Made Monster (Curse Made #2)

25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Olivia

T he ring at the base of my finger burns with deceit, but not as much as the awareness of his body pressed to my side, confusing every piece of my existence. There is no time for angry tears as he guides me forward, each step together bringing us closer. Call me sentimental, but I had held in high regard the act of getting engaged, assumed it would not be for me and definitely not like this. Not as a means to an end with someone who despises me as much as I do him. Alessandrio is right, however: if I knew this was his plan, I would have put my foot down. And as he said, that would have rendered me useless. Then what?

I focus on the ache in my numbing feet, anything to take my mind off of how much warmth his body radiates. The way his breath felt on my ear and the tickle of something soft against the lobe that made me shiver with something like anticipation. The ring gives me a reason to touch you . He won’t demand I remain pressed to his side like this all night, will he? God, I hope not.

There is a loud gasp, a sound that drags on my attention as much as the stiffening of my companion. The valet is staring at us, mouth agape, eyes as big as saucers. No, he’s not staring at us. His eyes are on Alessandrio and I really can’t blame him. Take off the mask. I thought it was all to scare me. Now I stare ahead, refusing to look at the valet’s face and see my own horror painted there.

“You shouldn’t stare. Men have had my bullets in their heads for less,” Alessandrio drawls as we pass.

Somehow, I don’t doubt that, and the thought disgusts me.

“S–sorry!” the valet squeals and in my peripheral, I see him jump off the steps to get away from us.

Alessandrio’s arm slides from my shoulders and down my back, its warmth burning tracks across my skin as a large hand presses into my lower back, guiding me the last few steps as his hand reaches for the door handle.

“Ready?” The word is so soft, more like a breath than an actual audible word.

“Never,” I breathe back as the door swings wide to reveal an ornate entrance hall.

A woman waits across the space next to another door. Her white shirt and black skirt are more business than party attire and a black ear piece curls against her red hair.

“Alessandrio Greco is here,” she says quietly into a mouthpiece on her collar.

Her response is nothing short of surprising. When she’s done, a broad smile and vacant eyes stare at us as we move toward her.

“Welcome,” she says, pressing the handle down so the door she is before swings open, the sound of a party drifting out to greet us.

There is no time to take in any of my surroundings, to feel nerves as I glimpse a space filled with people. Alessandrio’s hand at my lower back is firm and pressing as he guides me through the door. I have barely a moment to gaze unhindered at the beautiful and well-dressed people on the other side before their faces shift toward us, mouths and eyes round. The room falls utterly silent and preternaturally still, as if a predator just stepped up to a watering hole and every animal surrounding it is taking its measure. My head drops, embarrassment making the blood roar in my ears as they heat.

“Honey, I’m home,” Alessandrio growls, the sounds vibrating through his palm. “Eyes up bella mia , these people have a knack for weaselling out weakness.” His palm slides up my back as if soothing, and the feel of it has me straightening, not his words.

I’m greeted by not fear or terror like I expected, but a sea of wide-eyed fascination. Simple wonderment has stolen over most of the faces as whispers begin amongst the crowd.

“Alessandrio Greco!” A loud voice seems to shake the room as a short man with a bald head parts from their midst. I recognize him from our debriefing today. “Alessandrio, my boy,” he says enthusiastically as the crowd behind him whispers the name too.

“Nico,” Alessandrio replies respectfully, reaching out a clawed hand.

Nico seems undisturbed by the claws, but knocks the hand away to step into Alessandrio’s personal space. I drop his hand in surprise as my fiancé bends to allow the older man to kiss both his furred cheeks, and I am utterly confused.

“Nico, this is my fiancée.” My confusion is stripped away, replaced with shocked disgust at how easily the lie slips from his mouth. Alessandrio gestures toward me, grabbing my hand and reeling me back in close, so I stumble and press to his side.

The older man’s eyes widen in surprised delight as he reaches for my other hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing his too moist mouth to the back. I want to gag. An arm snakes around my back, the hand falling against my waist. Hot and firm. Alessandrio.

