Page 11 of Paolo DeLuca
Who the hell did this guy think he was? She watched, arms folded across her chest and fire burning in her veins, as Franco strolled to the front door of her building. He pulled it open, then stepped inside. Ten minutes later, he returned to the car, unlocking her door.
“It’s clear,” he said, reaching his hand out for her to take so she could get out of the car.
“Didn’t peg you for a gentleman.” She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway.
Franco shut the door and locked them with the key fob, following her into the building. “Every man in the DeLuca family is a gentleman.”
Franco’s answer tripped her up and intrigued her. Was he right? She thought about it as she made her way to the building. Lyric pulled the door open, but Franco slammed it shut, putting all his weight on it. The commotion startled the patrons inside the small café her apartment sat atop.
“What the hell?” she asked.
“We take the elevator.”
“I always take the stairs,” Lyric huffed. She’d had just about enough of men bossing her around. “It’s my workout.”
“Well, you’ll have to skip it tonight,” he said, holding his ground.
“Whatever.”
She flung her hand over her shoulder, dismissing him, as she stomped to the elevator, pushing the up button harder than necessary, trying to ignore the stares. The elevator ride couldn’t end fast enough. As soon as the doors slid open, she marched out and down the hall toward her apartment. Lyric pulled her keys from her bag and unlocked her door. She paused before opening it. She glanced over her shoulder at Franco. “You coming in here to check?”
She meant the bite in her words. Lyric wanted him to know she didn’t appreciate any of this and hoped he went back to say just that to Mr. DeLuca. Franco chuckled, which pissed her off even more. “Nah, don’t need to. And we’ll bring your car to you.”
Lyric nodded, then stepped into her apartment, closing the DeLucas out.
