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A deep, powerful man’s voice echoes down the wide staircase. Not the father. Not old enough. Not the youngest, though.
“Are you the new cleaner?” There’s no mistaking the arrogant, dismissive scorn in his words. “It’s about time. The smell from the basement is rank. You’d better get moving.”
I peer up, but I can’t see through the gloom and the glare of the few dusty streams of light.
Finally, he moves around the bannister and I get a look at him. My breath and my heart both stop.
Him.
One glimpse of that face would be enough to stab fear into any heart.
In the flesh, even from this far below, he’s a formidable figure. Broad shouldered in a tailored suit, he looms large like a bomb. The shadow of stubble looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed or, more likely, a fight. Icy blue eyes, brimmed with chilly disdain. They were locked onto me with a mix of scorn and a curious interest that sent shivers down my spine.
Him.
Four floors above me, leaning on the bannister, his arms are spread wide as he leans on his huge hands. Anyone in the city would recognize him. The eldest son. Second in command and heir to the Fortuna empire.
A careless tousle of black hair makes a dark shadow over half his face. The other half is a storm of menace.
With a smirk, he says, “Looks like we’ve got a little parcel of trouble.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ihave to shout back, up the huge stairwell, and I hate how weak and pathetic it makes me sound. “I’m not a cleaner.”
“No,” the sarcasm in the boom of his voice rolls back like distant thunder. “You don’t look like you’d be up to the work.”
Alessio Fortuna is a smoldering hunk of sarcastic bully. Every massive inch as hot, and powerful, and from what I can see, as cruel as his reputation.
“So,” he sounds as though even his disinterest takes more effort than it’s worth, “are you here to sell us something? Or has my father been demanding more masseuses?”
Every syllable curls with scorn. “To be honest, you don’t look like you would be up to that line of work, either. Take a piece of advice. If I were you, if you have to choose between the two jobs, I’d grab the mop and bucket. The work would be less unpleasant. Probably less hazardous, too.” He sniffs. “You look a bit delicate for any of it though, quite honestly.”
Before I can respond, his words rumble down to me again. “You look too delicate to even be here. Are you sure this is where you’re supposed to be?”
So, I’m getting the hang of how this goes. The bored older son is trying to spook me. He wants some fun at my expense. I want to say that it’s not working. It would be a lie, though.
After he’s waited a few moments and I haven’t risen to the taunt, he sighs. Dropping the act like a stone, his voice is flat. Bored and chillingly lifeless.
“You’re the Benedetti scrap, then. The peace offering.”
His words sting and make me want to fidget and squirm. And, of course, I want to yell back up at him. My lips purse. But I’m still not going to take his bait.
Another male voice roars out from the third floor balcony. “What has the cat dragged in?”
A distinctive muscular and athletic silhouette moves with the stealth and poise of a big cat. Middle brother Bruno appears, leaning his elbows on the carved bannister a floor lower.
None of his pictures prepared me for the searing burn of the hot poker tips of his eyes, or the pointed dimple in his chin. And not for the cruel crackle of his laugh. I can’t see the family resemblance between these two. Must be one of those cases where one boy looks just like the mother and the other one favors the father.
“Head to toe in threads from the decade that fashion forgot. What are those things you have on, dear? Are they knock-off Levis and Doc Martens from an outlet mall?”
He’s trying to goad me, too. I know. I shouldn’t answer but before I can stop myself, I’m shouting back up, “FYI, These are Roberto Cavalli jeans and Thursday’s Explorers.” But I could be wearing Bottega Veneta printed leather jeans. You oafs wouldn’t know the difference. I’m pathetically proud of myself, managing not to say the last part out loud.
“Oh,” the echoes of Bruno’s crushing laugh bounce around the stairwell, “it hisses! I wonder if it bites.”
A cramp reminds me that my jaw is clenched tight. I have to keep reminding myself to relax. Stay calm. Keep your composure, girl.
Alessio drawls, “What? Do you think the Benedettis are hoping we might tame it?”