“Olivia Dolmino, meet Nico Vivaldi.” That hand squeezes my side and I focus on its warmth, focus on the feel of it and let it distract me from the racing in my chest.

Anything to distract me from the way Nico Vivaldi stares at me, as if I am the one with the horns, teeth and claws.

“A Dolmino?” He looks back at Alessandrio, shock written on his round face.

“Olivia here has been in a boarding school. It appears Narciso had a love child,” Alessandrio explains, and as he spills my history to this stranger, I feel my hackles rising.

“Narciso, the old dog.” Nico laughs, still wide eyed with disbelief. “Welcome Olivia,” he adds with a small bow.

Squeeze . His hand tightens as a reminder.

“Thank you, Mr Vivaldi. You have a beautiful home.” A saccharine smile pulls at my lips.

“Please.” He laughs. “Call me Nico. I am a Don anyway, not a Mr.” he corrects me.

“My apologies.”

“None needed, come, come.” He waves for us to follow him through the murmuring crowd. “Your brother is here already,” Nico says over his shoulder to Alessandrio.

Brother, I swallow hard, a painful lump forming in my throat. The crowd around us parts like butter as Alessandrio leads me through, hand wrapped firmly around my own, as if I will float away if he lets go. I would like to float away. I would like to kick these dreaded shoes off that make my feet numb and run from these people. The way they are looking at Alessandrio is disturbing. There is not an ounce of fear. The men seem to size him up. The women, however, meet his gaze as it sweeps nonchalantly across the room, daring anyone to say anything as he passes. Some women even smile, little secret smiles that almost seem like invitation. When those same eyes fall on me, their smiles vanish and their mouths pinch in sour distaste as I am led along behind.

We walk through the main area and down a few steps into a large tiled room. There are tables covered in an array of glasses, men and women in black suits arranging them on trays as more spill from swinging doors, carrying more trays of canapés. My heels click against the tiles, and we step out into a patio area, the cold sweeps back in against my bare legs. There are small knots of people scattered about, but it’s a cluster standing around an outside heater that catches my attention. My eyes snag on Emilio standing head and shoulders above the rest.

“Look who I found! Alessandrio and…” Nico pauses, for… maybe dramatic effect, I don’t know? “His fiancée, Olivia Dolmino,” he says loud enough for the other groups around us to stare not just at Alessandrio, but at me as well as we make our way across the patio towards Emilio’s group.

“About time you arrived,” Don Greco says quietly as we stop beside him, Emilio’s eyes crashing down on me.

“It would be out of character if I wasn’t fashionably late if only to cause a scene,” Alessandrio drawls to his brother.

“Olivia.” Emilio nods his head in acknowledgement.

“Emilio,” I reply, my attention entirely stolen by someone else.

It’s the woman pressed to his side that sucks up the air in my lungs. A beautiful young woman, whose eyes light on mine as she smiles at me. I’m momentarily stunned as she peels away from Emilio to reach out a hand, her face warm and sweet as she does so. I can’t help but notice the way the Don shifts behind her, his large body going rigid as his eyes trace her movements.

She steps close to me. “Lucia Greco.” She waves behind her at Emilio. “Emilio’s wife. It’s lovely to finally meet you,” she says as she grabs my hand.

I feel dizzy with too many thoughts and emotions at once, my eyes swinging between her and the tightly wound beastly form of her husband over her shoulder. The surrounding tension is palpable. Every person present seems frozen with it. Alessandrio’s grip on my other hand tightens in warning, as if I might lash out at the woman before me. The shock of her soft skin against mine is a contrast to the velvet gripping the other.

“Alessandrio, where is her coat?” Lucia questions the monster beside me.

“She has me,” he replies, pulling me in close.

I stiffen as my body slots beside his. Lucia’s eyes narrow if only for a moment and I feel my cheeks heat under her scrutiny. The warmth emanating from Alessandrio, however, softens the blow of my distaste and embarrassment. It presses into my skin and curls inwards toward my bones.

