Page 21 of Where Wild Hearts Dance (Dark Hearts #2)

B enito

With Beppe and Nicolò on their way out, I decide to take a moment on the terrace. I have real issues to solve on a legal front but there’s nothing that fires me up more than seeking revenge on an enemy.

For a long time, the Marchesis were that enemy, but in all honesty, they’ve gotten boring. Predictable. We’ve pushed them out of New York almost completely, leaving us entirely in control of the city.

We now have multiple possible moves in front of us—we could take Philly, or Jersey, maybe even Florida, but with the New York officials in our pockets and the officials of most other states in theirs, we wouldn’t be up against much friction.

The suggestion that the Marchesis have a wild card yet to play turns me on a little, I have to admit. Well, it’s either that or the scene laid out in front of me.

Contessa damn Castellano is draped over a chair in the center of the terrace, seemingly oblivious to all other human life. One leg is curled beneath her while the other is stretched out an unfairly long way. Her alabaster skin is showed off to perfection in a barely-there black two-piece that doesn’t seem to be much more than a few pieces of string tied together. The only thing covering her ass cheeks is a tight black belt—oh wait, my mistake. Skirt.

Good Lord Almighty, I am just about done with this.

Back at the barbershop, I thought I had a problem. And now, three days later, I know I have a problem. Hiring Karina was nothing but an expensive research exercise that didn’t yield the results I’d hoped for. I silently thank God that only I can see through the facade. When it comes to Contessa Castellano, I’m nothing more than a borderline alcoholic abstaining for a weekend just to prove something to myself, then failing miserably.

I hired a call girl to prove I can still get it on with other women and… turns out I can’t.

Ever since the day I saw her dancing, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Actually, make that since the day she confessed she’s no longer a virgin. Actually, who the fuck am I kidding? It’s since Gianni’s fucking funeral. Contessa Castellano has taken up permanent residence in my head. And I just know, the crazed, single- minded masochist I am, if nothing changes, this will turn into some unhinged obsession that can only lead to danger. I fought hard to become consigliere to this family and nothing—not even Contessa Castellano—is going to threaten that. I cannot and will not allow it. If I lose my focus, my edge, my grip , everyone will suffer. Not just Contessa but the entire Di Santo family. The only way through this nonsense is to take a good, hard step back.

I hesitate, my gaze drawn to her like an irrational obsession, and that gives me even more ammunition.

It’s for the best .

I feel her eyes flick my way as I walk straight past her. I don’t trust myself right now to hold a conversation that doesn’t end with the words “bend the fuck over.”

I stand at the edge of the terrace and drag in some long breaths. I should have gone straight into the house as soon as I saw her, but I needed air .

“Good afternoon to you too.”

Her words carry on the light breeze but her tone is loaded with spite. I’ve pissed her off. Well, good .

Maybe she’s halfway to knowing how I feel just having to be in the general vicinity of those damned legs.

Cristiano joins me and we both feign interest in the view while discussing business in hushed tones.

At the same time he walks away, Tess gathers her things and follows him into the house. I can’t help my gaze narrowing as I watch her disappear from view. Instinctively, I want to follow. But rationally I know I can’t. This has to stop .

I wait for Cristiano to come back outside, but it takes an age . My fingers ache from curling and flexing and I can feel blood in my palms from where my nails have dug in deep. I’m looking at one of the most beautiful views New York has to offer, yet all I can see is black. Black hair, black skirt, black lashes. They blur into more black. The black room that held hundreds of pictures of her, black painted carpet and windows. The black dress she wore to Gianni’s funeral with the long, sexy split up the side—the only thing distracting me from the black hatred in her eyes.

Black, black, black .

“You okay?” Cristiano’s voice slides into my ears. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

I rub a hand down my face, dragging the visions with it.

“Not today,” I reply.

His brows hitch and he looks sideways at me. “What’s bothering you?”

“I need someone else to watch her, Cristiano.”

“Who? Tess?” He sounds surprised.

I shove my hands deep in my pockets to hide the blood. “Yeah.”

“Why?” He draws the word out slowly, as though he’s relishing the change in topic.

“I have too much on and… I know how important she is to the family. I can’t protect her properly right now—my head is in a million other places. We need to find someone else. ”

Cristiano’s gaze pans to the horizon. “But you’re the best, Benito. And I don’t trust many other people.”

My chest feels so tight I worry it might explode.

“Nicolò can do it.”

“I’ve just given him the lower east side.”

Fuck . “I’ll take it.”

“Benny, it was kind of a promotion for him.”

I groan. Something tells me I’m not getting out of this. “Fine. Maybe we can split our time with her. I’ll keep an eye on her when she’s in the studio…” When she’s a floor below and I can’t see her . “And Nicolò can watch her at your place.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll let you talk to him.” Cristiano’s lip twitches as he delivers the next blow. “Either way, you should both know she’s headed to a party right now.”

I do a double take. “What?”

“Pool party, about ten miles east of here.”

“But she doesn’t do parties.”

Cristiano shrugs and I can almost sense glee rolling off his shoulders. “She does now.”

An unpleasant taste fills my mouth. Something is amiss here. The whole time I’ve been watching her, Contessa has never been to a pool party, nor a social event for that matter. What the fuck is she playing at? Maybe she’s seeing someone, in secret. That could solve the problem of having to turn down an arranged marriage because of a lack of innocence.

“You let her go?” I can’t help the growl at the base of my throat. Cristiano pans an innocent gaze in my direction. “Dressed in—” I’m about to say ‘next to nothing’ but think better of it, “a two-piece ?”

A small smile dances across his face. “She’s a grown woman, Benny. She can wear whatever she likes. And as far as I know, her father hasn’t promised her to anyone—yet, so she can come and go as she pleases. Our remit is only to make sure she’s safe.”

Yet. Something dark and inhuman explodes behind my eyes.

“She’s not safe,” I say, my voice dropping to inhuman depths.

Cristiano steps to one side and I take that as my cue to leave. I scrub my bloodied hand down my pants as I stride across the terrace and over the lawns. When I’m sure I’m out of sight, I break into a run. As soon as I’m sitting in the driver seat of my car, the gates open, as though the world knows exactly what my game plan is.

Only…. I didn’t finish my sentence.

Contessa Castellano is not safe .

From me.