Page 13 of Caruso

“That you deal with your problems without involving anyone else. I kind of admire that about you.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“On the streets. I told you; I’ve had many jobs in this town, and they all told me that you—your family—weren’t the kind to put up with shit. I like that and admire the quality.”

She replaces her fork, and I note her empty plate, whereas mine has been barely touched.

“You’re hungry.”

I state the obvious, and she nods. “Food is a luxury the unemployed can’t afford.”

If anything, it makes me angry, and as I text my chef for the next course, I stand.

“Come, I want to show you something.”

She doesn’t hesitate and takes my hand, and as ourfingers entwine, a thrill shoots through me as our flesh connects. My wild angel—mine.

We head through the open door onto a terrace that wraps around the hotel, and she gasps as the warmer air hits her. The lights dance beneath us, and as I lead her over to the edge, I turn and raise her fingers to my lips. “You are a beautiful woman, Taylor. “

She accepts my compliment and smiles. “You are a handsome man, Matteo. I’m guessing attractive women are plentiful in your life.”

“They are.”

I make no excuses but say with sincerity. “You are the most beautiful one yet.”

She nods, a broad smile lighting her face, and I can’t help myself and reach out and touch her hair. “You disguise your blonde hair—why?”

“I am disguising myself; hiding away because the person I was has gotten me into trouble too many times.”

“Tell me about your stepfather.”

Her eyes cloud with misery.

“He is a brute. He met my mother, and when she died, he turned his attention to me.”

“What did she die of?”

“An overdose.”

She shrugs as she turns and stares out over the edge, a lost soul searching the bright lights for answers.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“I was ten years old.”

It’s as if knives are scraping against my nerves as I picture her upbringing. She turns and surprises me by holding her hand flat against my face; her soft touch startles me way more than a punch.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Matteo. Shit happens in life, and it’s made me the person I am. Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look.”

“You are an assassin in bare feet.”

She laughs and shrugs. “Killer heels is the right description. It hurts less this way.”

She leans a little closer and whispers, “Can I ask you a question?”