More kind than they needed to be, honestly.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Ginevra headed for the elevator, head down, but Chris’s voice behind her made her steps hesitate.
“I know things might seem bad right now,” he said, “but it’s always been complicated with them, Ginevra. They act like it’s always been just them, and in their private moments, I’m sure it was. But they made this mess together, and so now they have to clean it up, too. It just so happened that you were the one who got caught in the middle. Give them a chance to figure it out—you might have been exactly what the two of them were looking for without even knowing it, but they won’t know if no one tries.”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked back over her shoulder. “I don’t know what that means.”
Chris nodded. “I know, but you will. Try to have a good night.”
Right.
Once she was hidden by the closing elevator doors, Ginevra tipped her head down, and dragged in an aching breath. She didn’t want to cry—she wasn’t that girl. And besides, she had no business being heartbroken over a man who had never been hers to begin with and was clearly involved with someone else.
Simple as that.
It didn’t help.
She still wanted to cry.
Ginevra wiped away the one tear that escaped the corner of her eye as the elevator came to a stop on the highest floor. It opened to the hallway leading to the penthouse. She took another quick, deep breath; she had her weak moment in private, and now it was done.
Right?
Yep.
She decided.
Soon—surely—she would be back home in New York with her sisters. Back where she belonged, and far away from a complicated man, and whatever mess he had dragged her into here. That’s what would happen.
Ginevra unlocked the penthouse and opened the door to the dark entry. She couldn’t remember if Corrado had turned off the lights when they left, or not. Probably, though. Kicking off the heels and pulling down the wet straps of the dress around her arms, she tried to remember where the light switch was for the damn entry.
Then, the lights came on.
All at once.
She spun around fast, letting go of the straps of her dress as she froze in place at the sight of a stranger leaning against the wall at the very end of the hallway. A man, actually. His shaggy, dark hair hung over his eyes, and yet even through the dark strands, she could still see the stormy blue eyeing her from the side.
His lips, the lower fuller than the top, stayed affixed in a grim line as he chewed on something in his mouth—gum, maybe? Her gaze traveled over the golden hoops in his nose, his steel cut jaw line, and the few days’ worth of facial hair covering his cheeks and throat. Even under the leather jacket he wore, and the black jeans that molded to his thighs and ass, she could plainly see he was fit by the way the material of his white T-shirt stretched across the bands of muscle that made up his chest.
He leaned against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, his black, scuffed combat boots hooked one over the other, despite the fact she could clearly see the tension wrapping his body. Like he was forcing himself to stay right there, and not come any closer.
My God.
He was devastating.
That was the first and only word to come to her mind.
Devastating.
A lot like Corrado, really. That first look at him had made her silent, and took away her breath, too. This was no different.
Except she didn’t know this man, and why in the hell was he here?
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice faint.
The man smiled.
Just a ghost of one, though.
He lifted his head a bit, giving her a better view of the planes that made up his handsome face, and the war that raged in his stare. “Alessio Sorrento—I like Les, though.”
Les.
That text ...
“But it ain’t about me, is it?” Alessio asked, his voice a deep bass that came off both edgy and dark. “Lately, it’s been all about you, Ginevra.”
How did he know her name?
She wondered ...
No one had said either way—man or woman, they didn’t say who the other person was for Corrado. She hadn’t assumed, but a part of her just figured it was a woman because that was the default. Not that she cared either way who someone loved or fucked behind closed doors. That was their business, and as long as people were happy, what did it matter?
But now, staring at this man, and the way he looked at her like he was both curious, but he wished she would drop dead on the fucking spot, too, made her think ...
This was him.
This man was Corrado’s ... person. They were a them before Ginevra ever came into the picture, clearly. Those shoes with different sizes on the rack when she first arrived at the penthouse; the different style jackets, like they belonged to entirely different personalities; the offhanded remarks Corrado made without realizing it—and we use it, he’d said—and then ignored when she questioned him; or even his hesitations when he nearly slipped up like telling her the master bedroom was his, but he’d almost said something different.
She knew now.
It meant these two men had been a thing for a while. She was in the middle. He came before her. She understood what she had missed.
It hurt worse because of it.
“Yeah, it’s been all about you, huh?” Alessio smirked, adding lower, “And I’m here to find out why that is.”
26.
Alessio
Above all things, at the end of the day when the sun went down, and he no longer had to pretend like he gave a shit, Alessio was still an asshole. Oh, he had people he cared about—those he loved, sure. He usually cared to make an attempt with those people not to be an asshole, but most others were fair game.
And even those he cared for, if he were being honest, weren’t special exceptions to the rules when it came right down to it. When things began to feel like they were falling apart around Alessio, or like his life was spiraling out of control ... that asshole side of him liked to make an appearance.
It became worse.
Like now.
The fact that he was an asshole was the entire reason why he happened to be standing at the end of that hallway in their penthouse in Toronto. It was every single fucking reason why he had come here to do this tonight.
Near the front door, the pretty thing he’d likely scared the wits out of—whoops—made a sound that drew his gaze to her again. And shit, she was pretty. Disregarding the rest of this shit that pissed him off about her, and her presence here, Ginevra was a beautiful thing.
He wasn’t at all surprised she managed to catch Corrado’s eye. He always did have a taste for pretty, delicate looking things when it came to women. Ones that looked innocent because he enjoyed finding all the parts of them that were far from it.
Ginevra was certainly that.
Pretty, that was.
Okay, he might have been being an asshole again. Pretty was a bit ... nice. If he were being honest, he would say that he understood entirely why she caught Corrado’s eye because Alessio couldn’t stop his gaze from drinking her in from where he stood ten feet away, either.
Like the way that silk gray dress, wet from the rain pouring down outside, had molded itself to her body. Silk was un-fucking-forgiving against a body. Instead of accentuating beauty, it highlighted every single goddamn flaw it could, but especially when it was that tight. Not on her, though.