He moved his arm away, smirking at me. “It’s not a big deal. Just tell me what you want.”
“Don Bellomo—”
“Tino. Nobody calls me Don Bellomo but my staff and soldiers. You’re neither.”
“So Nicky was right?”
“About?” He put the kettle on the stove.
I didn’t realize I said that out loud. I cleared my throat. “Uh…about your street name. She said Tino was your—”
“She’s right. It’s also short for Sebastiano. That’s what you’ll call me from now on. Now, about that tea?”
“Just please tell me where the sugar and the tea are.” I opened drawers and cabinets nervously, clumsily getting in his way, bumping into his hot, firm body. “I can make my own and will make some for you, too.” I almost hit his face, opening the cabinet above him, bumping into him again as I stretched on my toes.
Suddenly, his hands were on my waist, the kettle whistling with the boiling water, and as he lifted me and put me on the counter in front of him, my skin was whistling with heat.
My breath caught in my heaving chest, and my nipples hardened. Shoot. I was wearing a light t-shirt with no bra. If his gaze lowered a tad, he could see.
His gaze held me in place. “When I offer to do something for you, you don’t argue, you don’t negotiate, you only say thank you.”
“Thank you,” I said as if in a trance.
“Thank you what?”
“Thank you…Tino?”
“Atta girl. Now, anise or chamomile?”
“Chamomile, thank you.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Giggling, I shook my head.
His hands left my waist, and I could finally breathe. It was like he put me under a spell with his deep blue eyes and mesmerizing voice. Like, in that moment, he could make me do anything he asked and I’d have to obey.
The way his hands felt on my body and the way he commanded me reminded me of the one person that had that effect on me. That controlled and swayed me however he desired.
Him.
I sighed, pushing the dreadful memory aside. It wasn’t so hard now when Tino—I loved the sound of that on my tongue—reached up for the cabinet right above me, his chest practically in my face. God he smelled so delicious. Even more delicious than his son. What kind of panty-melting colognes did these guys wear?
I could see the letters of his tattoo clearly here. Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio. I couldn’t understand it, though. Must be something in Italian.
As if it had a mind of its own, my finger traced the letters on his hard chest. “What’s that mean?”
Abruptly, he dropped the tea box on the counter and yanked my finger off his chest, holding it in his fist. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” My heart thrashed. What the hell was I doing? “I…I’m so sorry. I was just curious.”
“Curious?”
“About the tattoo meaning.” Not about the feeling of his chiseled muscles.
He grunted and let go of my hand. “In English, it’s similar to old habits die hard. Literally, it means the wolf could lose his fur,” his eyes held me captive again, piercing me with its intensity, a warning, “but not his vice.”
“Why…why would you write that on your chest?” I panted.
“Why do you think?”
“A warning.” Just like the one in his eyes for me.
“Exactly.”
The wild danger seeping from him wrapped around me like a dark cloud, taking my breath away, even after he moved away to place the teabag in the mug.
He added two spoons of sugar without asking me. Luckily, it was how I liked it; I wasn’t gonna—couldn’t—object if it wasn’t. Then he poured hot water. “You’re going to be living here for some time. If you wander outside your room, you’ll need to start wearing a bra.”
My face burned with embarrassment, and I folded my arms over my boobs. He freakin’ saw.
“The house isn’t empty. They’re many people here. Adult men who are used to things little girls like you shouldn’t know. I hate to see one of my men lose an eye because you forget to wear a simple piece of undergarment.”
I didn’t know why that made me angry more than wary or disturbed; it wasn’t a figure of speech. A man like him would literally take someone’s eye out. Just for looking at me? “I thought I was safe here. Like nobody can touch me?”
He kept spinning the spoon in the tea. “Absolutely. If anybody ever laid a hand on you or your sister, they’d be dead.” Again, literally. “But I can’t blindfold my men to stop them from seeing what is not theirs to see or the fantasies that might sprout in their heads if they do.” He tossed the spoon in the sink and poured himself a glass of wine.
My lips twisted. “You’ll need to start wearing shirts outside your bedroom, too. There are women in the house now, who are not used to having half naked men flaunting their muscles around.”
He almost spat his wine.
I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.
To the man who’d just threatened to take people’s eyes out and kill them. What if he got mad and took my eyes out instead? That would be his solution to my I can’t stop myself from ogling problem.
“Perdona, signorina. Next time when I think there’s some intruder in my house, I’ll take some time to put a shirt on first before I hurry down to catch them.”
With a pinch to my mouth and arms over my chest, I slid off the counter. Then I extended one arm as far as I could to take the mug without moving any closer. “Thank you for the tea.”
He just sipped his wine, staring daggers at me.
Another round of thunder burst, and I flinched, spilling some of the hot liquid on the counter and my hand. Perfect.
He mumbled something in Italian including a cazzo. Then he dragged me to the sink and opened the faucet. Cold water calmed the burn, but it was his callused, masculine touch that soothed the pain as he made sure the water covered all the redness on my skin.
How could Sebastiano Bellomo be so gentle and caring and kind? I wondered how Leo couldn’t get along with him. Who would have a father so protective and loving and not like him?
Tino—it was gonna take me a while to get used to saying his beautiful name without blushing or maybe I wouldn’t have to because he’d kick us out in the morning after all the crap I’d done tonight—put his gun back in his pants, cleaned the outside of the mug, grabbed it with one hand and held my own hand in the other. Then he walked.
“What are you doing?” I widened my stride to keep up with his.
“Delivering you and your drink safely to your room.”
“I can carry my own drink—”
His warning stare chopped off my words.
“I mean, thank you, Tino.”
He chose the stairs, not the elevator, and I welcomed the extra time spent with my hand in his. The silence between us begged to be filled or else my mind and eyes would roam where they shouldn’t. I dared anybody to walk side by side with Tino and not do the same. “So, it’s not like I don’t love the stained glass, but in this weather, which is most of the year in Chicago, don’t you think it’s a little more spooky in here?”