Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

15 | Vivienne

There comes a time in every woman's life when, for better or worse, she will be forced to wonder... was my mother right?

I personally believe that mothers are always right—in something. At least once. Often in the one thing we wish they wouldn't be. 

And as I invite a member of the Italian mafia—whose sanity could definitely be called into question and who has consequently tried to end my life at least a couple times—into an enclosed space to spend the afternoon with me, it isn't lost on me that maybe my mother had a fucking point.

Maybe I seek out chaotic situations just for the fuck of it, because it's exactly what everybody expects from someone like me anyway. Maybe I just like to be contrarian. 

Oh well. 

Whatever it is, it's fucking fun. 

Sometimes I'm not sure Massimo is really all there. He'll stare like he's not seeing anything, eyes void. Blank. He's so overwhelming—all hardness and clean lines in those Brioni suits—that you wouldn't notice. But if you can look past the taut restraint and the deceivingly calm exterior, there's something else there. Something big and dormant. 

And I don't mean his tendency to go berserk, kind of almost kill me, and then act like nothing has fucking happened. 

He's harsh and callous—but not like he enjoys it. He's the biggest control freak I've ever met, but not because he likes to be that way. Fuck, I may be insane for thinking I can even begin to understand, but there's so much more to Massimo Romano. And I'm addicted to figuring it out. 

Massimo ducks his head so it doesn't hit the bell as he follows me in. He stands so out of place in the small, drab office, but still so commanding. An unexpected shiver runs down my spine at the way the straight lines of his suit blend with the rigid cut of his jaw, combining with that cold gaze to make him perhaps the most alluring man I have ever seen. 

A man in the waiting room yanks on his corgi's leash as it begins yapping and snarling at Massimo, whose face sours in disdain at the racket. 

I hide a smile. Something about the towering, immovable man makes him deliciously fun to mess with. He just makes it so easy.

As I check in, I'm overly aware of his presence behind me even though he makes sure to leave ample distance between us. Knowing he's there like a silent shadow and feeling the weight of that inscrutable stare has every inch of my skin heating.

The receptionist takes Nik back with her, leaving me and Massimo in the crowded waiting room. It's just a standard checkup, which doesn't take too long, but I've made sure to specify the concerns I have—and that should make this visit a little longer than usual.

We move to sit down right as the man with the corgi who hates Massimo—or the Italian mafia—is standing up. He leans down to untangle his pet's leash, backing up obliviously. Massimo goes rigid as a plank as the man's ass brushes his thigh, but he does nothing to distance himself or even tell the guy to move. 

Just stands there as if he's content to silently suffer. 

"Excuse us," I push in with a hand on the man's shoulder, gently creating space for Massimo. The stranger mumbles several apologies, and once he's gone, I notice the tension clinging to Massimo's body gradually loosen. 

I avoid looking at him as we sit. I have no idea why I did that.

The words I've been rehearsing since my realization at my parents' dinner table are right at the tip of my tongue. If I want to confront him, I should probably do it in a place like this. Public. Crowded with witnesses. I can't have too much fun submerging myself in all of Massimo's mystery and intrigue. I need to know what he's really doing here, why he chose Rhinebeck, and what kind of shady shit he's trying to do in my town.