Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

19 | Nina

I'm pretty sure my jaw is on the floor. "Okay," I say dazedly. "I'll go shopping."

"Good girl." There's a smirk playing on his lips after his rough utterance and suddenly, I need a cold shower.

Shopping with Tommaso proves to be everything I thought it would be and worse. He's drastically uninterested in what I'm getting unless it's undergarments, following me around from store to store. Sometimes taking phone calls, sometimes remarking crudely on an article of clothing I grab—but always on alert. 

I'm not sure what they think is going to happen to me at the mall. It's all a bit ridiculous. 

I've never been shopping like this, with an unlimited amount of funds, and it's more fun than I thought it would be. Despite my multi-million-dollar budget, I spend a few hundred on essentials and some things I really like. Tommaso smirks when we pass a lingerie store, and somehow, I find myself staring at crotchless panties with his annoying ass looking over my shoulder.

"I'm not getting these."

"I heard they're great for easy access."

"I'm pretty sure that's all they're great for," I roll my eyes. "I don't need them."

A worker comes by, smiling brightly at the two of us. "These are a great deal," she says. "They're one of our most popular hits with couples who shop in store."

Tommaso barks out a laugh that has a few heads turning. "My brother would chop off my balls and feed them to me if I fucked her. Move along, sweetheart."

"That was unnecessary," I glare at him.

"Just doing my job," he shrugs.

I go off to look at bras, needing some space to mull over the implication of his words. I end up finding a few I actually like, and Tommaso doesn't wipe the smirk from his face even after we've left the store.

"You have a certain someone in mind back there? I saw you got that mesh, black lace number. Seems a little far from casual, doesn't it?"

"It's none of your—"

Pain erupts in my ankle, and I buckle. I would have hit the ground if not for Tommaso's quick reflexes, and he holds me up as I gasp in pain, tears smarting my eyes from the shock of it.

"Jesus. You rolled your ankle," Tommaso groans. "Santo is gonna kill me."

"Fuck, that hurts." I look down at my ankle, realizing that in typical dumbass fashion, I stepped off the curb without seeing it.

"Come on," he grabs my shopping bags, hooks an arm around my waist, and helps me hobble to the car. "We'll go back to the house and have someone look at it. Jesus. Why'd you have to do that?"

"You were distracting me with all your talk about my lingerie purchases."

"So you admit it's lingerie."

"I'll tell Santo you pushed me down, Tommaso."

That shuts him up.

By the time we get back, my foot is throbbing, and I can't walk. Embarrassingly, Tommaso has to scoop me up and carry me inside like a real damsel in distress. I would be protesting if I wasn't hurting so bad.

We enter the house like some dramatic movie scene, and I'm placed on a couch. Tommaso gets me ice and makes me elevate the foot. "I called Samuel and he'll be over soon," he announces.

"Samuel?"

"He's professionally trained in medical stuff. Our go-to guy for anything from patching up a nasty injury to autopsying a body."