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WIP Wednesday: CORRADO #CorradoAlessioGinevra

Hey, loves.

You get a peek at CORRADO today.

Do enjoy.

**

Ginevra lifted her stare to find he was staring at her again, his hand holding the phone hovering overtop the charger like he forgot what he was supposed to be doing again. She didn’t know how long the two of them stared at one another like that—a few seconds, or more, but it could have been longer, too.
It felt like forever.
She found heat in his gaze.
Interest.
Something unknown.
And she liked it far too much.
Not that she understood that, either. She didn’t know anything about this man.
“Are you like them?” she dared to ask.
Corrado’s tongue snaked out to wet the edge of his bottom lip. “Like them, how?”
“Mafia. Made.”
“No.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
He felt like them, in a way. Dangerous, and dark. Like he held secrets in his eyes, and in his heart. He didn’t feel average, and God knew she had met enough average men over her lifetime to know it.
No, he felt like something else.
“I’m not like them,” he said, “but I am a little worse.”
She hesitated to ask more.
What did that mean?
Corrado seemed to take her hesitation as a chance to break their moment. Whatever in the hell that had been … that touch, the heat, that fucking feeling. She didn’t know what that was, and while she might like it, it also terrified her.
Because she didn’t know him.
And she still didn’t know if she could trust him.
He placed the phone back on the charger. As fast as he was touching her, he was gone.
It didn’t matter.
He still lingered.
She felt it.
Everywhere.
What in the hell was that?
Corrado cleared his throat, and wouldn’t meet her gaze. She wondered if he felt that, too? God knew he didn’t say much to her. For the most part, he’d spent the last week avoiding her as much as was possible when they were alone together in the penthouse.
“Would you like me to cook you breakfast?” he asked, a thickness roughening up his tone as he reached for the cupboard beside her.
Ginevra was back to feeling like she couldn’t speak, so instead, she whispered, “Sure.”
“And you can tell me about your sisters,” he was quick to add, shooting her a smile, “maybe then you won’t feel like you need to talk to them, if you’re talking about them.”
“You want to know about my little sisters?”
Corrado shrugged. “Why not?”
Well, okay.

Like he said, why not? 
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