Page 8 of Caruso (Vegas Mafia #3)

Chapter Eight

Matteo

I am angry. So god-damned angry I want to arrange a trip to wherever she comes from to commit murder. Giorgio wouldn’t be required to do the honors either. I would happily gut that pig with my bare hands for ruining this woman’s life.

She is eating as if this is her last meal, which reveals what she’s thinking far more than her words.

She believes I’m disgusted with her. Nothing is further from the truth.

I admire her strength, and she is going nowhere.

I will protect her from whatever shit life throws at her until she is able to stand on her own.

I will reward her honesty and give her a job.

A different one that doesn’t involve murdering my guests—well, not intentionally anyway.

I could use a woman like Taylor in my organization, and I am resisting the part of me that is telling me differently.

You want her.

I push that man away because Taylor has been hit on her entire life, and if I proceed with my original plan, that places me in the same category as all the losers who have tried their luck with her before me.

The door opens, and I groan when Giorgio heads inside, a maniacal grin on his face as he catches sight of our intimate meal for two.

“Well, what do we have here, brother?”

I groan as he grabs a chair and sits astride it, gazing at Taylor like a wolf sizing up his next meal.

Taylor is shocked, and her eyes are wide and bright, and I don’t blame her because Giorgio’s hands are covered in bruises and bloodstains and I note how she visibly pales and lowers her silverware as she leans back in her chair.

“Allow me to introduce my brother Giorgio, who is just leaving.” I say pointedly, causing him to laugh out loud.

“I’m pleased to meet you, angel. What’s your name?”

“Taylor.”

Her voice is low, a whisper on the breeze, and he smiles with all the charm of the Grim Reaper. Sinister, cruel and edged in retribution. Exactly the man she needs to take home for a visit.

“What are we eating?”

He doesn’t take the hint, and I sigh. “We are eating, you are heading to your room to clean off and only then will you be fit to grab takeout or annoy one of the chefs to fix you something.”

“Don’t be like that, Matteo.” He shakes his head, a sly expression on his face .

“I’ve had a hard day; work is a bitch.”

He rolls his eyes at Taylor, and she shrinks back in her seat.

Giorgio is one crazy son of a bitch, and Taylor is only just opening up to me. He’s probably tripping on adrenaline right now—standard stuff after hacking a man to pieces.

“Fine. I’ll clean off, but then I’ll be back. I could use a little light relief.”

“Then go and prey on some poor guest. Taylor is mine.”

I inject steel into my words, and Taylor’s eyes widen as she glances between us.

Mine.

I sound like a possessive asshole, but it’s the only language my brother understands.

A flicker of disappointment is my answer, and I relax as he sighs heavily.

“Message understood loud and clear. Is she staying?”

He jerks his thumb toward Taylor, and I hiss, “Fuck off, Giorgio. I won’t tell you again.”

With a deep sigh, he pushes back from the table and before he leaves, he stares Taylor straight in the eye and winks.

“I’ll see you around, angel.”

I roll my eyes as he flips me the bird, and as soon as the door closes behind him, I exhale sharply.

“I’m sorry about my brother.”

She shrugs and gazes after him with a thoughtful expression .

“Was that blood?”

She appears more interested than shocked, and I nod, knowing there is zero chance of covering up Giorgio’s hobby if she continues to be my house guest.

“He’s a fighter.” She states simply, and I shake my head.

“More than just a fighter, he’s also a judge, jury and executioner.”

“I see.”

Her eyes widen, and she appears thoughtful. I can almost sense her mind working overtime as she processes what I mean by that.

“He kills men.” She shifts uncomfortably on her seat and then adds, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

I say nothing because she’s right. It is none of her business. Family is everything to the Carusos, and I’m not about to spill our secrets to a stranger, no matter how delightful she is.

She bends her head over her plate and eats silently, every last piece of food cleaned meticulously from it, a sigh of satisfaction signaling she has enjoyed her meal.

