But it won’t be me.
One small gesture, like spitting at the sea.
The house upstairs is quiet. The staff is busy cleaning the east wing, and Don Bruno’s out making the rounds of his properties. He’s an active Don, the sort of man that needs to get his hands dirty from time to time. I respect that and even admire him for it—a man of his age and prestige earned the right to sit back and relax.
Not Don Bruno. He prefers to roll up his sleeves and do things the hard way.
Just like I do.
“Listen, I’ve got to make some calls. You hanging around?” Casso pauses near the hall that leads back to his office on the main floor. Staff members busy themselves nearby dusting priceless paintings hanging in overwrought gilded frames.
It’s all excess and posturing.
“Might as well. I haven’t seen Fynn or Gavino around.”
“Fynn’s with Papa and Gavino’s out on some hike bullshit. He’s on a health kick.” Casso rolls his eyes. “I keep telling him all he needs is weights and protein but you know him, can’t hear a thing anyone else is saying. He’s gotta learn himself.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Casso grins and punches my shoulder. “You calling me stubborn?”
“I’m calling you pigheaded.”
“Bastard. I can have you shot for that.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
He barks a laugh and strides off with a wave. I wave back and my smile slowly slips from my lips. I release a pent-up sigh and stretch my neck.
Fucking Casso. Fucking Gavino and Fynn and Don Bruno.
I hate it here so much and it makes me sick how comfortable it’s all become.
I walk to the back of the house. The staff members ignore me—they’re used to having me around by now, and anyway, they’re paid to be invisible and busy. I step out back into the blazing Arizona heat and shade my eyes.
Twenty feet away, the pool lazily laps against the stone and tile exterior as little waterfalls spout from a retaining wall. Lounge chairs line either side, and sitting in one furthest away from the house is Karah Bruno.
I study her, unable to help myself.
She’s wearing this neon green bikini that makes her tan skin practically fucking glow. She shimmers in the powerful afternoon sunlight, body glistening with a sheen of sweat, her eyes covered by aviator sunglasses, her hands up above her head. Her dark brown hair’s pulled back and damp like she went for a swim not long ago, and one leg’s pulled up revealing her long, gorgeous thigh.
My cock twitches at the thought of pulling that hair and making her lips part with a pained and surprised gasp.
I walk toward her slowly. My heart beats a study thud. No matter how many times I come across Karah like this—and it must’ve been dozens by now—I can’t get over her breasts barely contained by that bikini top, or the line of her full lips, or the perfect curve of her little chin, or her small rounded shoulders, or the gorgeous line of her hips.
I stop a few feet away and lean against the back of a chair, watching her silently, blood rushing a vicious pulse, and I wonder how long she could survive if I held her under water.
A minute? Two? Three?
Would she beg me to let her come up for air?
I wouldn’t let her drown. Oh, no, there’s no fun in that, and besides, nothing gets me harder than a glimmer of fear in her eyes.
She tips down the sunglasses and glares at me. “Are you just going to stare at me or what?”
“I planned on enjoying the view for a while longer.”
She sighs and looks away. “What do you want, Nico?”
“I’ve got some time to kill so I thought I’d come pay you a visit.”
“Not interested.”
I smile and sit in the chair next to her, leaning forward on my knees. “Is this all you do, princess? You sit around the pool and get tan?”
“Yes, asshole, it is. Now would you leave me alone?”
“Let’s swim some laps together. See who can do the most.”
“No, thanks. And you don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Princess, I’ll kick your ass in dress shoes and slacks. Besides, when you look like I do, a bathing suit only gets in the way.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Doubt it. And still not interested.”
I tilt my head, watching her carefully. Her lips quirk slightly and her eyebrows knit forward, which means she’s getting annoyed. In another minute or two, she’ll start tugging at her hair, pulling on the strands in an attempt to calm herself.
There’s nothing I love more in this world than watching Karah Bruno squirm.
It’s petty and small in the grand scheme of things. Pissing her off is a lot like fucking with the count down in the basement—annoying, traitorous, but ultimately meaningless.
But it makes me feel better.