Lucia stares at us hard, her pretty brown eyes swinging between us, and I want to ask her what she thinks. What must she see when she looks at us? Is she aware of the fraud here? I have to assume, given she is married to Emilio, she is aware of my situation. She steps back toward Emilio who seems to relax as his tiny wife curls back into his side like she is an extension of him.

The sight of them is unsettling, the contrast of beastly and sweet. The way she looks up at him, her hand sliding into his without hesitation. His huge hand curves around her waist, but where Alessandrio’s hand is still and hard against my hip, Emilio’s fingers stroke his wife’s side, caressing. Are they intimate? As he is? The idea of it is both shocking and absurd. The memory of Alessandrio in those grey sweatpants with something large pressed against the cotton makes me swallow despite the rock in my throat.

Nico excuses himself from our group. Desperate for a distraction, my eyes sift through the others close by for any familiarity. Lorenzo waves to me, his blue eyes warm as the light from the heater flickers off his soft brown hair. An older but no less beautiful woman stands at his side in an impeccable pantsuit as her own eyes assess me in return.

“Fiancée?” Lorenzo confirms as he steps forward.

“Emilio said make it legit,” he replies with a shrug.

“A love match?” Emilio enquires quietly, sarcasm tainting his voice.

Bitterness fills my mouth as the hand at my hip burns. I pull away from Alessandrio’s warmth, finding it suddenly stifling. I feel his eyes shift to me, but refuse to acknowledge him. This whole thing is a farce, and I need another of those burning drinks that liquify my insides and make my head feel heady if I am to play my part.

“I need a drink,” I say sharply, looking around the patio.

“You go nowhere without me,” Alessandrio replies as I look anywhere but at him.

“I’ll go with her.” Lucia’s sweet voice doesn’t break through the tension, it only swells it to something tangible and my eyes swing to her.

“Unlikely,” Emilio growls low at his wife and the sound is so deep it makes the hairs on my arm rise with the threat.

“The bar is right there, my love. You can see us from here. I know your brother has sufficiently threatened her with his wicked ways, and I could use a distraction before the Outfit arrives.” Her tiny hand strokes his chest as she stares up into his eyes.

“Fine,” he grits out, his eyes finding me. “But if you—”

“Put a foot out of line, you will rip my throat out and no one will bat an eyelash,” I spit back quietly. “You people make me sick.” I glance pointedly at the monster beside me, who bares his teeth in warning.

I offer Alessandrio a sickly sweet can-do-no-wrong smile. It falters when his eyes flash with blue flame. I’m a coward beneath that look, so I turn and walk away from them, feeling that flame burn into every inch of my skin as I walk back up toward the house and the bar I had seen inside. Lucia falls into step beside me but remains silent as we make our way up the few steps and into the house. When we reach the bar, I’m at a loss for what to order. The girl working behind it waits patiently while I stare at the menu of names of drinks and alcohol I’ve never seen.

“We will have two glasses of Prosecco, please,” Lucia says to the girl.

Despite finding cover inside, I can still feel Alessandrio’s gaze and it has set me on a live wire with awareness.

“I am sorry about them,” Lucia says, leaning on the bar next to me. “They can be quite intense.”

I snort at that. Intense, intimidating and totally inhumane. “How can you be a part of this? You know he abducted me, right?” I whisper so as not to be overheard and put us at risk, me at risk.

There’s a long pause, drawn out by the accusation in my tone despite the softness of the words.

“I am sorry Olivia, so sorry. I actually knew nothing of this until today,” she exhales. “Alessandrio is a loose cannon, a man who seems to play by his own rules. From what my husband told me of the situation, he’s been hunting your brother alone and followed him to the school. Riccardo led him to you.”

A man who plays by his own rules? He’s a monster. I want to remind her, but the look in her eyes as she stared up at Emilio has me biting my tongue at correcting her. Riccardo led him to me? The fox brought the wolf in with him then.

