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“When we were kids. Let’s get something to eat.” He changes the topic.
I follow after him, disregarding the uncomfortable feel of the wet underwear under my clothes. I should really go change out of them, but I’m too excited about Angelo’s sharing mood. “So how does anyone know which Saint someone is referring to when they mention your nickname? Is it like the Royal first, second, and third?”
Angelo chuckles, rounding the corner to the kitchen and going straight to the fridge. I sit in my now usual chair at the kitchen island, waiting for him to explain.
“Well,”—he turns to me, holding out a Tupperware with pasta in it, to which I nod eagerly—“if they’re trembling and look ready to pass out with fear when saying Saint, they most likely are talking about Dante. If they’re terrified, it’s probably me. And if they’re just a little scared, then it’s Luca.”
“Full of yourself much?” I chuckle.
A hand slams on the countertop, making me jump in my seat. Angelo’s frame looms over me as he sneers, “You just haven’t seen what we’re capable of. Just because I’m nice to my brother’s newest play thing does not mean I’m nice to everyone else. You should remember that.”
I clear my throat, blinking, well aware of who I’m dealing with. “So, what—”
“No more questions.” Angelo turns his back to me, ending the conversation abruptly. I follow his movements as he pops the pasta and sauce into the microwave. His voice is back to his usual cheery one, and his posture relaxes as he sets the timer on the microwave, whistling to himself. My mouth opens as I watch him. Seriously, one of the Santoro brothers is bound to give me a whiplash from all these mood changes.
“Angelo.”
I spin in my seat, curious to see who the owner of the smooth baritone is. In the short time I’ve been here, Angelo, Dante, Massimo and his carer are the only people I’ve seen, so my spidey senses are full on tingling from excitement.
“Hello.” I grin at the man standing in the entrance. His black suit covered back ramrod straight as he ignores me completely, waiting for Angelo to answer.
“What is it, Fred?” Angelo sounds bored as he leans down, watching the spinning plate in the microwave.
Fred clears his throat, his eyes darting to me for a split second. I’d have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention to him. I wonder what Fred is short for.
“Manfred? Frederick? Alfred?” I mutter, my eyes narrowing. Fred just doesn’t suit him. “Want some pasta, Wilfred?” I watch his face for clues. No, that doesn’t sound right either. Belfred’s eyes crinkle almost imperceptibly.
“Seriously?” Angelo sighs. I can feel his eye roll on myback, but I choose to ignore it, because I’m gracious like that.
Freddie clears his throat once more, his eyes momentarily moving to me before landing on the man standing behind me. “There—uhm—” he clears his throat again, eyes moving to me once more before moving up to the ceiling then back to Angelo.
A few things happen.
The microwave pings. Angelo swears, most likely burning his fingers on the hot plate. I decide to investigate our guest up close and hop off my stool, walking to him before circling him like a little shark.
“So, which one is it?” I ask at the same time Angelo growls, “Spit it out, Fred.”
Fredignores me and looks straight at Angelo. Despite his bad judgement in top priorities, I have to admit he smells nice. He’s also very handsome. Tall and muscly, filling his suit up to perfection. His jaw is smooth, like he’s just shaved, full lips sitting atop a square chin, shadowed by a straight nose. He doesn’t look like a Fred. He should be called Augustus, David or maybe Caesar. Something strong and Roman, definitely not Fred.
“Packages.” Fred finally speaks, his eyes bouncing to me as I make another circle around him.
At his words I straighten, excitement building in my stomach.
“Packages?” Angelo and I ask in unison, albeit my voice is an octave higher from excitement.
“They’re here!” I jump in place and skip past Fred, all but forgetting about my investigation into his proper name.
“What the fuck now?” Angelo sighs as I run out of the room.
Well, Angelo, the fun is about to begin.
28
ALESSA
Fred never divulges what his name is short for. Despite me nagging him as he lugs all my deliveries to the spare bedroom I’m supposed to be sleeping in. And I would sleep in there if I wasn’t a big wet blanket and choosing to sleep in Dante’s bedroom instead.
Idofind out, however, Fred is one offifteenguards who patrol the grounds surrounding the property. Fifteen! I’d feel safe with all these people protecting the mansion if I wasn’t too busy beating myself up over not even checking out the place properly and being totally oblivious to their presence.Veryunlike me. Usually, I’d be all vigilant, checking out all plausible routes of escape, but apparently, two out-of-this-world orgasms render a girl incapable of coherent thoughts since, like a blissed out dumdum, I’ve been wandering around happy as a clam, not caring one bit that there might be other people around.
