Chapter 197: Bad Influence
- LUCIANO -
"You’re not coming with us dress shopping." Raya is laughing sweetly, the sun dancing off of her hair, scattering light around her while she leans toward Dex and kisses him in that way lovers do.
It’s like there is a spotlight trained on them, like they’re on stage. That’s the gravity both of them have. Or maybe it’s their love.
Rory watches them with a smile. She looks less troubled, less riddled with shadows, and I find that I can’t look away from her.
I stand near the doorway to the patio for a beat, thinking about what I just did while my eyes follow the light that reflects off of her dark hair. I threatened my father. I threatened the Boss. And I’m looking at the reason why. This woman really has made me stupid.
When Rory shifts her gaze, finding my eyes already on her, I swallow back the usual smirk and feel it descend all the way down into the core of whatever the hell it is that I’m made of.
It’s fun to play and tease and pretend that this is all innocent. That’s part of the chase, part of the excitement, when it comes to someone new. But I just... I just acknowledged how deeply she has affected me to my father. I challenged his authority because of my feelings for her. This isn’t a game—not that it ever was.
Now Pa is going to have expectations. Big expectations. And he’s probably going to give me shit that she’s not Italian.
Rory’s eyebrows thread together, finding something about me puzzling, and I wonder if there might ever be a time that she will approach me on her own. That she will stand up from a table like that one and come to my side without playing any games. That her emotions will match mine.
I watch as Rory rises from her seat and starts walking my way with that same thread of concern knitting her brows, and I almost take a step back in surprise. Can this woman read my thoughts? Maybe she truly is a strega.
She stops in front of me, looking unsure of herself—of what to say. I try not to let my attention linger too long on her olive skin or the shape of her beautiful form paused in front of me... so close. She’s just an arms-length away.
"What is it?" She finally asks. "Is something wrong?"
"What are you talking about?" I shrug and realize my hands are shoved in my pockets.
"You look different. Like... I don’t know. Like something is wrong." A light blush works its way over her cheeks, further surprising me, and then she glares at me like it’s my fault and glances away.
I want to touch her. Brush my fingers over her cheek where that new color has appeared. But I don’t.
"Is something wrong?" She asks it again almost resentfully while she’s staring past me. The breeze ruffles her hair, sliding it across her cheek, making me jealous that it can touch her when I can’t.
"Why are you worried about it?" I ask, the smirk climbing its way out of me, and I receive another glare from her in return.
When her stormy eyes drop, I get a look at that dark sweep of her eyelashes—how long and delicate they are. When did I turn into such a fucking romantic? I could write poems about this girl at this point, and I’m no poet.
"I’m not worried." She shakes her head with a frown. "Um, Raya and I are going to look for a dress. I’m surprised Dex didn’t bring one for her." She looks back at them, and I can’t help but chuckle.
"I was wondering the same thing," I admit.
"Don’t follow us, okay?"
"Rory..."
"Costa Rica is a very safe country, Luci," she interrupts. "I know you didn’t exactly get this impression before, but I can take care of myself. And I can take care of Raya, too. I’ve taken plenty of self defense classes. You don’t have to act like a bodyguard. I wasn’t asking for your help with that dream, okay?"
Her tone has become cold and clipped, and I look over her shoulder to where Dex and Raya are still wrapped in their own personal bliss, oblivious to the world around them.
"Maybe your ancestors were." It’s just a passing thought, meant mostly as a joke following our conversation about the dream yesterday.
"Well, I’m not." She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm before she can. Instinctual fear flickers across her face before she can hide it, and I let go, gritting my teeth as I do for all the bastards before me who are responsible for that reaction.
"Here." I hand her one of my knives, placing the fold of it in her palm. "At least carry this with you."
She stares at it like she isn’t sure what it is, which is fair because it’s not necessarily clear. I take it from her and flip it open, watching as her eyes go wide. It’s a small blade at only two and half inches, but with the handle it looks larger.
The handle has a ring and a clip—perfect for securing on her shorts or in her pocket—even on her tank top under her arm. It’s versatile and easy to use, which is why it’s one of my favorites despite it’s small size. And it’s perfect for her for that reason, too.
"Watch."
I slide the clip back on my pocket where it was, making it so that only the ring is visible. While the knife is still folded in my pocket, I slip my finger through the ring and twist so that the wave on the back of the blade catches on the pocket. Because of this, the blade unfolds immediately when I slide the knife all the way out.
Without needing a second hand to open the blade, it’s already ready to strike.
"It’s easy, see?"
Rory stares at it. "Show me again."
The eagerness in her eyes makes my smirk return. So I put the knife back into its starting position, grab it, and twist. It comes easily from its hiding spot, ready to cut any fuckers that I imagine wanting to mess with this precious girl in front of me.
"Want to give it a try, dolcezza?"
When I place the folded knife back in her palm, she tucks her pointer finger into the ring and holds it delicately. It’s small enough that she can conceal it in her hand just like that—like she’s holding onto keys and not a dangerous weapon.
"Will it rip my shorts if I do it wrong?"
"No." My lips twitch at the innocent question and the way she looks at the knife like it’s the treasure and not her. "Try it."
I watch her do it smoothly the very first time. She smiles brilliantly, and my heart fucking aches seeing it.
"Good. Again."
When she does it successfully three more times, it just might be the most excited I’ve ever seen her.
"That is crazy. Why have I never had one of these before now?" She grins, examining the blade closely and testing different ways of opening it with the small wave on the back of the blade. "It has a cute little fox on it, too. And it was made in Italy."
When I respond with a wink, her cheeks turn pink again, reminding me of this morning when I so badly wanted to kiss her.
"Now," I say, pushing the thought away. "What do you do when it’s out? Where would you cut me?"
I open my arms and step back so she can get a look, and she looks alright. Her eyes feel like fire everywhere they drag over me. She doesn’t offer any ideas, though.
"Slash, don’t stab. Trust me, it still hurts like a bitch." I point to my forearms and biceps and then my thighs, indicating the good places to target. "The forehead is a good one, too."
She nods and folds the knife, tucking it back into her pocket. "Okay. Thank you."
"Anytime, dolcezza."
"I’m sure I won’t need it, but..." she nods again, biting her lip. "It feels good."
"Good." We both start walking back to the table, and by this time Dex and Raya are watching us. I lean close to her ear. "We’ll get started on guns once we get back home," I say quietly.
She chuckles and shakes her head. "I knew you were a bad influence, Luci."
"Ah, but I think that’s why you like me, sweetheart."
