Ruthless Royalty, page 10
“What are you doing?” she demands, her voice more steady than I expected, but I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
“Just making sure you’re listening,” I murmur, my face inches from hers. “You’ve got this habit of walking away before I’m done talking.”
“Well, maybe you should say something worth listening to,” she snaps back, her eyes narrowing in defiance. But there’s a heat in her gaze that tells me she’s not as unaffected as she’s trying to appear.
“Careful, Micetta,” I warn, my tone low, teasing. “You might hurt my feelings.”
She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have feelings, Giovanni. Just an ego the size of the whole damn school.”
I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe. But you seem to have a knack for getting under my skin, Chiara. It’s almost like you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy making your life difficult,” she retorts, her chin lifting defiantly. “Someone has to.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing?” I ask, my eyes locking onto hers, searching for that spark I know is hiding beneath her bravado. “Or are you just trying to keep me at arm’s length because you’re afraid of what happens if you let me in?”
She falters for just a second, and I catch it—her breath hitching, the way her eyes flicker down to my lips before darting back up to meet my gaze.
“Not everything is about you,” she says, her voice a little less steady now. “Sometimes, people just don’t want to be around you.”
“Doubt it,” I say, my tone softening as I let my fingers brush against her wrist, feeling the pulse quicken beneath her skin. “But I don’t think that’s what this is about. I think you’re just scared of what happens when you finally admit you don’t hate me as much as you want to.”
She stares at me, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to figure out if I’m playing some kind of sick game. And maybe I am, but it’s one I’m fully invested in.
“You’re delusional,” she mutters, shaking her head as if she can will away the tension between us.
“And you’re infuriating,” I counter, letting my lips curve into a teasing smile. “But you can’t deny there’s something here, Chiara. Something more than just hate.”
She’s silent for a moment, her eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time since we started this twisted dance, I see the walls she’s put up starting to crack, just a little. And it’s enough to make me lean in and whisper, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
But she doesn’t, and that’s all the answer I need.
She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling faster now. I know I’m getting to her, and that thrill —that need to push her just a bit more— makes my blood hum.
“Is this what you do, Giovanni?” she bites out, trying to sound strong. “You corner girls and see how far you can push them before they break?”
I lean in even closer, until our noses almost touch. “Only the ones worth breaking, Chiara. And you … you’re not like the others. You don’t scare easily, do you?”
She glares at me, and I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right now.
“No, I’m not scared of you,” she says, her voice steady even though I can see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Good,” I say, my voice softening as I tilt my head slightly, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
There’s a charged silence between us, the kind that crackles with tension. I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hands sliding down the wall until they rest on either side of her hips.
“Hmm,” I murmur, my voice low, “I just want to see how long it takes before you stop pretending you don’t feel this.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to shove me away, to finally end this game of cat and mouse. But she doesn’t. She stays right where she is, trapped between me and the wall, her eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t feel anything,” she lies, her voice barely convincing.
I grin, my hands sliding up from her hips to her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.
“If that’s true,” I whisper, “then why haven’t you walked away?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she just glares at me, her resolve crumbling by the second. The tension between us is electric, and I know she feels it too, even if she’s not ready to admit it.
“Don’t play mind games with me, Kitten,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over hers, teasing, “You feel this too, just fucking admit it.”
“I don’t feel anything,” she repeats, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. It’s a weak defense, and we both know it.
My grin widens as I lean in close, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my voice dropping to a whisper that’s meant for her alone.
“Liar,” I murmur, my breath warm against her skin.
Before she can muster another protest, I lean in and press a kiss just behind her ear, feeling the way she tenses at the contact, then slowly melts into it. Her hands, which had been resting on my chest as if to push me away, now grip the fabric of my shirt instead, holding on as if she needs the anchor.
“See?” I whisper, my lips trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck, pressing another kiss there. “I told you, your body doesn’t lie.”
She shudders, her breath coming out in a soft gasp, then she pushes me away. “Stay away from me,” she breathes, before she turns and this time I let her run.
The grin slips from my face as I watch her go, knowing I, not only planted a seed, but fucked with my own mind.
But it’s more than that, too. It’s the fear of her stopping this, of seeing her choose someone else over me. How the fuck has she made me this weak already? I barely fucking know her.
All I know is that I’m not ready to let Chiara go, not yet. And if that means going head-to-head with Leo Volkov, so be it.
I just wish I knew how to be honest with her without it turning into a goddamn push and pull every time.