As I watch her, it stirs something restless in my heart.

She appears to be so broken, fragile, a saint even.

But I know better than that. She is a fallen angel, if anything.

A demon in disguise because her ability doesn’t come from observation.

She snapped that guy’s neck like a twig in the forest despite the fact he was three times her size.

I text the chef for the dessert and pour her a glass of wine, loving how her eyes widen in confusion .

“I don’t–”

“You do, Taylor.” I force a hardness into my voice that she wasn’t expecting, judging from the shocked gasp that belies her thoughts.

“I don’t understand.”

“Call it the beginning of your education.”

“My education. As a wine connoisseur?”

Her light laugh lifts my spirits, and I wonder when that last happened.

I have become jaded over the years. That occurs when you get everything you want with no challenge.

Not that she is presenting much of one, but there is something about Taylor that speaks to my soul.

Is she a project, a fascination, an obsession even?

She’s definitely something, and I’m interested in the blank canvas before me.

Waiting for me to draw my mark across the unspoilt screen.

Making her into the woman I want her to be. Into my woman, perhaps.

Her fingers taper around the stem of the glass, and her pensive expression halts my breath.

She wafts the glass under her nose, which shrinks in disgust, and I smile encouragement.

“It won’t bite.”

She says nothing and tentatively holds it to her lips, the red fruity wine wetting them slightly. My cock hardens as I sense those lips fit for an alternative purpose and as she sips a small amount, her eyes cloud in horror.

“I–”

“Drink it.”

I’m almost hoping she refuses my order, but she screws up her face and takes a larger gulp, her eyes watering as she forces it down, causing me to chuckle.

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Do I have to.” She shivers with revulsion, and I nod.

“Yes, you do.”

“Why?”

“Because you will not fear anything ever again. Not food, not wine, not situations and not your past. Everything you are presented with will be a hurdle to overcome, a challenge if you like, and nothing will beat you, I promise you that.”

She says nothing and raises the glass to her lips, this time taking a more leisurely sip. Taking her time, savoring the taste, and as she sets the glass down, she shivers. “I haven’t changed my mind. Do people seriously spend their money on this shit?”

“That bottle cost one thousand dollars.”

Her mouth drops, and I nod toward the bar in the corner of the room.

“Over there I have a bottle of whiskey, one of three that cost ten thousand dollars each. You will continue your education with that.”

Her mouth falls further. “Ten thousand? You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not impressed.”

If anything, she looks angry, and I smile.

“I didn’t ask you whether you were impressed. I couldn’t care less what you thought; that wasn’t the objective.”

“What was the objective?”

The door opens, and the chef enters as I say, “To educate you in my world.”

As the chef removes the main course, we say nothing, but I stare intently into her eyes because my mind is set. I have a new project, and Taylor will become my perfect woman in every way, and I wasn’t kidding, her education begins today.

As soon as the chef leaves, she stares at the trio of desserts with a side of ice cream.

“You want to educate me. Why?”

“Because I can.”

“What if I say no?”

“Is that a possibility?”

She stares down at the food, and I sense her internal struggle. Taylor is used to fending for herself. Fighting to get by without any help from others. I have placed her in an unfamiliar situation, and she is struggling with that.

“What does it involve?”

I point to her plate.

“Eat the food, Taylor.”

She makes to open her mouth, and I reach across and place my finger against her lips and inject steel into my voice.

“Eat. We’ll talk over the whiskey. ”

Her eyes soften, and she says nothing, just lifts her spoon and cuts into the first item on the plate.

A delicious New York cheesecake. As she samples the taste, her eyes swim with gratitude, and I can’t tear my eyes away for a second.

She fascinates me even in the simple tasks, and now that the idea has planted a seed in my head, I am convinced she is the one.

Taylor will become my perfect woman, and I will teach her everything I know, all the time hoping my brothers don’t decide to throw their interest her way because, right in this moment, I’m not up for sharing.