Luca was spreading shaving cream on his chin with a brush, but his eyes were watching me in the mirror. I resisted the urge to cover myself, even though I felt a blush spreading over my body. He set the brush down and reached for one of the plush bath towels hanging over the heated towel rack, then walked over to me, still in his briefs. I opened the shower and took the towel from him with a quick thanks. He didn’t move, eyes unfathomable as they roamed my body. I wrapped the towel around myself, then stepped out. Without high heels, the top of my head only reached Luca’s chest.
“I bet you’re already regretting your decision,” I said quietly. I didn’t need to explain; he knew what I meant.
Without a word, he returned to the wash table, picked up the brush and resumed what he’d been doing before. I was on my way into the bedroom, when his voice startled me, “No.” I glanced back and met his eyes. “When I claim your body I want you writhing beneath me in pleasure and not fear.”CHAPTER EIGHTI was already dressed in an orange summer maxi dress and a golden belt to accentuate my waist when Luca stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. I sat on the chair in front of my vanity, putting on make-up, but froze with the mascara brush inches from my eye when I saw Luca. He walked toward the wardrobe and picked out black pants and a white shirt before he dropped his towel without shame. I didn’t look away fast enough and was rewarded with his firm backside. I lowered my eyes and busied myself with checking my nails until I dared to face the mirror again and put on mascara.
Luca buttoned his shirt, except for the upper two. He strapped a knife to his forearm and rolled the sleeve over it, then put a gun holster around his calf. I turned around. “Do you ever go anywhere without guns?” No chest holster today because it couldn’t be hidden well with only a white shirt.
“Not if I can avoid it.” He considered me. “Do you know how to shoot a gun or use a knife?”
“No. My father doesn’t think women should get involved in fights.”
“Sometimes fights come to you. The Bratva and the Triad don’t make a difference between men and women.”
“So you’ve never killed a woman?”
His expression tightened. “I didn’t say that.” I waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. Maybe it was for the best.
I stood, smoothing out my dress, nervous about meeting my father and Salvatore Vitiello after the wedding night. “Good choice,” Luca said. “The dress covers your legs.”
“Someone could lift the skirt and inspect my thighs.”
It was meant as a joke but Luca’s lips pulled into a snarl. “Someone tries to touch you, they lose their hand.”
I didn’t say anything. His protectiveness thrilled and scared me in equal parts. He waited for me at the door and I approached him uncertainly. His words from the bathroom still rang in my ears. Writhe in pleasure. I wasn’t sure I was even close to being relaxed enough around him for anything coming close to pleasure. Gianna was right. I couldn’t allow myself to trust him that easily. He could be manipulating me.
He rested his hand on my lower back as we walked out. When we reached the top of the stairs, I could already hear conversation and a few scattered guests were talking in small groups in the huge entrance hall.
I froze. “Are they all waiting to see a bloody sheet?” I whispered, appalled.
Luca peered down at me, smirking. “Many of them, especially the women. The men might hope for dirty details, others might hope to talk about business, ask a favor, get on my good side.” He gently pressed me forward and we walked down the steps.
Romero was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his brown hair in disarray. He tilted his head toward Luca, then gave me a brief smile. “How are you?” he asked me, then grimaced, the tips of his ears actually turning red.
Luca chuckled. I didn’t know any of the other men in the hall, but they all gave Luca winks or broad grins. Embarrassment crept up my neck. I knew what they were all thinking, could practically feel them undressing me with their eyes. I shifted closer to Luca and he curled his fingers around my waist.
“Matteo and the rest of your family are in the dining room.”
“Poring over the sheets?”
“As if they could read them like tea leaves,” Romero confirmed, then gave me an apologetic look. He didn’t seem to suspect anything.
“Come,” Luca said, nudging me toward the double doors. The moment we stepped into the dining room, every pair of eyes was on us. The women of the family were gathered on one side of the room, divided into small clusters, while the men were sitting around the long dining table, which was piled with Ciabatta, grapes, ham, mortadella, cheese, fruit platters, and biscotti. I realized I was actually quite hungry. It was already almost lunch time. Matteo snuck up beside Luca and me, an espresso in his hand.
“You look like shit,” Luca said.
Matteo nodded. “My tenth espresso and I’m still not awake. Drank too much last night.”
“You were trashed,” Luca said. “I’d have had your tongue cut out for some of the things you said to Aria if you weren’t my brother.”
Matteo grinned at me. “I hope Luca didn’t do half of the things I suggested.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Matteo still made me nervous. He exchanged a look with Luca, who ran a thumb over my side, making me jump.
“Quite a work of art you presented us,” Matteo said with a nod toward the back of the room where the sheets were draped over a kind of coat rack for better display.
I tensed. What did he mean?
But Luca didn’t look worried, instead he shook his head. Salvatore Vitiello and my father were waving at us to join them and it would have been impolite to make them wait any longer. Father rose when we arrived at the table and wrapped me in his arms. I was surprised by this open display of affection. He touched the back of my head and whispered, “I’m proud of you.”