Page 24 of Wanton

And yet nothing I said tonight was untrue. He knew long before I did that I was expected to marry Andrea Maceo. He never said anything to me about it. He let me grow up believing I had a future outside of this world. I understand why he did it, but that doesn't change the fact that the one person I trusted the most has always and will always put the family above me.

Isn't that the way it always goes for Made men?La Cosa Nostraabove all things. And yet this had nothing to do withmafiosobusiness, not really. He spoke no vow that held his tongue when it came to confessing the truth about my future. But he held his tongue anyway. He treated me as less than, just like Tommaso Genovese did. Just like my father did.

The stark contrast between my own family and Luca Valentino has never been more apparent than it is right now. Luca may not tell me everything, but he's been honest with me. Even when he knows the truth is brutal and ugly, he gives it to me. He doesn't keep me in the dark, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Thank you," I blurt, whirling to face him.

"For what,bella?" he asks, eyeing me from the bed where he's lounging. He's fully dressed, though he kicked his shoes off. His hands rest over his stomach, his feet crossed. He looks perfectly at ease, and yet his eyes are a million miles away.

"For letting me see Marcello."

"You don't owe me thanks." His eyes clear as he focuses on me. "You're upset."

"No," I lie.

"Liar."

"He annoyed me," I mutter with a defensive shrug.

"Ah. So I'm not the only one who breaks your boxes." His lips twitch. "Come here,bella."

"Why?" I ask, suddenly wary.

"You're annoyed with your brother. I want to make it better." He crooks a finger, beckoning me toward the bed. "I promise not to remove your clothes."

I slowly creep toward him, surprised by his willingness to let me remain clothed. "You're very confusing, Luca Valentino," I mutter when he hooks his arms around my waist, pulling me onto the bed with him.

"How so?"

I shrug noncommittally.

"Tell me,principessa."

"You're letting me keep my clothes," I whisper.

He smiles, his expression soft. "How many times do I have to tell you, Callandria? I won't force you to give yourself to me. I take only what you give me of your own free will." He tucks hair behind my ears. "And you aren't ready to give me every piece of you."

"Oh." I'm not entirely sure what he means by every piece of me, but I have a feeling he isn't just talking about my body. This man is…complicated. Like the impossible nine-piece puzzles. Everyone assumes the ones with more pieces are harder to figure out, but they're wrong.

Those nine small, oddly shaped pieces leave nearly everyone confused as they frantically try to figure out how they fit together. Most give up without ever getting anywhere. This man is exactly like that. Impossible to figure out. Confusing. Made of sharp edges and angles that somehow snap together to form an image few ever actually manage to complete.

"I like seeing you in my shirt,bella," he murmurs after a moment.

"The shirts you bought me are too small."

"Hmm. I wonder how that happened."

I peek up at him. "You bought them on purpose, didn't you?"

"You look good in my shirt." He shrugs, unrepentant.

"Luca," I groan, and then I smile, unable to help myself. He really is a wicked man. He plays by his own rules. Actually, I think he makes his own rules as he goes. He does what he wants when he wants and makes no apologies for it. I want to know what freedom like that tastes like.

"Sleep,bella," he murmurs, dragging me halfway on top of him.

"I'm not tired."

"No?"