Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

The woman looks up from her work and scans me from the end of my braid, that I pulled over my shoulder, to the tips of my toes peeking out beneath the fluff of my slippers. The expression on her face runs the gamut from surprise to absolute confusion.

“Sei la ragazza di Raffaello?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“I’m not sure where Rafael is. Sorry.”

“Me, Irma.” She points one flour-covered finger at herself, then at me. “You. Rafael’s girl?”

“Um . . . definitely not. Rafael’s prisoner would be a better term.” I point at myself. “Vasilisa.”

The woman tilts her head to the side, giving me another once-over, her eyes stopping on the tie I used as a belt.

“Rafael’s girl.” She nods. “Good match.”

“I’m not his—” I try to clarify but Irma has already turned her back to me and is taking something out of the oven.

Leaning over the kitchen island, I’m floored by the large pan of what looks like a thick-crust pizza in her hands. And, my God, it’s not even burned.

“I see you’re up.” Guido’s voice comes from behind me. He sounds almost friendly.

I reach for the plate with a big slice of pizza that Irma passes to me and turn around. “I see your staff are back.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, then meets my gaze. “I’m sorry for going off on you the other day. When it comes to my brother, I tend to get overly protective.”

“Rafael doesn’t strike me as someone who needs anyone’s protection.”

“Only when it comes to protecting him from himself,” Guido says, eyeing my tie-belt. “Finish the job you need to do here. As fast as you can.”

“Well, that’s the plan.”

“Plans change.” He looks up, meeting my gaze. “I hope this one doesn’t, or, I’m afraid, we’ll end up waist-deep in dead bodies.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Be careful. When my brother claims something as his, there’s no force on this earth that would make him let it go. Finish the job. Then, go home, Miss Petrova.”

I watch Guido’s back as he busies himself with the coffee machine, wondering what the hell he meant by his cryptic words. The clock on the wall shows a minute past ten. Stuffing the rest of my breakfast into my mouth, I leave the kitchen and rush across the entry hall where a couple of maids are mopping the floor.

A badass gunmetal gray Maserati SUV is parked outside the front doors, its black-tinted windows reflecting the morning sun. Leaning on the side of the vehicle, with his arms crossed over his chest, is my jailer himself. He’s wearing black dress pants and a vest, with a gray shirt underneath, all immaculately tailored to fit his large frame. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled to his elbows, revealing heavily inked forearms that are corded with muscles. His dark hair is slicked back, and only now do I notice that he has a small metallic hoop in his left ear.

“Good morning,” I murmur while feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. God, I can’t believe I actually voiced that thing about men making me scream last night.

Rafael cocks his head to the side, observing me. The sun is shining directly onto his face, allowing me to see every single imperfection. It’s plain as day that he must have been incredibly handsome before suffering whatever it was that happened to him. A car accident maybe? He still is, though. Gorgeous. Despite the scars. And then, there’s that dangerous vibe he has going for him that’s seriously alluring. It’s as if the very air around him is charged with unrestrained energy, warning me to stay away, but at the same time, beckoning me closer.

“I wondered where that tie was.”

My hands go to my waist, adjusting my “belt.”

“Second drawer on the left, with the rest of them. Um . . . I reorganized your walk-in.”

“I noticed. It took me ten minutes to find what I needed this morning. You sleep like a log, by the way.”

“You can’t just venture inside my bedroom,” I grumble, approaching the car.

“Your bedroom?”

“Fine. I’ll move my stuff to some other room.”

“No, you won’t,” he says, opening the passenger door.