Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
"Luca."
His lips brush mine in a soft kiss before he stands up suddenly, bringing me with him. "Next time you try to stab me with a fork, make sure you don't miss, bella. Otherwise, you'll be walking around with my handprint on that gorgeous ass for days. Finish your breakfast. I have things to do."
He releases me, striding toward the door. I watch him go in silence, too stunned to speak. Not because I hate him but because he might be right. His choice isn't any better than mine. I think it might be infinitely worse.
The door closes behind him with a click.
I collapse into his chair and let the tears fall.
Chapter Four
Luca
The sound of Callandria's crying slips beneath the door, twisting my stomach into knots.
I made her cry.
Every fucking tear feels like it's eviscerating me.
I wasn't prepared for that. I did what I had to do, but I didn't enjoy it. I don't want her to be a fucking pawn. I don't want her in my bed because she feels like she has no choice.
I want her to feel something for me. I want her all twisted up in knots like I am, unable to keep her mind off of me.
I don't want to be a goddamn monster to her. I want to be the man she can't live without.
Dio.
This isn't how this was supposed to go. I wasn't supposed to feel her rooting her way into my heart. And yet that's precisely what's happening. I'm falling for her. No. That's not true.
I started falling the minute she tried to slap me. I fucking landed sometime in the middle of the night when she was in my arms, defenseless and trusting.
I clench my hands, pressing my forehead to the cool wood, fighting the urge to storm back inside and scoop her into my arms. It's powerful, overwhelmingly so. But I'm not stupid. She'd rip my balls off and feed them to me if I tried to offer her comfort now.
The only thing I'll accomplish by going back in there is cementing her hatred for me.
Fuck Tommaso Genovese and his rabid thirst for power. And fuck Vincent Valentino for saddling us with his goddamn empire.
I push away from the door, unsettled in a way I've never been. Uneasy in a way that's entirely new. I'm used to living with my back against the wall and a sword hanging over my head. But feeling like I've made a mistake? Never.
Alessio Cascieri, my six-foot-six lieutenant, leans against the wall a few paces down the hall, cloaked in shadows. His dark eyes settle on me, as black as the suit encasing his broad shoulders. There's no judgment in them, no recrimination. He watches me placidly, as if I routinely stand rooted outside my bedroom door, listening to Callandria Genovese cry.
"Watch her," I snap at him. "She can go anywhere in the house she wants, but she isn't to step so much as a toe outside."
Cristo. I am the stronzo she believes I am. Because I still want her badly enough to keep her here. Even if the threat of war were removed, I'm not so sure I'd be willing to let her go.
She spent one night in my arms, and I want more. I want…forever. However long it takes to win her trust and her heart. That's what I really want from her. Every single piece of her, down to her soul.
"Yep," Alessio says in his usual manner. He doesn't say much. He speaks only when he has something important to say. The rest of the time, he just doesn't fucking bother. People assume it means he's slow. People are wrong. There isn't much Alessio doesn't know. Unlike most of us, he had the chance at a life outside of this world. He took the oath anyway.
"Don't touch her or let anyone else touch her either, Alessio," I growl, heading for the stairs. I still taste her on my lips. Still smell my soap on her skin. Whether she wants my protection or not, she has it. It's a necessity.
"If they do?"
I pause in mid-step, turning back to him. Possessive jealousy rattles through me at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her. I'm still pissed Mattia did. It's irrational, but nothing about the way I feel right now is rational or logical.
"Call me," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "I'll make sure they live long enough to regret it."
I jog down the stairs, my mind still reeling over the little principessa in my bed.
Antonio Buratti meets me at the bottom, his expression carved from granite. Like Alessio, his black suit is impeccable. The man probably carries more firepower than the Secret Service, but not a hint of it shows. "Boss called a sit-down," he says.
Great. Rafe is on his bullshit this morning.