“Well, he was in for some ultimate disappointment when he realized my brother wants me dead more than anyone,” I reply quietly.

The bartender slides us each a drink across the bar and we fall into silence, lost in our own thoughts. I take a sip but immediately don’t like the taste. It’s sweet and bubbly, at odds with my inner mood. I prefer the amber liquid Alessandrio gave me. It was bitter and burned on its way down.

“Well then, I am glad in a way you are here. Safe with us.” Her words make my blood run cold.

“Safe?” I whisper incredulously, trying to school my features despite my disbelief. “Safe?” My voice rises.

I take a deep breath and try to relax. Can they see us in here? Will they come at any slight gesture toward the woman before me ? I don’t have the courage to even look. I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to calm the tide of rage that makes me want to lash out at her. It isn’t her fault. She did not know. She’s just as innocent as you are.

“We are all tense tonight. You aren’t meeting any of us at our best,” Lucia replies, sympathy stamped across her features. “The Outfit is coming and everyone is on edge.”

The Outfit is the least of my problems, I want to snarl, but bite down on my furious retort. This girl is drinking the Kool-aid or something, blinded by whatever is between her and her husband that makes my stomach twist. When the sympathy passes, I see the tightness of strain around her eyes, and she rubs her hand, drawing my eyes to the bandages wrapped around her fingers.

“Does he hurt you?” I whisper, concerned by those bandages and the sudden darkening in her eyes.

“He?” she asks and I turn my gaze to look through the glass doors, to where they stand. Inhuman outlines of dark shadows and power. “Oh,” Lucia says with a soft laugh. “Emilio would never hurt me. He loves me.”

The way she says that last part has me looking back at her. She is looking through the glass, a soft smile on her face and I feel like I am imposing on a private moment. She shakes herself, her dark hair swinging as she turns back to face me, her eyes bright.

“Alessandrio said yours was a marriage of business,” I say absentmindedly and realize my offense. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Lucia waves my apology from the air. “It was, of course, most marriages in the Mafia are,” she smiles sadly. “Most marriages aren’t as lucky as mine. Our marriage started off rocky, as you can only imagine, given Emilio’s appearance and the curse. But I assure you, my husband has never physically hurt me and never would. He loves me,” she says simply, and I believe her with my entire being. Her own love is written all over her face and yet the sight of it mystifies me.

The urge to ask her if they have had sex is on the tip of my tongue, if Emilio is even capable of it. But I bite down the urge and instead knock my drink back in its entirety. The liquid runs down my throat before settling in my stomach.

“It seems everyone is curious about them,” Lucia offers. “Are they more beast than man? Do they howl at the full moon?” Humor dances on her pretty face.

“Everyone?”

“Oh yes,” she says with a shrug. “The men are intimidated, overwhelmingly so. It’s why the Outfit has come, I believe.” She looks concerned again. “The women…” Her face pinches with distaste. “The women want to try them out.”

“Try them out?”

“The Greco brothers were quite notorious with the ladies before. Apparently they still are. With Emilio’s return to the scene, there have been some uncomfortable moments. Women of the Mafia, especially the unmarried ones, like to flaunt their affairs. At least with Alessandrio back, some of the attention will be lifted from Emilio and I can breathe a little easier.” She laughs to herself and I blanch at that.

Surely not? I need another drink. I wave at the bar girl who pours me another glass just as a ripple of murmurs spills from the other room. There is a shift of energy, and I see Nico and a few older men glide into the house. The host is speaking into his phone, face taut with tension and Lucia takes my arm, her grip firm.

“They must be here,” she whispers, tugging me back toward the patio doors, my drink forgotten on the bar.

They? The Outfit? I want to ask questions but my brain hums along with my body, warmth filling my veins, making me feel limbless as she tugs me back outside and down the stairs toward our group. Emilio reaches out for his wife, who drops my arm and slides against him. His strong hand cups her jaw as he whispers in her ear. They look so… so… good together, but I’m not sure if that is the drink. He’s so much larger than her, it’s hard to even fathom.

