Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

06 | Nina

"I just don't get why you have to keep staring at me."

Discomfort prickles my skin as I grip the cover of my book with clammy fingers. I know my glare is harmless because Tommaso just smirks from where he sits across from me, casually leaning back in an armchair. He dragged it from the corner of the library and positioned it right in front of me, claiming he was told to keep an eye on me.

"I'm keeping an eye on—"

"I think you're just fucking bored," I snap, my annoyance bubbling over.

Tommaso shrugs. "And can you blame me? Instead of the shit I want to do, I have to fucking watch you all day. Might as well have fun with it."

I snap my book shut. There's no way for me to keep reading with this asshole breathing so close to me. "And your version of fun is pissing me off?"

Tommaso smirks wickedly and I know I'm going to hate the words that come out of his mouth next. "No, my idea of fun is staring at a pair of tits and a pretty face."

My jaw drops, and an angry, embarrassed heat spreads over my face. My hands twitch, tempted to chuck the book into his smug face, but instead the worst possible thing happens.

Tears crawl up the back of my throat, making me blink furiously down at my lap. A few seconds pass before Tommaso groans loudly.

"Oh fuck, are you—don't tell me you're crying. Shit. I'm not good with female tears." To my utter confusion, Tommaso starts violently rooting around in his pockets for something.

"You're not good with—I'm not good with men who are such dicks!" I exclaim as the tears trickle down my face. It's not a waterfall—thank God—but more like a leaky faucet. I swipe at them frustratedly, but the dejectedness takes the front seat. Tommaso, with his sexist and rude comments, reminds me of the men who have made sure I know I'm nothing. It's a small taste of the shit that has made my life miserable for as long as I can remember.

The businessmen who would come over making inappropriate comments about my body when I was too young to even know what they were saying. Luciano and Carlo's cutting comments about my looks, what I'd wear when I'd go out, all implying those things were all I had to offer.

A pair of tits and a pretty face.

With an exclamation, Tommaso yanks a wrinkled tissue from his pocket and throws it at me. "Quick, dry that shit up. Before Santo sees."

I'm back to gaping at him. "What? I don't want your gross pocket tissue. It doesn't magically make you not a dick."

"Relax, it's clean," Tommaso rolls his eyes. Then, after a second, he grimaces. "I think."

"Ew!" I fling it back at him, and he laughs.

"Look," he leans forward, toying with the gold ring on his finger. I've noticed all the brothers have one. "You can't be so sensitive with this shit. If you're going to—"

"Actually, I can," I interrupt, and I swear I've been possessed by some other confident, self-assured being as the words flow from my lips. "I've spent my whole life dealing with men like you. And I've had to put up with more shit than you know. If you can't go one day without making gross comments, then that's a you problem. I'm being held hostage here, just waiting until your brother decides to kill me. If there's anything that would make a girl act sensitive, I'd say—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Tommaso interjects, leaning back. "I'll make less observations about your tits. Out loud, anyway."

"You're so ridic—wait, what? You're... you'll listen to me?"