I didn’t fucking like it.
I didn’t go back to her for the rest of the night. Instead, I resolved to lock myself in my own room to keep myself from going to hers. Sleep was nonexistent. By the time morning rolled around, I was pissed off and exhausted, craving the woman who haunted my dreams.
When the sun flooded my room with light, I went to the kitchen and fixed her a tray for breakfast, having some myself before I got ready to see her. Maybe it was just the anticipation. Maybe once I see her, I wouldn’t feel the same way.
But every step on the stairs sent my pulse racing, anxious to see what she was going to be doing or what she’d be wearing when I opened the door.
Chapter 27
Lucas
I found her sitting on the bed. The remains of the spilled dinner from last night had been cleaned up and the broken china sat on the tray on the table.
“I couldn’t take the smell,” she explained as I walked in.
My cock swelled at the sight of the pink blush of the morning light playing on her cheeks. Definitely not a one-time thing. I was getting obsessed with her, and that would be a problem.
A huge one.
“Balcony.” I said and motioned to the chairs that faced the morning sun.
She shrugged and threw back the covers, the long gown moving around her legs as I let her open the door. I could see the entire expanse of her exposed back. My eyes traced the spine to the cleft of her ass cheeks. I suppressed my groan as my balls tightened.
I needed to put her in some decent clothing.
I set the tray on the table. She sat down in the seat beside it and tucked her legs under her.
“Why are you like this?” I asked immediately as she reached for the coffee carafe I had brought.
Leda’s eyes found mine, and there was genuine confusion there. “Like what?”
“Like this,” I grumbled, thrusting a hand through my hair. “You aren’t even fucking afraid of me.”
To my surprise, Leda laughed.
She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. I took it silently, berating myself that I had asked something so straightforward. “Thanks.” I told her.
“You’re welcome,” she answered as she fixed her own coffee. Steam rolled off the black liquid and she breathed in the curls.
“To answer your question: because I’m my father’s daughter. I can’t afford to look weak to his rivals. That means you, Valentino.”
“Lucas,” I corrected her. “Today, you call me Lucas.”
Leda’s lips parted in surprise, and I had the urge to press mine against them.
“All right, then. Lucas,” she finally said. “My father is a monster. He’s done horrible things, things that no one should know about. Things to his own children. Fear wasn’t an option since I was a teenager.”
I knew the stories of Carmine. His feuds with the other Dons, his feud with Wall Street moguls, and his feud with pretty much anyone who didn’t acknowledge that he was top dog. He made a name for himself, and every Don speculated in hushed whispers about what Carmine made his own son do.
Hell, if half of the rumors and speculations were true, then I couldn’t blame Nico D’Agostino for wanting to tear down everything his father built.
I hadn’t been able to confirm the story. And now here was my chance.
“Whathashe done?” I asked.
Leda shook her head and stared at her coffee cup. “That’s not for me to say. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Motherfucker. So she was still keeping her own father’s dirty secrets. What did he do to his own daughter? Leda refused to meet my eye, as if the patterns in her coffee were the most interesting thing in the world.