If they feared me, they’d keep their distance.
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I… I don’t have any other friends anymore.” She looked down at her hands and shook her head. “They shun you when they know you’re a Rossi, you know.”
Yeah. I knew. Only I kinda liked it. Figures she didn’t, though.
“Mama says I don’t need friends. Says I have all that I need right here at The Castle.”
I shook my head. “Nah,” I said, agreeing with her. “Not sure I agree with that.”
My life was a vast canyon of emptiness before I had the Rossis. I scrapped my way to money, then scrimped and saved every penny I could. Learned how to con my way into places, make myself good money. The night I pulled a fast one on Narciso, he could’ve killed me, but instead he brought me home. Knew I’d be an asset to them and by God, I was.
She nods. “People say you’re—” She clamped her mouth shut as if she’d said too much.
“People say what?” I asked, my voice harsh.
She shook her head.
“Rosa.” My voice took on a warning edge. “Tell me.”
She shook her head again. “It’s nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing. Say it.”
“They say you don’t have emotions,” she said. “They say—you have no feelings.” She shakes her head and looks away, her eyes over my shoulder as if looking at something far, far away. “But I don’t think that’s true, Santo. I think sometimes you have the strongest feelings of all.”
Her words filled my chest with a sort of buzz, a keen knowing, as if she’d stumbled on a truth I hadn’t realized myself yet. As if she spoke a truth that somehow set me free. I mulled these words over, holding them for a little while.
“Rosa,” I finally said, holding her gaze. I watched her eyes flicker over the tat on my bicep and the tee before she looked back up at me and blushed. The girl was checking me out, and shit at hiding it.
Well if that didn’t make my fucking year.
“What?” she whispered.
I reached a fingertip to touch hers, too low for the cameras to catch, and gently touched her. “I’ll be your friend.”
I could lie to myself, make myself believe that I’ve got nothing to lose. Tell myself that she’s gonna be married soon anyway, and if I don’t take this one chance I have now, I’ll never have one.
But it would be a lie.
I could lose damn near everything.
Nah, not damn near everything.
Literally everything.
I don’t care if they hurt me. I don’t care if they beat me or punish me in whatever sick, twisted way Romeo or Tavi could concoct.
But I’d have to give up the only family I’ve ever known.
A small part of me wonders if Tavi knows how I feel about Rosa. Why would he station me here, to watch over her? But he was the one that told me about her arranged marriage. And we’ve been nothing but careful. He sent me here, with a room between the two of us, and I’m sure his primary concern is his immediate family.
He can’t know anything. He can’t fucking know.
But goddamn, I’m here now. And the next time I’m home, she could be a married woman.
Not that that means anything, only that she’ll be completely out of reach forever.
I want to tell her what I know, that her life’s about to drastically change. But I can’t complicate things any more than they already are, and I haven’t even heard confirmation from Romeo yet. We’ll wait to see what happens after he’s released from prison.
If he’s released from prison.
So I hold her to me. I caress her soft, damp skin. I relish the way her breath hitches, the way she moves closer with the gentlest suggestion of my palm on her back. I kiss her bare cheek and close my eyes. Her skin’s soft and warm, and I want to taste every inch of her.
I want to do more than that.
I take her hand and lead her out of the bathroom, shut the light off, and bring her over to her bed. Here, in her room, we’re furthest away from the door than any other place in here. If anyone walks by the hall, they won’t hear a thing.
This room and the next, as well as Natalia’s, are connected by doors, so we have at least the illusion of privacy. If we get too close to a window or door, we risk shadows or even images caught on camera. But here, in the privacy of her room, we’re off the map.
“Lay back on the pillows,” I tell her. I barely recognize my own voice, deep and husky, affected by the nearness of her.
“Why?” she asks in a whisper, but she can’t hide the need in her eyes, the way she swallows and squirms. “Santo, we can’t—you know we…”