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“Hey, Samantha,” Renzo greets the woman.
He walks with them as they come toward the living room.
“Skylar, this is Franco and Samantha.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, a polite smile on my face.
“Franco is my closest friend,” Renzo adds as he comes to wrap his arm around my shoulders.
“I see you’re taking my advice,” Franco says as his eyes flick between us.
“Yeah-yeah. I’ll let you take the credit,” Renzo chuckles.
I move from under his arm, and peeking into the strollers, I whisper, “They’re so adorable.”
“You don’t have to whisper. We got them used to sleeping with noise,” Samantha says.
“Clever,” Renzo mutters.
The elevator doors open again, and I hear Dario say, “You better smile around the women. You look like a murder waiting to happen.”
Instead of Dario, a man walks toward us and mutters, “Get him off my back before I kill him.”
“Dario cut it out,” Franco says.
My eyes are wide on the man who really looks like a murder waiting to happen. He helps himself to a tumbler of whiskey before his eyes flicks from one person to the next before stopping on me.
Oh Jesus.
I dart back to Renzo’s side and feel some relief when he places his arm around me again.
“Don’t worry, he always looks like that,” Dario says as he comes to stand on my other side.
“Damiano, this is Skylar,” Renzo introduces us.
Damiano, as in the head of heads. That explains a lot.
“Is she yours?” Damiano asks.
“Yes.” Renzo tightens his arm possessively around me.
Damiano nods before taking a sip of his drink. “Dario told me you took care of the problem?”
Renzo nods. “Everything’s dealt with.”
“Good.”
Samantha comes closer and says, “I see food in the kitchen, and it looks mouthwatering.”
I glance over my shoulder, and pulling away from Renzo, I say, “Yes, I made finger foods. I thought we could hang out in the kitchen while the men play poker in the dining room.”
“As long as I’m close to the food, I don’t care where we sit.”
I let out a chuckle, and when we reach the island, I say, “Please help yourself.”
“Christ, come look at this spread,” Dario says from behind us. “Fuck poker. I’m sitting with the women.”
“The hell you are,” Franco mutters.
