Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(31)

Fifteen minutes later, Antonio’s in our living room modeling a three-piece suit he plans to wear for his star turn, hair-that-shall-not-be-touched perfectly tousled.

It’s as if he lounges around his apartment looking like he stepped right off the pages of a men’s magazine.

Kelsey bites her lip, beaming at him.

“Antonio Corelli. Bringing it,” I say.

Antonio smiles. “Hugo Boss fall collection. I did a runway show last month and they gave me this one. A ten-thousand-dollar suit if not for a fray by the button.”

“It’s a wonderful suit,” Kelsey says. “Just stunning.”

“The bracelet gives it a slight organized-crime twist,” I observe. “Very nice. Not that Max will be close enough to see that, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” This is my gentle way of reminding him that he won’t be trotting out that backstory.

He fingers his bracelet. “If you are asking if I am a friend—a soldier…” He gives his Euro shrug. “This is not something you should ask. I will tell you that my time in the streets made me hard. A very hard businessman. My practices…” Thoughtfully, he adjusts his suit sleeve. “They are not what you call ethical, I’m afraid. Effective, yes. Ethical, not so much, cara. Everything I have, I’ve had to fight for. And now I fight for you. I will follow you up the high-rise. I am not above helping the object of my affection in her menial chores. And if another man even looks at her sideways.” He gives Kelsey a dark look and lowers his voice. “I will slit his throat. Without a moment’s hesitation, I will do this. I will leave him to die on the street like the dog that he is.”

“Dude, no,” I say.

“How will this pickup artist know that I adore you?”

“Remote visual observation,” I say.

He frowns.

“And you’re not following me. You’ll just be out hanging around at the rendezvous truck where I switch out carts between buildings, and he’ll see you looking at me adoringly when he walks by. It’s usually before lunch, or else right after. Okay? He’s not going to come talk to us.”

“But if he does…”

“You’re a guy on your lunch break who wants a date with me. And you say nothing.”

Antonio shakes his head vociferously. “I would not stay silent,” he growls. “One sideways look from him—”

“It won’t come to that.”

“You never know,” Kelsey says. “It’s good for Antonio to be ready.”

I widen my eyes at Kelsey.

Antonio gazes at the ceiling, sucks in a breath. “Even the smallest interaction with you, when you’re loading your lunch cart out on the street, is solace to my darkened soul. Does he think to take you from me? He’ll see that the blade is just another tool to me. I am not afraid to tell him that.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to scare him off,” Kelsey says, chastened. “Just watch her with that deep look, maybe a smile. You’ll be amazing.”

“A smile with no subtext is but a shape of the lips.” Antonio turns his deep look to me. “How many men have I killed in this short life? One does not lurk around after a street fight in the alleyways of Milano.”

“…cookies,” I whisper.

“Roma, then,” he growls.





10




Do something outrageous. You don’t give a shit what she thinks.

~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room





* * *



Mia

I call Rollins to try and persuade him to use the Maximillion Plaza block as the relay point—I suggest a spot that will be in perfect view of Max walking across the street for his pre-lunch visit. It’s just a block over from where we usually are.

Rollins is not so sure—in addition to the innocent-country-boy-in-the-city thing he has going on, he’s a dedicated rule follower. Rollins never met a rule he doesn’t want to marry in a little white chapel on a windswept prairie.

I promise him I’ll tell the other delivery cats and take all the heat, and he finally agrees.

I arrange my delivery schedule so that I can meet Antonio out there just before eleven.

The timing works like clockwork, which I guess is the point of using a clock. Rollins brings me a new cart and switches out the old like the Indy 500 pit crew of sandwich delivery that he is. I’m refilling the chips and utensils just as Antonio arrives in his beautiful suit.

“Can I help you?” Rollins asks, because Antonio looks more like somebody we’d deliver to than somebody we’d know.

“I’m past help,” Antonio says darkly. “So far past help.”

“It’s cool, he’s my cousin,” I explain.

Antonio slides his hand up the side of the truck, gazing down at me. It’s a smoldering, sensual, uniquely male stance. “Do not minimize it, cara,” he says. “Do not minimize what we are to each other. We are more than mere cousins.”

Rollins straightens, nervously restocking chips.

I widen my eyes at Antonio.

Antonio turns to Rollins. “I came to look at her beauty, hoping that it would ease the despair and darkness in my heart.”