CHIARA
The smell of paint and turpentine fills the air, mixing with the faint scent of wood and something earthy that always seems to cling to Studio 3.
My brush glides across the canvas, the strokes quick and confident as I lose myself in the colors, the feel of the brush in my hand, the rhythm of creating something out of nothing.
This is just what I need after last night’s fuckery. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the mind games in this goddamn place. I’m still pissed off with Connor for going through my shit and taking my grandmother’s locket. How did he even know it meant a lot to me?
Leo’s beside me, working on his own piece, his focus just as intense as mine. We’ve spent hours here, the silence only broken by the occasional scrape of a chair or the clink of a paintbrush being set down.
It’s comfortable, easy; the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled with meaningless chatter.
But it’s also the silence I need after last night with Giovanni. He got under my skin more than usual, and now that he knows…
I can’t even finish the thought without my stomach twisting. He knows how I react to him. He knows that when he touches me, when he whispers in my ear, my resolve crumbles. It’s like he’s found some secret switch inside me, one that I didn’t even know existed, and he’s flipped it, leaving me raw and confused.
I drag the brush across the canvas, the strokes more aggressive than I intended. I try to lose myself in the work, to focus on the colors blending together, the image slowly taking shape. But every time I get close, his voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to that moment when I almost gave in.
I’m so absorbed in my painting that I don’t notice Leo moving closer until he’s right beside me, his presence warm and solid. I glance over at him, raising an eyebrow as I pause mid-stroke.
“What’s up?” I ask, noticing the way he’s watching me, a small smile playing on his lips.
He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flicking from my face to the canvas and back again. There’s something different about the way he’s looking at me, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Before I can figure it out, he speaks.
“Go out with me,” he says, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness that catches me off guard.
I blink at him, not sure I heard him right. “What?”
He grins, that mischievous, boyish grin that makes him look younger than he is. “You heard me, Chiara. I’m asking you out on a date.”
I let out a chuckle, shaking my head as I set my brush down on the easel.
“How the hell are we supposed to do that? We’re stuck in the middle of a private estate, surrounded by a bunch of mafia brats and Crowns. It’s not exactly the most romantic setting.”
He laughs, the sound deep and genuine, and I can’t help but smile. There’s something infectious about his laugh, something that makes me want to join in even when I don’t know why.
“Trust me, I’ve got it all figured out,” he says, leaning a little closer, his eyes gleaming with that playful energy that’s so distinctly Leo. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to gauge how serious he is. “A surprise, huh? You’re not planning on taking me to some shady corner of the estate and having your way with me, are you?”
He puts a hand over his heart, feigning shock. “Chiara, I’m wounded. I’m a gentleman, remember? Besides, I don’t need to take you to a shady corner for that.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning despite myself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between us. “But you like that about me, don’t you?”
I can feel the heat from his body, the subtle press of his chest against mine, and I hate how easily he gets under my skin. He knows it, too—there’s a knowing look in his eyes, a smirk that tells me he’s fully aware of the effect he has on me.
“Maybe,” I mimic, my voice teasing.
He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
There’s something about the way he’s looking at me, something that makes my heart beat a little faster. I should probably say no, keep him at arm’s length, but there’s a part of me that’s curious.
This is a good kind of curious, though. The kind that doesn’t feel like I’m stretched too thin, the easy kind.
Leo’s different, in a way I can’t quite explain. He’s part of this world, but he doesn’t seem to be bound by it, and that intrigues me more than I’d like to admit.
I glance back at my painting; the colors swirling together in a chaotic blend of emotions that I can’t seem to put into words. Maybe that’s why I paint—because it’s easier to let the colors speak for me than to try and make sense of the mess in my head.
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” I ask, turning back to him.
His grin softens into something more sincere, his eyes locking onto mine. “Yeah, I am.”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels heavy with unspoken words, and I realize I’m holding my breath. Then, before I can overthink it, I nod.
“Alright,” I say, trying to sound more casual than I feel. “But if this ‘surprise’ of yours sucks, I’m painting over your canvas the next time we’re in here.”
He laughs, a full-bodied sound that makes my chest tighten in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.
“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand. “But I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”
I take his hand, shaking it firmly. His skin is warm, his grip solid, and for a moment, I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into. But then he winks at me, and that playful energy between us sparks again, chasing away the doubts.
“Now, finish up your painting,” he says, giving me a gentle nudge. “You’ve got a date to get ready for.”
