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“Fine,” I sigh. “I guess Blackriver will do then.”
Mel squeals, offended. “You’re not going to Blackriver.You’re coming home with me!”
“I’m afraid we need to go somewhere else first.”
“You trust this guy?” I whisper to Mel.
She nods her head. “He’s a Saint,” she whispers. Ugh, fine. So I guess he might be a good guy, but a saint? That’s a bit much.
“Where are you thinking?” I ask the rearview mirror.
“My brother wants to speak to you.”
Mel squeezes my hand again as I consider his answer. Trying to figure out what hisbrothermight want from me.
“Okay, I’ll bite. And who’s your brother?” Mel’s grip on my hand tightens.
Luca meets my eyes in the rearview mirror again. “Dante Santoro.”
You’ve got to be fuckin kidding me.
9
ALESSA
Ican barely keep my eyes open by the time we drive all the way to the top of the mountain, where the town’s edge meets the black forest. The gates open and we crawl up the dark driveway to a huge, sprawling mansion surrounded by a manicured lawn and trees. It’s too dark outside for me to take in any details, but it’s obvious the Santoros have money. Not that it wasn’t obvious before, what with the expensive suits, the Maserati, and the casino.
“After this is over, you’re coming home with me,” Mel yawns, her head leaning on my shoulder.
I nod, not having the energy to argue. But really, there’s nothing to argue about. I have nowhere else to go tonight. Dante has made sure of that.
I follow Luca up the stairs and through the front door, stopping in a spacious foyer where I’m greeted by my own reflection. The whole wall in front of me is covered in glass. If I squint hard enough, I can almost see past my bedraggled self and make out an outline of patio chairs and a light blue rectangular surface in the middle. It’s hard to tell with the light reflecting on the glass wall, but I think it might be an outdoor courtyard with a pool in the middle. Fancy.
“Don’t think so hard. You’ll hurt yourself,” the devil in disguise says, leaning against the wall. My skin erupts in goosebumps at the tone of his cold voice.
Luca takes Mel by the hand and guides her somewhere out of sight, leaving me alone with Terence. I should hate him. Idohate him. He’s been nothing but cruel to me since the day we met. But a girl’s got to take the time to appreciate a barefoot guy wearing a white t-shirt and dark jeans, his hair wet and tousled.
I’m a big fan of suits.
But clearly, I’m also a big fan of whatever Dante has going on tonight. And somehow, barefoot and clearly at ease in his own home, he still commands the room. His presence makes even the particles of dust cower, I’m sure. Although in my tired state, I haven’t seen a spec of dust anywhere yet. Probably because it ran away screaming.
“Dante,” I smile sweetly, like he hadn’t reduced me to tears mere hours ago. Pushing off the wall, he walks toward me as I watch him. “I thought you wanted me to leave. A curious turn of events.”
He doesn’t speak when he stops right next to me, his dark eyes looking all over me, searching for god knows what. When his hand barely presses against my lower back, I let him guide me out of the foyer, through a narrow sitting room and into a spacious kitchen. I can feel the heat of his palm radiating onto my entire back, my body stiffening at first before relaxing under his touch. Too soon he moves away, gesturing to a row of chairs tucked under the kitchen island.
I guess he wants to play the silent game again. I already know I can win it, so with a smile, I walk over to the chairs, examining every single one before backtracking to the one smack dab in the middle and pulling it out, making sure it scrapes against the stone floor as I do so. Happy with mychoice, I climb onto it and take a seat, wishing it was a swivel chair. It would definitely irritate Dante if I started to spin myself in circles in his kitchen.
I sigh, leaning my head against my hand, elbow on the cool marble, as I swipe one finger on the surface, lifting it to my eyes and inspecting it for dust. Like I thought, nothing.
“Up to your standards?” Dante asks, amused.
I whip my head to him so fast—shocked that he spoke first so quickly, and even more shocked he sounded amused—that my elbow slips and I nearly bash my chin against the kitchen island.
I clear my throat, righting myself as he opens the fridge and hands me a bottle of water.
“It’s alright.” I shrug. No need to let him know I’m impressed.
“Al-right,” he repeats slowly. His chocolate brown eyes on me as he leans his forearms on the counter, clasping his hands together. “Tell me,Alessa. Why is it so hard for you to follow simple instructions?” His voice could freeze the Atlantic with how cold it is, the amusement in his eyes is gone as he appraises me.