A warm, strong hand grips my arm, and Alessandrio pulls me in close. Damn Lucia and her words, damn the confusion in my head and body that makes me so aware of every part of Alessandrio touching me. Who in their right mind would allow him to touch them?

“That’s probably enoughfor tonight,” he says, voice low.

“You may be my jailer, but you do not get to tell me what to do,” I whisper back. There is a chuckle from beside me, and I glare up at him. “What?” I snap.

“Nothing, just rein it in, okay? The Outfit has arrived,” he whispers, his breath curling around the shell of my ear.

The feel of it has an immediate effect on my very being. My body tingles, all nerve endings sparking to life. I feel my nipples harden against the fabric of my dress and a warm pull in my hips. The sound of him inhaling sharply at my side makes my spine straighten with awareness. God, he cannot smell my body betraying me, can he? Panic rises as he murmurs a curse and tugs me closer. I want to rage, to stumble away and tell him not to lay a hand on me. I feel on edge, drowning in this overwhelming warmth from the drinks and the press of his breath and body. Damn Lucia , this is definitely her fault.

Alessandrio is rigid, muscles like steel against my side, his hand loose on my waist. When I look up from beneath my lashes, his eyes are sweeping the yard, watching everything. Only I can feel that he hasn’t taken a breath since he pulled me in closer. I quell the urge to pull away, knowing he will only likely pull me tighter against him. He isn’t the only one rigid with tension. Lucia is barely visible beneath her husband’s arm. The woman in the pantsuit is lingering behind Lorenzo, wound tight. Apparently, everyone is on edge and that makes me nervous.

A group of men finally emerge from the house. Nico is chatting to a man at the front and I can barely count them as they all blur together in black suits. The group moves as one, like black liquid spilling down the steps. I see the face of the man at the front talking to Nico. He’s surprisingly young, most likely in his early thirties, and classically handsome. His eyes, an indecipherable color, widen as they catch on Alessandrio first, who seems to have angled us at the front and then Emilio. It takes a moment for the mask to fall into place, his eyes shuttering as he moves toward us, the black cloud of his group following on his heels.

The men behind are not so quick at hiding their responses. Some cross themselves, some openly gape and all of their hands slide beneath their jackets and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what is beneath. Oh God . It’s my turn to go rigid. Are they going to start shooting? My knees shake with nerves and the pressure of the moment. Alessandrio’s hand is my anchor, kneading the dip in my waist. It’s so distracting I turn my head to look down at his offending limb.

“Relax,” Alessandrio murmurs.

His hand squeezes my hip and with all the tension, I almost feel grateful for his presence. I take a ragged breath in and let my eyes slide back to the other threat nearby. Nico exchanges words with some men and other groups on the patio, who step forward to greet the newcomers, but it’s obvious who they are most aware of. The eyes of the men in the Outfit’s group keep sweeping back and forth between those they are meeting: Emilio and the man at my side.

“Don Greco?” the man at the front finally calls, and if I thought Alessandrio’s body couldn’t stiffen further, I was wrong.

“Don De Luca.” Emilio’s voice rises, firm and clear.

He sweeps Lucia behind him and steps forward to greet the man. Alessandrio also moves, but unlike Emilio, he takes me with him, and I am grateful for the support, given my knees feel on the verge of collapse. Don De Luca’s eyes flick to Alessandrio, then back to Emilio. His men curl in around him, only a single hand on each visible, and I want to pull back. The danger is palpable and my feet stumble, but Alessandrio just holds me tighter.

“So the rumours are true,” Don De Luca drawls.

A man to Don De Luca’s left lets out a snigger. Pressed against Alessandrio, I feel every emotion, every reaction and his response to the laughing man is his most intense.

“Fucking circus,” the laughing man snorts, and others in their group laugh.

You think the sound of laughter would rip through the tension, but it only seems to make the monster at my side coil tighter, poised to strike.

