Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
His beard is the same cropped style as Dante’s, but he has sleeves of tattoos, and a menacing glint lightens his murky baby blues.
I glance at Giovanni, hopeful eye contact will force him to see sense through the madness. All I hit is a brick wall. He works his jaw side to side while loosening the cuffs on his jacket as if he’s preparing for battle. His anger is no longer simmering beneath the surface like mine. It’s about to boil over.
Still, I step forward as desperation rises from my stomach to my throat. “Can I please talk to—”
He doesn’t register my words. He’s already pursuing Valeria and his father, who are retreating inside.
After how intimate we were only minutes ago, his rejection stings worse than a thousand bees, and it lodges a hard lump in my throat.
I startle when the maid gently touches my arm. She wordlessly apologizes before gesturing to the entrance Giovanni just stormed through. “This way, signorina.”
I shake my head. I can’t breathe, so how can I be expected to walk? The walls close in on me as secrets and over-the-top expectations make the room feel claustrophobic.
I need air so badly I’m willing to undertake a second marathon.
“Really?” a voice shouts from behind as I reach the foot of the grand staircase that leads to the gardens. It’s dry, unmistakably brutish, and belongs to the man Giovanni placed in charge of my watch.
I run as fast as the wind, but Giovanni’s brother is faster. I don’t even reach the edge of the manicured lawn before a hand clamps around my wrist and I’m yanked back.
“Let go!” I shout, twisting hard.
With my mind on the fritz, I slap him across the face without considering the consequences of my actions. I wince when the contact sets my palm on fire. Giovanni’s brother only growls. It vibrates through my bones but does absolutely nothing to my insides, proving I’m ruled by my libido only when it comes to Giovanni.
The dark-haired brute steals any further protest by hauling me off my feet and tossing me onto his shoulder. I kick and squirm, but his grip is ironclad. I don’t gain an inch.
“You know this is illegal, right? You can’t hold someone against their will. It’s against the law.”
He snorts. “Says you. You know, you’re lucky you slapped me and not one of the guards. They would have called Giovanni. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
“Why? Because he might have something to say about his baboon brother manhandling me?”
His laugh is the loudest I’ve heard to date. “If you think this is me manhandling you, sweetheart, you’re not close to getting an invitation into Matteo’s bed.”
“Who?”
He slaps my backside, popping my eyes from their sockets. “Matteo. Pleasure to meet you, Valentina.” As he enters the Caruso mansion with me dangling off his shoulder, he continues. “You’ve caused quite the ruckus in the Caruso realm. Haven’t heard so much speculation since Dante’s baby mama showed up at his door, carrying his child in her arms instead of in her gut.”
I’m lost for a reply, so I stick with insults. “Has anyone ever told you only narcissists speak about themselves in third person?”
His miffed Ha! rumbles through my core. “Sounds about right.”
With my shock too high to continue with our spar, Matteo follows the maid through a maze of hallways and grand living rooms with marble floors and gilded mirrors in silence.
Even with all the blood in my body rushing to my head, I catch glimpses of opulent chandeliers, velvet sofas, and distant sounds of laughter.
Huh?
Humiliation burns my face when the reason for the boisterous chuckles enters my head, but beneath it is a reminder that I’m not invisible here.
It just seems the Caruso brothers have yet to learn that.
Matteo finally stops outside a heavy wooden door. He sets me down, not ungently but not gently, either, before he fixes my feet in place with a stern look. I’d give more of a fight if I weren’t exhausted. Multiple orgasms are draining, so I won’t mention the toll of an emotionally draining day.
When the maid slots a key into the lock, Matteo’s wolf whistle is as arrogant as his words. “The presidential suite. You must give good head.”
I shoot him a dirty look while rubbing my wrists as if I’m injured. I’m not. I just want him to sweat.
Matteo acts nonchalant, but I see the way his eyes dilate when the thought of me being hurt pops into his head.
After opening the door wide enough for his gigantic shoulders to fit through, Matteo gestures for me to enter first. I’m hesitant, but Giovanni exhausted the last of my energy in the orchard.
Furthermore, it’s late. Carlisle is safer than Los Angeles, but I still don’t want to wander its streets at this time of night.