’re saying is insulting. Exaggerated hand gestures and little noises always accompany the words. “What does it mean?”
“It means …” He stops in his tracks. “You should ignore them.”
“Impossible. I’d have more of an advantage if I understood what they keep taunting me about.”
“Only Sandro can answer that question.”
My eyes feel wet. God, I’m really beginning to hate the monster.
“For Christ’s sake, work things out with him.” Tommaso places his palms together in a praying position. “Please. I … we … are begging you.”
I blink.
“Look, Riley,” Tommaso says, exasperated. “You’re nothing like them. I know it. We all know it. And more importantly, Sandro knows it. Why do you think he brought you here?”
“Because he’s a control freak who’s taken an interest in me.”
Tommaso snorts. “You know him well.”
I shake my head. “But I really don’t. For a brief moment, it felt like we connected, and in a way words can’t describe. He often acts like he hates wanting me, and now he’s proven it.”
“That’s probably true.”
I flinch. “You agree?”
“With the first part. Sandro and I have been friends for a long time. His father leans heavily on him and has done so ever since Sandro was a kid. Family means everything. Despite being a controlling bastard, he doesn’t get to make choices on how to best preserve the Beneventi empire. That frustrates and infuriates him.” His attention shifts from my face to the top of the cliff.
I don’t need to look. I can feel Sandro’s thunderous scowl from a mile away. He doesn’t want to want me. Yet no one else can want me, either.
“Want to discover the heart of what Sandro’s really about? Stop hiding and get in the miserable fucker’s face.” Tommaso strides away.
I spin and glare up at the cliff.
Except Sandro’s disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I want him, but I shouldn’t.
I hate him, but not always.
I miss his touch.
Sandro’s the double-edged sword I can’t get enough of. Dominant and possessive on one side, seductively gorgeous on the other, and the sharp sting of both sides a dark and twisted addiction I relished.
He’s the worst kind of hurt.
I kick my feet and circle the pool, the pink flamingo floatie’s neck bobbing in the affirmative.
He couldn’t say he hated me back, could he? And worse, he brought up our first time together. God, why would he do that? Why dwell on an intimate moment, then brush me off like I’m nothing?