I roll my eyes again but pick up my brush, turning back to the canvas. He moves back to his own easel, but I can feel his eyes on me. It’s distracting as hell, but I don’t mind. It’s not the possessive kind of stare, not the kind where I feel like I’m being burned from the inside out.
The minutes tick by, the silence between us comfortable as we both focus on our work. But no matter how hard I try to concentrate, my mind keeps drifting back to what he said.
A date. With Leo. I never would’ve seen that coming, not in a million years. But the idea doesn’t excite me like it should. Is that wrong?
When I finally finish, I step back, wiping my hands on a rag as I take in the painting. It’s rough, unfinished, but there’s something raw and honest about it. I like it. I feel a sense of satisfaction that I haven’t felt in a while, like I’ve managed to get a piece of myself onto the canvas.
Leo’s still working on his; his strokes fluid and confident. I watch him for a moment, the way he moves with a kind of ease that’s almost hypnotic. He’s always so sure of himself, so comfortable in his own skin, and I wonder what that feels like.
Finally, he sets his brush down and steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he turns to me. “Ready?”
I nod, feeling a small flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He grins, grabbing his jacket from where it’s draped over a chair. “Come on, then. Time for your surprise.”
I follow him out of the studio, my curiosity growing with each step. He leads me through the estate, down a path I haven’t taken before. The sun is starting to set; the sky painted in shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything.
We walk in silence for a while, the sound of our footsteps the only noise. I steal glances at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of his. But as usual, he’s hard to read, his expression calm and relaxed.
Finally, we reach a small clearing, and I stop in my tracks, my eyes widening in surprise. There’s a blanket spread out on the grass, a picnic basket sitting on top of it, along with a few candles that have already been lit. The flickering flames cast a soft light over the scene, making it look almost magical.
“You did this?” I ask, my voice laced with disbelief.
He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Told you it was a surprise.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to wrap my head around it. This isn’t what I expected—not even close. I thought maybe he’d take me to one of the fancier parts of the estate, or maybe try to sneak us off somewhere to be alone.
But this … this is different. It’s thoughtful in a way that catches me off guard.
“You did all this without knowing if I’d say yes?” I ask, nudging him playfully with my shoulder and he grins.
“I just had to work my charm a little bit,” he says with a wink, and I can’t help but chuckle at his honesty.
I walk over to the blanket, crouching down to run my fingers over the edge of the fabric. It’s soft, like it was chosen specifically for comfort. I look up at him, my heart pounding a little harder than it should be.
“You’re full of surprises, Leo,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.
He grins, sitting down on the blanket and patting the spot next to him. “Just wait until you see what I packed.”
I sit down beside him, my curiosity piqued. He opens the basket, pulling out a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, followed by a variety of snacks—cheese, crackers, fresh fruit, and some chocolates.
“You went all out, didn’t you?” I ask, impressed despite myself.
He chuckles, uncorking and pouring the wine into the glasses. “Only the best for the girl I’ve had my eye on for a while.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “You’re such a flirt.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says, handing me a glass.
We clink our glasses together, the sound soft and melodic in the quiet of the clearing. I take a sip of the wine, savoring the rich taste as it slides down my throat. It’s good—better than I expected.
“So,” I say, leaning back on my hands and looking up at the sky. “Is this your go-to move? Wooing women with picnics and wine?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Nope. This is a first, actually.”
I raise an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” he says, his expression sincere. “I’ve never done this before. But with you … I don’t know, it just felt right.”
There’s something in his tone that makes my heart skip a beat, something honest and real. I take another sip of my wine, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at his words. But not with nerves, but … guilt.
Why am I feeling guilty?
“You’re full of shit, you know that?” I say, but there’s no bite to my words.
He grins, taking a sip of his own wine. “Maybe. But I’m good at it, aren’t I?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, you are.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the forest around us filling the air. It’s peaceful, almost serene, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.
After a while, Leo starts unpacking the food, offering me some of the cheese and crackers. I take a piece, nibbling on it as I watch him. There’s something calming about being with him, something that makes me forget about everything else for a while.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “What made you decide to do this? I mean, you could’ve just asked me to hang out like we always do.”
He looks at me, his eyes thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to do something different, something special.”
“Special?” I repeat, my voice soft.
He nods, his gaze steady on mine. “Yeah. You’re different, Chiara. I like spending time with you, and I wanted to show you that.”
I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words, and I’m not sure what to say. I’m not used to this kind of honesty, this kind of openness. But it’s nice. It’s more than nice, actually.
