Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Ricardo pulls the cart right up to the table before he begins unloading it. As soon as the lid comes off the heaping plate he sets in front of me, the aroma of bacon and eggs wafts toward me.
My mouth waters, and my stomach growls. I press a hand to it, my cheeks flushing.
Ricardo hears it and chuckles. "Cooked it all myself," he says, winking at me. "Best bacon you'll ever eat."
"He's not lying. Eat, bella," Luca says gently.
Part of me wants to refuse simply to be difficult, but I can't be rude to an elderly man, even if he does work for Luca. Besides, I'm starving.
I gingerly tear a piece of bacon in two and pop part of it into my mouth. My eyes threaten to roll back into my head as the maple melts on my tongue. Luca watches me with dark, hooded eyes, his attention solely focused on me as I chew. He shifts in his seat, leaning forward.
"Thank you, Ricardo," he mutters, his voice rough. His eyes never leave me as I tear into the other half of the bacon. "I'll have someone handle cleaning up our mess when we're finished eating. Maria is probably waiting for you over at the rest home. You should get over there before she starts raising hell."
"Stop trying to charm my wife away from me," Ricardo says. "You know she's past her hell-raising days, and I'm too old for you to have her thinking any different."
Luca chuckles quietly.
There's an easy familiarity between them that I'm not prepared for, a level of affection that throws me off-balance. Luca doesn't speak to Ricardo as if he's beneath him or simply an employee, but as if he's an old friend. And Ricardo doesn't speak to Luca as if he's feared or has to carefully watch what he says, but as if he's free to say what he wants. It's…unexpected.
"Have a good day, Miss Genovese." Ricardo tips an imaginary hat at me and then grasps the handles of his pushcart and begins his slow trek back across the bedroom.
I grab my linen napkin from the table to wipe my mouth. "Thank you, Ricardo," I call, my mind spinning. I watch in contemplative silence as he exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him. When I turn back to the table, Luca's staring at me. "His wife is in a nursing home?"
"You eat. I'll talk," he says.
I roll my eyes but pick up my fork and scoop up a bite of eggs. They're just as good as the bacon, even better, perhaps.
"Dementia," he says quietly. "They have a house on the property here, but her condition eventually became too much for him to manage alone. I helped him place her in a private facility where she has the best care possible. He should be retired, but he's a stubborn old man. He cooks breakfast and does odd jobs around the house. It makes him feel like he's earning his keep and contributing to her care."
"That's…really sweet."
"Surprised?" He arches a brow, smirking at me.
"Yes," I say honestly. Generosity isn't something I've seen much of in my life. My grandfather certainly wouldn't have done the same for anyone in his employ. Neither would my father. He isn't a monster like my grandfather. He's just…self-centered. The world begins and ends with him and his problems as far as he's concerned. Other people and their problems simply don't exist to him. Unless they're making him money, they fail to register on his radar.
"Your opinion of me is that low, huh?" Luca says, his smirk slipping.
"All I know about you is what I've been told. And what I've seen since I've been here." I spear another bite of egg. "Chaining me to the bed all night didn't win you any favors."
"You weren't chained all night, bella."
I glance up at him.
"You slept in my arms all night," he says. "You slept peacefully." A teasing smile dances at his lips. "You like to cuddle."
"I do not."
"You do." His dark gaze slides across my face, hot and hungry. "I never knew it could be so…stimulating."
I drop my fork with a clatter, placing my hands on the table to push myself to my feet.
"Forgive me, principessa," he says with a sharp shake of his head. "I'm not trying to get on your nerves. You seem to bring it out of me."
"So it's my fault you can't have a single conversation without being a jerk?"
"No. It's your fault I can't think because my cock is so hard it hurts," he growls. "No one speaks to me the way you do. The more you fight me, the harder it makes me. The longer I look at you, the more I ache to taste you. You're driving me fucking crazy, piccolina."
"What do you want from me?" I cry, my stomach clenching at the look in his eyes, as if he's never been more serious in his life. He means every word. I may be here for a reason, but he wants me for exactly the reasons he just said. And that scares me and doesn't scare me nearly enough at the same time.