11. Cristiano

C ristiano

Never before has a walk to the car tested so much of my patience.

Good God , this woman.

I'm so angry I can feel my blood searing hot beneath my skin. My temples are throbbing, and the urge to gun down the next jackass to cross my path is overwhelming.

I unlock the car and don't bother opening the passenger door for her. I'm far too angry to be chivalrous.

"Get the fuck in and sit the fuck down."

She does as I say without a murmur, which makes my toes fucking tingle. I start the engine and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

"I want you to do three things when you get home," I start.

I can't bring myself to look at her; I'm already boiling over with something , and I can't guarantee the sight of her in that strip of fabric will help matters.

"One. Go straight to your room, and don't come out till morning."

Her eyes dart to me. I know she's not a child, but not thirty minutes ago, she was behaving like one, so ...

"Two. Call your friend and tell her to erase Damiano's number from her phone. She can do a thousand times better."

I hear her swallow beside me.

"And three. Take off your dress ..."

She gasps. It's a breathy, sexy sound that makes me want to see the look in her eyes—but I stay focused on the road.

"And throw that fucking thing in the trash."

Her head pans slowly back to the windshield, and it's a few seconds before she speaks.

"And what are you going to do?" she says quietly.

"I'm going to have words with your father."

"You're what?" She turns her whole body to face me, and I hold my breath before glancing at her.

"I don't want you going on any more nights out with friends. You can't be trusted to not get yourself into trouble, and I will not have you risk our family name because you had one too many fluorescent drinks."

"You can't stop me from seeing my friends." There's a warning in her tone that weakens when I harden my jaw.

"Yes, I can, Castellano. And I will."

She sits back in her seat and folds her arms. "I'm going to talk to Savero."

I chuckle lightly. "He'll honor my recommendation. You want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because he's charged me with keeping an eye on you," I lie.

She spins around again. "No, he hasn't. He would have told me."

Despite the fact my brother wouldn't even think to have anyone keep an eye on this hot mess, we both know he wouldn't inform her if he had. I can't help the sadistic smile turning up a corner of my mouth.

"Yeah, well, he asked me to let you know."

She sits still and chews on her bottom lip. I want to pull it from between her teeth, because it's a nice bottom lip, and it doesn't deserve to be eaten.

"Scaring off my best friend and holding a gun to some poor, innocent guy's head isn't ‘keeping an eye on me,' Cristiano."

"What is it then?"

She considers her response before—quite frankly—impressing me with her bravery. "It's blind irrationality. Idiotic bravado. It's throwing your weight around in a place where you know no one's going to stop you ..."

I spin the wheel and pull the car up short. She presses back into the seat when I lean into her.

"You don't have the faintest clue who I am, do you?" I say quietly.

"Yes," she whispers. "You're the brother of a don."

I shake my head. "I'm more than that, Castellano. I'm the son of a don. I was born into this life. I know every governor's gambling secret, every fucking fed's indiscretion, and I have Mafia blood running through my veins. There's nothing in this world more lethal than someone who can manipulate a prosecutor and a .45 with zero emotion and equal finesse. If I'm blinded by anything this second, it's you. And if I'm an idiot, I dare you to say that right now, to my face, because God help me, I've seen you cry, and fuck , it's pretty."

She presses those lips together and swallows. Damn right she's tongue-tied. She needs to know who she's dealing with, because I've seen her up close and personal with another man, and I almost killed him. It's for her own fucking protection that she knows.

I can't save her from me, but I can save her from herself.

Her breaths are short and—damn it—delicious, and there's nothing I want more in this moment than to taste them. But I'm also furious. At her and, right now, the fucking world.

So I settle back into my seat, thanking God I'm still wearing my jacket, because it's the only thing shielding my rock-hard erection from her flittering eyes as I pull back out onto the road.

Most of the house is dark when we arrive. Only one light glows, and I assume it's from her father's office.

She walks behind me as I approach the door to the apartment, but before she opens it, I turn to her.

"What was number one?"

She blinks again. I wish she wouldn't do that, because it makes me lose track of thought.

"Go to bed."

I arch my brows and glance at the door. "So go."

She anchors her feet to the ground and wraps her arms around herself. "I want to know what you're going to say to my father."

I regard her as plainly as I can. "What I'm going to say to your father is none of your business."

She lowers her gaze to the ground. "Please, Cristiano."

I raise my face to the sky, shove my hands deep into my pockets, and release a long breath. "I want him to keep a closer eye on you." I roll my head toward her. "It's for your own sake."

She has the good sense not to argue as she looks up at me.

"You need to slow down on the drinking, okay? It's not a good look on anyone, in my opinion, but you ... You seem less able than most to handle it."

She rubs a hand over her face, and to my surprise, she doesn't object. "You're right. I can't handle it. Which is exactly why I do it."

"It has to stop, Castellano, before you really hurt yourself."

"Why do you care if I hurt myself?" she whispers.

My throat tightens. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

She renews her gaze, and it's resigned. "What else?"

"No more nights out. Your friends can't be trusted."

"But Sandrine?—"

"Can't tell the difference between a regular punter and a made man. That lack of awareness could cost your friend her life. You owe it to Sandrine to keep her as far from this world as you can."

She knows I'm right, and her lack of response confirms it.

"Anything else?"

My jaw grinds as I contemplate the other rules I want to impose on her, but not only are they not mine to impose, but they'd also be transparent.

Instead I shake my head. "That's all."

She glares at me as if "that's all" is everything, when she doesn't know the half of what I want to do.

I watch as she opens the door and slips off her shoes, and I continue to watch as the door slowly closes, eclipsing her from view. I stand and stare at a closed door for several seconds too long, then I make my way to the main house to speak to her father.