“I live here.” She glanced toward the room with all the books. “Well, some of the time.”
I tested her. “And the other times?”
“In the….” Looking back at me, she caught herself. “Closer to a city.”
“Brava.” Good girl. “Don’t tell me.” I was glad her father had taught her at least that. “Don’t tell any man where you live.”
She dropped her gaze, but she nodded. Then she gave me her sweet, innocent voice again. “I know.” She glanced toward the closed door of the dining room. “Do you know how long Papà will be?”
“Why?” Before I could think about what the fuck I was doing, I asked the last thing I should have. “What do you need?” There wasn’t a damn thing I could do for this girl that’d be good for her, including having a conversation with Giancarlo the second we were back in the G-Wagon, but I was going to do it anyway. The only question was what action I’d take if he’d already struck a deal with Santoro.
Heat hit her face again. “I… I do not need anything, thank you.” She fidgeted with the book as she traced an invisible circle on the tiled floor with her painted toe before inhaling and looking back up at me. “But I have something for you.”
My gaze narrowed.
Silent, ethereal, she came toward me as she pulled a folded piece of paper from the book. Stopping a foot away, so damn small she barely came up to my chest, she held the paper out. “Here.”
I didn’t move.
I fucking couldn’t.
Her scent hit me faster than a bullet, and I was suddenly seeing a woman instead of an innocent Principessa. Full breasts, small waist, and those fucking eyes that were sinking me further every damn time she looked at me. Fresh, floral, citrus, she didn’t smell like any of the overly perfumed women I fucked. She smelled like a life I’d never had.
Untainted, uncorrupted, and pure.
“What is this?” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. This angel had gotten under my skin, and I should’ve been walking the hell away, but I wasn’t.
She tucked her book under her arm. Then, slow and cautious, like she was reaching for a wild fucking dog, she grasped my wrist with her small fingers and turned my palm up.
Her eyes on mine, she set the paper on my hand. “A gift. For you.”
My gaze locked on hers. Forgetting who the hell I was, the thought hit my sick, twisted mind.
I wanted to fuck her.
I wanted to sink inside an innocent Principessa with Vincenzo blood more than I wanted my next breath. The only thing that made it worse was the fact that I didn’t want to just fuck her.
I wanted to save her.
I’d never saved a damn thing in my life.
I destroyed.
With my hands, my aim, I killed. I’d taken so many lives, I’d lost count. There wasn’t an ounce of humanity left in me, but I wanted this girl. Cristo, I wanted her.
“Take it back,” I ordered.
With her big eyes and waves of thick, shiny hair, she shook her head.
“No one gives me gifts,” I warned.
“Now they have.” With the same whisper of a step, like she was fucking floating, she moved back. Then she turned and headed toward the stairs.
I opened the paper.
Fuck.
Me.
“Stop,” I ordered before I could drag my eyes off the page and look up.
My ghost, my angel, she was already halfway up the stairs. Holding the railing, she looked over her shoulder at me.
“Did you draw this?” Dark, menacing, it was my image. Perfectly captured on paper with pencil and some other medium.
She nodded.
“You’re an artist.” An angel, an artist, and a fucking thief of sanity. I wondered what the hell else she was capable of.
She blushed, but she didn’t smile. “I like to draw.”
That’s when it hit me. That’s what was different about her.
She didn’t smile.
Not once in our conversation, not even a hint. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t bait. She didn’t have an agenda. She hadn’t even tried to get my attention, but goddamn, she had it.
Making the worst decision of my life, one that could get me killed, I bit out an order. “Get your cell phone.”
“I do not have one.”
Gesù Cristo.
I sank myself further. “Come here.”
My barefoot angel floated back toward me.
I pulled the spare burner I always carried out of my back pocket. “You know how to use one?”
“I….” Her full lips closed before her tongue darted out and she pulled the bottom one in, biting it, then releasing it. Wet lips, espresso eyes, she tentatively nodded. “I used Papà’s once.”
Already going to hell, I programmed my number into the burner and held it out for her. “You’re going to do two things for me.”
She was shaking her head before I finished my sentence. “I cannot take that.”
“Why?”
“I am not… allowed.”
Of course she fucking wasn’t.
I held the drawing up. “Did you give me a gift?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Now I’m giving you one.” Grabbing her wrist, I put the damn thing in her hand, same as she’d done to me, but I didn’t let go of her. Not yet. “This comes with two rules. First, you tell no one about the phone. Second, you use this to contact only me. No one else. Understand?”
Staring up at me, a slight tremor shaking her small-as-hell body, she nodded.
“You know how to text when you can’t risk a call?”
She glanced down at the phone. Looking back up at me, she shook her head.
“I’ll show you.” Reluctantly letting go of her and grabbing my cell, I shot off a quick text to the number. One word. Test.
The burner lit up with a notification, and she dropped her head.
Leaning over her, the scent of her hair as intoxicating as she was innocent, I showed her. “Hit the notification, swipe with your finger and bring up the text. Then type your reply and hit the arrow to send. Practice one now so I know you know how to use it.”
Slow and careful, she typed a reply and hit Send.
I glanced at my cell.
Unknown: Thank you.
“You’re welcome.” My voice thick, I slid the drawing into my pocket.
Her head dropped toward the screen, and she typed again.
Another text came through on my end.
Unknown: Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me a phone?
Fuck this. Grasping her chin, I tipped her head up. “In case you need protection.”
“From what?”
Practically tasting her innocence, I should’ve said me. But I didn’t. I also didn’t tell her my brother was most likely in her father’s dining room, negotiating a fucked-up merger, Cosa Nostra style. If Giancarlo had something on Santoro, the old man didn’t stand a chance, and neither did his daughter. Which was why she needed protection. I wasn’t going to let my fuck of a brother get his hands on her. I didn’t give a damn what I had to do. Giancarlo wasn’t touching her, not while I was still breathing.
Reluctantly letting go of her, avoiding her question, I gave her an order instead. “Get back upstairs.” I didn’t want her anywhere near the entry hall when my brother reemerged. “Before I leave tonight, I’ll hide the charger for the cell in the room with the books. Bottom shelf, closest to the window.” Grabbing her shoulder just so I could fucking touch her one last time, I turned her toward the stairs. “Go, Principessa.”