“That’s enough,” De Luca snaps and his men immediately fall silent.

The laughing man’s eyes meet mine, and I am struck by the coldness in them. His very image permeates violence: his face is narrow, long sharp nose, narrowed black eyes, his hair is slick and dark. He looks… evil. My eyes drop away from him. The very idea of having his attention on me fills me with dread and I press closer to Alessandrio if only to hide myself amongst his presence.

“Welcome to New York,” Emilio says. “May your visit be prosperous for all.”

“I know it will be,” De Luca says. “Alessandrio.” The name seems to get stuck behind the man’s teeth as he addresses the monster beside me. His eyes sweep down to me, the dislike replaced with curiosity. “And who might this be?” he questions and I see his eyes are brown, the beginning of fine lines of strain tightening around them.

“My fiancée,” Alessandrio replies, and De Luca’s eyes widen. “Olivia,” Alessandrio continues, removing his arm from around me and stepping back. I feel like I’m on a boat being pushed out to sea. The warmth in my body evaporates, nerves making me feel cold dread as I realize what is next. “Olivia Dolmino, the new Mistress of House Dolmino.” I didn’t think it was possible to hate Alessandrio more, but as his words settle over the group, as he casts me out to sea amongst the sharks, I despise him.

“Olivia Dolmino,” De Luca repeats my name like he doesn’t quite believe it. “Olivia Dolmino, mistress?” He laughs, a sharp sound that cracks around my head as his eyes sweep me. “Narciso, you old dog,” he adds, more to himself. “Fiancée? And what does her brother think of this?”

“You know me De Luca.” Alessandrio does a drawl like no one else. I can see that in fact De Luca does know my fiancé and very much wishes he didn’t. That makes two of us. “I could give two fucks. He ran the gambit, lost his inheritance, as you already know. His sister has a sufficient inheritance to see her seated at the top of her family. With the right support around her, she will make the old Dolmino proud.”

The laughing man steps forward, a terrible twist of a smile on his too narrow face. His black eyes sweep over me, and I shiver beneath their attention. He takes another step. A pale hand rises, long slim fingers like the clawing branches of some gnarled tree moving toward me. I can only stare in muted terror as it comes toward me. Then a sound rips through the patio, a sound that makes my spine tingle and the hairs on the back of my neck rises. The sound of a predator. A larger hand covered in fur and tipped with claws snatches the pale hand from the air.

“Mine,” Alessandrio snarls.

“Drio!” Emilio shouts.

I stumble back from the group, terrified, as Alessandrio pulls the man in close, his other hand wrapping around his throat. He brings that pale, terrible face in close. There is no fear or terror as a sinister smile pulls back over a mouth full of crooked teeth and I want to look away, but can’t.

“Good to see you haven’t changed,” he gasps out.

“Good to see that neither have you,” Alessandrio spits. “It will make killing you this time that much more satisfying.”

“Not if I don’t get you first.” The man’s words are like poison.

“Enough,” De Luca and Emilio snap at the same time.

I see Emilio tugging on Alessandrio’s arm wrapped around the man’s hand. I feel someone step to my side as something falls around my shoulders, warm and reassuring. Lucia. Her coat is gone and her pretty face is white with fear.

“You’re shaking,” she whispers, pulling me through the crowd.

I feel cold. But not just the cold from the kiss of fall, but from the way these people deal in death like it’s nothing. Shivers rack my body as I stumble after Lucia. A few men fall into step around her and I begin to resist, planting my heels till she stops and looks back at me. I point to the men flanking her sides.

“They are our made men,” she says, but seeing my confusion continues. “Bodyguards,” she adds, concern filling her brown eyes.

My teeth are chattering, but I let her drag me on. The men at her sides should fill me with confidence, but with the violence brewing at our backs, I feel like a lamb who has survived the slaughter. Back inside the house, she leads me to a washroom, where she presses me inside and closes the door behind her. The only sound is the clack of my teeth as I shake violently beneath her coat.

