Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

Strong fingers wrap around the man’s wrist, cutting off the rest of the guy’s sentence.

“Non toccarla,” Rafael says through his teeth, glaring at the young man who looks like he’s a second away from pissing himself. “Lei è mia. Capito?”

“SÌ. Ho capito, Signor De Santi. Mi dispiace molto,” the man chokes out and quickly steps away.

“What happened?” I ask as I take Rafael’s extended hand.

“He wanted to repark my car,” he says, helping me out. “I thanked him and said no.”

“That didn’t sound like a thank you to me. And he is the valet. It’s his job to park cars. Why wouldn’t you let him?”

Our gazes collide. We’re standing face to face now. Okay, more like face to chest. Even with sky-high heels on, I have to crane my neck quite a bit to be able to meet Rafael’s eyes.

He dips his head, and one of the strands of his slicked-back hair falls forward, tickling my forehead. With my hand still in his, he gently strokes my knuckles with his thumb.

“I don’t allow other people to touch what’s mine, Vasilisa.”

A shiver runs down my spine from the way he pronounces my name, with a hint of an Italian lilt. It feels like the softest caress.

“It’s just a car,” I whisper.

His eyes crease at the corners, and then he moves his hand to the small of my back, urging me toward the restaurant entrance.

There are around twenty tables inside, and half that many on the cliffside terrace. Grapevines have climbed and twisted around the pillars and along the banister edging the vista and up across the white overhead arbor, creating a beautiful canopy that must shelter the outdoor tables from the midday heat. Right now, though, as we cross the veranda, bits of the nighttime sky and brilliant stars play peekaboo through the gaps in the greenery.

Whimsical is the only way I can describe the sight around me, and I feel as if I’ve entered another dimension. One that promises romance and an enchanted evening.

If only it were true.

But the ambience in this restaurant is breathtaking. When we pass through the interior, I notice a girl in a pretty, long dress playing the harp in the corner, close to the bar. The subtle tones of the strings mix with the quiet chatter from the people seated nearby.

The hostess leads us to the one unoccupied table at the far side of the terrace, and by the time we reach our destination, the voices of other patrons gradually die down, only the distinctive melody from the harp remains. Every person—both inside and dining alfresco—seems to be intently focused on their meal, their eyes glued to the plates set before them.

“Looks like you’re quite popular around here,” I comment as I take a seat on the chair Rafael has slid out for me. “Are they expecting you to pull out your Remington and off them all before the appetizers arrive?” I look around the place, where people are slowly resuming their hushed conversations.

“I was born here. This is a locals-only restaurant, and everyone in Taormina knows me,” he says. “When I returned to Sicily and took control of the east coast, the people living here became mine. They are under my protection.”

“Their faces don’t give off that ‘oh, I feel so protected’ vibe. Scared shitless would be a much more accurate description.”

“That’s because they know what I did in order to take over.”

“Let me guess. You ‘retired’ your predecessor? I didn’t think that’s how Cosa Nostra worked.”

Rafael sits across from me and leans back in his seat. “I’m not a member of Cosa Nostra. And I did ‘retire’ my predecessor and every one of his followers who didn’t flee to Palermo when I moved back home.”

“Well, no wonder the atmosphere here feels weird.”

A waiter brings a bottle of wine, presenting it to Rafael, who nods his approval without even glancing at the label. His eyes are solely focused on me.

“You don’t seem bothered by uncomfortable social situations.”

“Please.” I snort. “After spending over twenty years with a family like mine, anyone could handle whatever the universe decides to throw up. Especially during social gatherings.”

“Care to elaborate?”

I pick up the glass of wine the waiter has poured for me and take a long sip. This is not how I thought this evening would go. I don’t know what I actually expected, but it certainly wasn’t this pleasant feeling due to just being in Rafael De Santi’s company.

“Well, a few months ago, my dad threw a surprise party for my mom’s birthday. There were around forty people at the table, and we were in the middle of a toast when my uncle barged in, fully armed and covered in blood.”