“I was just wondering why the dagger?”
“Why not?”
“Ha. Ha.” I sarcastically remark. There’s that annoying feeling again, the one I get when he closes off. It must be something meaningful that he won’t disclose, or I’m just being too sensitive. Sensitivity has never been my problem, but with Romeo… I never know what reaction might plague me in his midst. I look away from him, knowing he can feel the shift, though I try my best to conceal it.
“It’s… it’s for my brother, Carlito.” He’s never told me about this brother, but the name sounds familiar. “He died.” He adds when I don’t say anything else.
Oh shit, that's why the name sounds familiar. We recruited him a couple of years ago. Someone on the inside to take down the San Giovannis and get them to make a deal with us. When he died, that plan got thrown out.
Kias was more upset about the plan failing than he was that Carlito was dead. I found that odd because he seemed to have grown close to him. Of course, I ignored that inkling then. But now, looking into Romeo’s pain-stricken eyes, I want to apologize on behalf of the Bratva for ever having him get involved with us.
I can't, so I bite down on my tongue until I taste the sting of my blood and shake my head solemnly.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He shrugs before pointing to the edge of the vineyard.
“I’ll race you.” I raise my brows at his shift, ignoring it for the sake of the mission (and my sanity), before nodding.
“You’re on.” He takes my wine glass and sets it down next to his.
“Three. Two. One.” He waves his arm like a flag in a race, and we’re off. I’m surprised by his speed. I’ve always been the fastest in the entire Bratva. There wasn’t a person I met that could outrun me, but Romeo… Romeo might give me a run for my money.
We’re speeding through the vineyard, neck and neck, running towards the setting sun. I nudge him when he gets too close, and he scolds me for it, but I keep going, not wasting a breath to speak. This allows me to gain momentum, and soon enough, I’m a foot ahead. I count my breaths and slide across the grass just as I pass the last vine, catching myself just before I fall. Romeo gives up when he’s sees I’ve won, slowing to a jog, hands on his hips.
“Cheater.” He pants as he pulls off his suit jacket, revealing his tattooed arms and defined biceps, making me swallow nothing.
“No way. I won.”
“Because you cheated.”
“No, because I’m fast.”
“Mmhm.” He takes a step closer, and the golden light of the sun caresses down every curvature of his defined features. I catch my breath that’s already floating through the wind. I fight the urge to take a step back as he reaches out to me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear that’s been whipping in the wind without my knowing.
“Thanks,” I whisper as his hand slowly lowers to the back of my neck. He’s leaning in, the sun is disappearing beside us, and I’m nearly lost in his eyes. I feel as though I might faint as his hand finds another place more vulnerable than my neck to caress. He lifts the layers at the front of my dress, slightly grazing my bare thigh.
Everything in me is swaying towards him like I’m desperate to be in his embrace, desperate to have him touch me this way and never stop. Our chests are touching now, and his hands have found a new home on the divots of my hips, gripping me tightly, hungrily. There’s a promise of something different tonight lingering behind those glowing green eyes of his. I want to avoid asking for fear that he’ll pull away.
Instead, I stay in his arms and reach up to trace his cheekbones, enviable by supermodels. I trace the line down to his lips as he watches me, curious.
“I like that look,” I whisper, and he breathes a laugh.
“What look?”
“The look that doesn’t know what I’ll do next.”
“I think I do, though.”
“Oh?” I beg him to answer, and he does so with his body. His lips crash against mine as I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, breathing in the sweetness of his wine-stained lips. The bitterness of the alcohol burns my tongue as I caress mine with his. If we were a symphony, we would be something chaotic and stringy. There wouldn’t be an end or beginning, just music that finally rounds out into a low hum. It’s our bond that never leaves and old grows stronger, that we’re like this.
But it’s stupid for me to continue to entertain it when my purpose is not to care for him. It is to destroy him. His family, his dreams, his power. Everything is meant to be taken from him and me, the source of that plan. So, why the fuck can’t I keep my hands off him, keep making excuses to touch him and have him touch me?
I pull away from him to answer my question because I can not really answer it. If I do, I don’t think I’d be able to look at myself in the mirror without feeling the way everyone in my life has made me feel. Though I’ve ignored it, wished desperately for it to change, it hasn’t. I’m just a tool in someone else’s building project. That’s why I have to do this. Have to be the project manager because if I don’t, I’ll die with nothing to show for what I’ve become.
Compromise can do that to you— twist you up so good you become unrecognizable. But I don’t mind being someone else if it means that my life has a purpose, and I haven’t wasted it wanting one thing only to fail in the final half of the game. No. That isn’t me. I’m better, stronger, smarter.
“What’s wrong?”