“Shhh.” She rubs my arms. “It’s okay.”

It isn’t, we both know that. I am a pawn in a very dangerous game, and meeting these men tonight has just reminded me that I will be lucky to get out of this alive. I feel betrayed by Alessandrio. He blindsided me at every turn and just dangled me like a piece of fresh meat before a group of hungry lions. A thump on the door that rattles the hinges makes me jump.

“Lucia?” Emilio’s voice rips through the wood.

Lucia opens the door, and her husband is there, terrifying and on edge. His eyes rake over her, cataloguing everything to ensure she is uninjured before sweeping to me. Those same eyes that were warm a moment ago, narrow with icy coldness as they assess me.

“We are leaving,” he tells her and I almost sigh in relief.

“Already?” Lucia questions her husband.

He looks ready to not answer, but she raises a perfectly manicured brow at him and he relents.

“Things, as you can tell, are tense tonight.” I scoff at that, and his gaze swings back to me. “I won’t risk you here at the moment,” he continues, glaring before his eyes find his wife once more, hands reaching for her.

Lucia shoots me a concerned look, her small hand with its bandaged fingertips disappearing into her husband’s monstrously large one.

“Come,” Emilio commands. I take a moment to realize he is speaking to me as he gestures for me to go ahead of them. It’s my turn to glare at him.

“You are not my Don,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest in a show of stubbornness.

“No, your Don is dead. Would you like me to get Alessandrio back in here to remind you why?”

“Shhhh.” Lucia caresses his forearm, soothing Emilio as we glare daggers at one another.

I don’t know how she can stand touching him, but this is petty. My anger is misdirected. I have a bone to pick with the absent brother. It’s funny how when you have a purpose and aren’t focused on the ache in your feet that you can walk perfectly in heels. I suddenly become a model on a catwalk, storming past the couple and down the hall, my heels clacking against the marble. There are a few loiterers in the entryway still, but I pay them no mind. My anger is almost blinding as someone opens the front doors. I don’t even feel the chill of the night air as I step outside, eyes sweeping the driveway for Alessandrio.

The prick is leaning against a black SUV, so nonchalantly like he could have a care in the world. With purpose, I storm down the steps and walk towards him. He doesn’t even straighten up. He just leans there, head back like some demon prince, watching me from beneath lowered lids.

“You fucking—”

He snatches the hand I raise to slap him with from the air so fast that my brain barely registers it until we begin to spin.

The breath leaves my body in a rush as my back meets the cold metal of the car. It feels so at odds with the warmth of the male now baring down on me with his own rage. The same sound that ripped through the patio rattles from his chest into mine as he presses into me. His grip on my wrist is a vice and I reach with the other, but it too is caught in another powerful hand, claws gently scraping against my skin as it’s pressed back against the car.

“You treated me like a piece of meat back there.” My voice betrays how close to tears I am.

I struggle uselessly against his grip and the press of his enormous body and let out a frustrated huff as a lone tear slips down my cheek.

“You are a piece of meat until you prove them otherwise,” Alessandrio snarls, bringing his face inches from mine. “They don’t care for niceties. I staked my claim, and now they know.”

Oh yeah, that— Mine.

“I am not yours,” I spit, glaring into his fierce face.

“To them you fucking are, so deal with it,” he says, glaring back. “And never, and I mean never, try to strike me again. I don’t take well to being hit and you won’t like the consequences.” He pushes away from me, like I am the grotesque one, as he walks toward the more shadowed corner of the driveway where he parked.

A whimper of frustration gets clogged in my throat when I see Lucia and Emilio only two feet from me. They undoubtedly saw my outburst and heard our words. Heat floods my cheeks as I duck my head, even more humiliated than I thought I could be on this night. I say nothing as I follow Alessandrio, the car’s lights flashing as he unlocks the door. When I slide into the leather, the energy feels like it’s zapped from my body as the car revs to life. Silence and tension fill the space as Alessandrio revs the engine and takes us back onto the road towards New York.