At first, Alessio refused to claim Mina. It didn’t help matters when Mina discovered that Sasha was the man who put those scars on her brother’s face. My eldest brother didn’t often do stupid shit, but sleeping with Alessio’s trampy wife definitely made the top of the list.
Yep. It was a shitshow.
Anyone with half a brain could see that the scars were a trauma Alessio would never be able to see past. Kind of hard when the reminder was worn so blatantly on his face.
It didn’t matter that his packaging was torn; Cora took one look at the broody jerk, and she wanted him. One shared evening, one tender kiss. That was all it took.
Corinna Alkaev was in love. And, like the asshole he was, Alessio refused to call her.
I wasn’t a complete imbecile though. Deep down, I knew Alessio felt unworthy. It didn’t matter that Cora wore her heart on her sleeve. Hell, she could’ve cut the damn thing out and placed the bloody, beating muscle directly into his hands. Alessio would still have trouble accepting that somebody who looked like him could draw the attention of someone who looked like her.
Did I love this choice of man for Cora? No, but I couldn’t really talk. My taste in men wasn’t exactly Michelin Star quality.
There was nothing I wanted more than for Cora to be happy, and because true friends supported each other, if Cora decided that Alessio was the person to bring her that, then I would help where I could.
It was a slow process, but I was working on him.
There was only one way I could approach this. I had to be subtle. Discreet.
So, I plucked my phone out of my back pocket, my fingers running over the screen. Next to me, Alessio’s phone began to chime. He picked it up and opened the message.
The image of Cora had him tightening his fingers around his phone. “The fuck is this?” he asked tightly.
My fingers kept moving over my phone. Alessio’s phone continued to chime. One after another, I sent photos of Cora to the idiot who refused to admit he felt the same way she did.
“Nas,” he warned, his eyes narrowing dangerously. His fingers squeezed his cell so firmly I thought he might break the damn thing.
His phone continued to ping. I just kept on sending images and told him frankly, “I want you to look at her. Look at that face. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no idea what she sees in you, babe, but she wants you, so I’m going to keep doing this. I’m going to show you what you’re missing out on, because that woman would make you the happiest man in the entire fucking universe, but you’re too much of a pussy to claim her. And you know what, Scarfo? One day, she’s going to find a man who doesn’t push her away every time she reaches out. No, that man will be brave enough to take her hand and pierce his own heart if it would only make her happy.” His jaw tight, he stared down at the table. When his cheek ticked, I shrugged and laid it down. “It could be you, but it might not be. She’s not gonna wait around forever.”
Sending one last file, I watched his eyes train on the video of Cora biting into a cupcake. Her voice sounded, “Take the photo.”
Then me. “I’m trying. What is up with your phone?”
She scowled. “Nothing’s wrong with my phone. You’re just an idiot.”
“Wait. It’s doing something.” My laughter broke through. “Oh shit. It’s in video mode.”
Cora threw her head back, bursting into laughter. Her shoulders shook, and she attempted to cover her vanilla-buttercream-covered lips, letting out an amused, “How embarrassing.”
I zoomed in on her face and teased, “Oh yeah. Lick it up, baby.” When I said what I said next, I had a feeling she might not have appreciated my sending this to the man himself. “Come on, sweet thing. Pretend you just finished with Alessio. Lick up that cream.”
Alessio’s entire body tightened as Cora gave bedroom eyes to the camera and made a production of cleaning her lips with her little pink tongue, ending on her tinkling laughter.
Standing so quickly that the heavy mahogany chair flew backward, Alessio turned and stalked out of the room, his phone firmly gripped in his hand.
See? Subtle. Like running your nails down a chalkboard.
I could not have been the only one who peeped the growing tent in his boxers. And just because I was feeling bitchy and was sick of his moody ass, I yelled out after him, “You wouldn’t have to jerk off if you just called her.”
Uncle Laredo let out a surprised, “Nastasia!”
Thoroughly reprimanded, I shrunk in on myself and pouted. “Sorry, Unc, but it’s true.”
By my side, Davi Lobo nudged my arm, then rolled his eyes. “Men, huh?”