99
Rosa’s POV
I ran my hand through my hair, not minding that I would get it rough that way. All I could think of was how I was going to get my father’s latest assignment done. And a certain, hot man that had been plaguing my mind ever since that damned one night stand.
“Pass the salt,” I said, not looking up as I reached across the table. My eyes were focused on my phone, and while that was a bad habit while we were all having dinner, I didn’t think anyone cared in particular.
Before my hand even got close, the small silver shaker was already in front of me, Allesio sliding it into place with a faint smirk. “Always in a rush, Rosa.”
I narrowed my eyes at him but didn’t say anything, my fingers brushing against the cool metal. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“Anything for you,” he said, and though his tone was light, the words carried an undercurrent I couldn’t ignore. This had been going on for a few days now. Him helping me out when with the littlest things like this. Any other woman would have been elated with his attention but that was the thing. I wasn’t any other woman. His attention made me wary.
I focused on my plate, willing myself not to respond. Emilia was seated beside me, too busy discussing something with Alaric to notice Allesio trying to get my attention and me doing my best to ignore him. She doesn’t approve of whatever complicated relationship between him and I anyways. I stabbed at my salad with more force than necessary, my appetite suddenly evaporating.
Allesio’s voice pulled me back. “So, how did the meeting go today? Everything smooth with the Delucas?”
The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t mentioned which syndicate I’d met with earlier, but he’d somehow known. My head snapped up, and for a moment, I just stared at him. Was he having me followed or he just knew by coincidence? But that was the thing. There was never any such thing as coincidence in this line of work. If he knew, it was because he wanted to know who I was meeting with and what we were discussing about. But why did he want to know?
“It went fine,” I said cautiously, keeping my tone neutral while watching him closely to see if he’d give anything away. He didn’t.
His smile didn’t falter. “Good to hear. I figured they’d be tough negotiators. The Delucas always are.”
There it was again-that quiet knowledge, the hint that he knew more than he let on. My instinct was to bristle, to push back, but something in his expression stopped me. He didn’t look smug or calculating; he looked… interested. Fine. Two could play the game. I could indulge him in this without giving anything important away. I hoped.
“Have you dealt with them before?” I asked, testing the waters.
“A few times,” he admitted with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “They’re predictable if you know how to read them.”
“And you do?” I questioned.
“Let’s just say I have my ways,” he replied, his grin widening just enough to make me roll my eyes.
“Of course you do,” I said flatly, returning my focus to my plate. I stabbed into my plate with much force than I should have, ignoring the weird look that Emilia shot me.
We continued dinner without Allesio talking to me but I could feel his sharp eyes on me all though, cataloging every word and reaction I gave whenever Alaric asked me questions. It wasn’t until the plates were cleared, and we all retired to the sitting room, that I realized how much I was really really affected by him. And how much I hated it.
Emilia and Alaric had moved to the fireplace, having a low and private conversation there while I sat on one of the armchairs, nursing a glass of wine and pretending not to notice Allesio as he settled on the couch across from me. He cleared bus throat, definitely wanting to get my attention but I didn’t give it.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he finally said after a moment.
“Not much to say,” I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on the dark red liquid in my glass.
“Unusual for you,” he teased, and I stole a glance at him. His eyes were bright and he had a wide grin on his lips directed at me.
I kept my eyes on him, my lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Tired of me?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
I didn’t answer, and for a second, neither of us spoke. The room seemed smaller somehow, the air heavier.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” I said finally, my voice tinged with exasperation.
“I’ve been told,” he said, his smirk returning.
Despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. He was relentless, but there was a charm to his persistence that was hard to ignore.
“You’re good at this,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“At what?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing,” I said, gesturing vaguely between us. “The charm, the banter-it’s a nice act.”
His expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his face. “What makes you think it’s an act?”
“Because it always is,” I said simply.
He didn’t argue, but the silence that followed felt loaded. I took another sip of my wine, hoping the conversation would die there, but instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Maybe you’re wrong about me,” he said quietly.
“Maybe,” I admitted, though I didn’t believe it for a second.
But as I met his gaze, something in his expression made me hesitate. For the first time, I hoped I was very very wrong about something. About him.
“Why don’t you trust me?” He asked in the same quiet voice. “Why is it so hard for you to trust me?”
I remained quiet, wanting to look away from him but finding myself unable to.
He got up from the chair, shooting me a pained smile that I didn’t understand. “Goodnight, Rosa.” And he left.