Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

“And then, that sleazy motherfucker, Cosimo, called me, saying how sorry he is for what happened, and that he’ll be taking over my obligations. And, how it’s such a shame I won’t be able to attend Giancarlo’s fucking party tomorrow,” he rambles on. “He always acts like he’s better than everyone else, when we all know he’s getting special treatment only because he’s banging the don’s mother. I won’t be going, but you are. And after, you’re going to tell me everything that happens there. I want to know who was present, and what was said about me.”

I take a deep breath and squeeze the purse in my hand. Rocco might have bought me tons of expensive jewelry and extravagant clothes, but I’m never going to feel like I belong in that circle. Money was always scarce in my family, and I feel awful being surrounded by so much wealth because I know that my mom and brother can barely get through a month on what my mother makes. I detest going to the Cosa Nostra gatherings.

“Are you listening to me, Ravenna?”

I bite the inside of my cheek as a memory of me curled on the bathroom floor pops into my mind. The realization that I never tried to pick or break the lock to get out eats away at me like acid.

“I don’t want to go to that party,” I blurt out.

Rocco glares at me and leans forward. I take an involuntarily step back and bump my back into the door.

“Who the fuck cares what you want!” he yells and launches the TV remote at me. I barely have time to duck and avoid being hit in the head.

“You’ll do as I say, and you’ll watch yourself. I’ll have Zanetti report to me on your behavior. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I choke out.

“Good. Now, get out! I can’t bear to look at you!”

I fling the door open and dash out of the room. Running down the hall, I ignore the curious stares of people as I pass them. Only once I’ve reached the sidewalk in front of the hospital do I stop. My heart is beating out of my chest and I’m struggling for every breath.

A hand lands on my upper arm, long strong fingers squeezing lightly.

“Did he do anything?” Alessandro’s voice rasps over my back.

I close my eyes and shake my head. Pathetic. Rocco was in bed, almost ten feet away from me. He wouldn’t have been able to hit me, but I still panicked and ran away like the coward I am. It’s hilarious, how I always believed myself to be confident. I never shrank from confrontation. Once, I caught an older boy from school bullying my brother. I kneed him in the junk. And look at me now. Fucking terrified because that bastard raised his voice.

“Ravenna.”

A shudder runs down my spine. I love how Alessandro says my name.

Slowly, I turn and look up at his hardened face. Even in my four-inch heels, I still need to tilt my head way back to be able to meet his gaze.

“What did he do?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“He didn’t do anything.” I blink to keep the tears from spilling. I don’t know why I feel like crying. Maybe I’m mourning my pitiful attempt at standing up to Rocco. “He just yelled. I got spooked. It’s stupid.”

Alessandro’s nostrils flare, and he lowers his head, leveling with my face. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, and if it was any other man in his place, I would have probably recoiled. Once bitten, twice shy, people say. But I don’t back away.

Since I’ve met him, Alessandro has gifted me with a plethora of different looks. There was despise. Anger. Irritation. Even hate, especially in the beginning. I haven’t felt threatened by him even once.

“He will. Never. Touch you again,” he says in a hushed voice.

It’s been a very long time since anyone stood up for me. Especially a stranger, or at least not a family member. I’m not sure I can trust myself to believe.

“You can’t promise that,” I whisper. If Alessandro confronts Rocco in any way, my husband will have him killed. Or he’ll do it himself.

“Yes, I can,” Alessandro says and smiles.

I can’t look away from his mouth, captivated by how sinfully attractive such a wicked grin could be.

As we head toward his car, the back of his hand accidentally brushes mine. Biting the inside of my cheek, I move a bit closer and hook my pinkie with his.

Alessandro stops.

I halt, too, but I don’t dare glance at him. A moment passes. Alessandro resumes walking, and I follow. He doesn’t pull his hand from mine.

***