Chapter 19
Fucking coward.
Pointing a gun at his own daughter? He was already on my kill list, but that was before. Now, every rational thing in me burns away, and all I feel is red, pure, uncontrollable fury.
Good she left, because I can’t guarantee what I’m about to do.
“You’ve got balls, Mitch. Ordering my daughter to act contrary to my command is unheard of in my circle.” He draws back his gun, his eyes burning into mine. “Consider this your first and final warning.”
He sits back, plucks his cigar between two fingers, and lights it like we’re at a tea party. I throw Boris a sidelong look; he lowers the gun and resumes his waxwork pose.
“Get out of here,” Calvano says, returning his eyes to his laptop screen.
I step forward slowly, palms flat on his desk, eyes boring into his. Boris draws his gun again and levels it at me, but I don’t back down.
“Why will she die if anyone touches her?” I ask.
I need to know the truth. I need to know what kind of swamp she’s buried in without even realizing it.
“Not important to you,” he mumbles without looking at me.
“Look at me, you son of a bitch,” I hiss.
Slowly, his eyes raise above the laptop screen. Now, I’ve got his attention.
“I’ve got nothing to lose, and you keep feeding me half-answers,” I growl, the desk rattling under my hands. “You want me glued to her side, ready to take a bullet, but you won’t tell me why. So stop wasting my time and answer the damn question.”
He intertwines his fingers on the furniture and looks at me with those dead eyes.
“Some lives are held together by threads you don’t see. If one snaps, she’s the one who pays the price,” he hisses, as if savoring the sound of his delirium. “Well, now you’re bound to her too, but you claim you’ve got nothing to lose, so …”
“I will protect her with my life. If anyone interferes, there will be consequences. And they won’t be pleasant.”
He remains silent, and I hold his gaze for a few more seconds. Then, I push myself from his desk and walk myself out.
“Be careful, Mitch,” he says, stopping me mid-stride. “You don’t want me as your enemy.”
I glance back at him over my shoulder, a slow grin crawling across my face. “Maybe I do.”
I give him a mock salute and step out of his rotting office.
I walked into this filthy so-called mafia world on purpose.
I want to burn out the vermin who are not ashamed enough to call themselves kings and bosses.
They breed nothing but misery, and I take a savage pleasure in erasing them, one by one.
That’s why I stayed in the fraternity. To be broken down and rebuilt, to learn to fear nothing, to sharpen myself into a living weapon.
I will kill him. I will set her free. I’ll pry her loose from whatever cage he’s built and wrap her in the one thing that will never let her go. I’m not a savior, or a saint.
If that’s monstrous, I don’t give a shit. Monsters get what they want.
I’m not allowed to touch her because that will put her in danger, yet I’m the only one that can save her. That only makes my obsession with her grow. Because she’s fucking mine. She’s mine to protect. Mine to hold, mine to keep.
I just need a little more time to rearrange the pieces, shuffle the cards.
A friend once told me, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” I intend to keep them so close I can count the hairs on their necks when they sleep.
Close enough to learn every lie, every small mercy, every weak spot.
Close enough to press and watch the light go out.
I’m the fucking Bane he let inside his walls.
After I practically commanded her to go to her room, she obeyed, and she hasn’t come out since yesterday.
I made sure she was safe. I stayed outside her door like Cerberus, listening to her breathing, her sobs, her curses, the way her anger cracked and faded.
I didn’t cross the threshold. I didn’t go in.
I let her drown in it. That’s what she needed. That’s how it gets easier—eventually.
Tonight, however, is date night. Tonight, I’m going to add one more pathetic piece of shit to my never-ending kill list. Even if he doesn’t do anything to her, the fact that he dared to think he could have, touch, or even look at what’s mine is enough to take him off the board.
After putting on my good-boy, bodyguard suit, I head to her room to make sure she’s ready for her so-called “business.”
I knock on the door twice.
“Who is it?”
Without replying, I open the door and step inside.
She’s …
Fuck, she’s mouth-watering.
Dressed in a dark purple midi dress that cascades loosely around her firm, Mediterranean curves. Her hair falls freely over her toned, exposed shoulders, making her look even more elegant and seductive.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says quietly with a soft smile, squinting her dark blue eyes.
I don’t say a word. I just watch the way her face lights up every time she sees me, even if she doesn’t realize it. That’s the part I like most. It’s the kind of thing that makes silence taste better.
“Dressed to impress?” I raise a brow.
Her lips part, but she seems hesitant. Awkward even.
“I wore this for you,” she says bashfully, tucking her thick hair behind her ear.
The sentence goes straight to my cock. She turns her back to me and looks at herself in the mirror on the vanity.
“It’s the same color as these orchids.” Her eyes return to mine. “And orchids remind me of you now.”
Fuck … She looks like walking sin, wrapped in a dress that was made just to ruin someone’s self-control. Like the universe has handed me the fruit and dared me to take a bite. Every inch of her makes restraint feel like a joke. She doesn’t even realize how impossible it is to look away.
And that scar on her shoulder blade … It’s the first time I’ve see it—not that I’ve seen much. I wonder how she acquired it. It seems freshly healed.
I walk up to her, eyes locked on her and nowhere else. I stop just a breath away, close enough to feel her warmth. Her eyes follow every move I make though the mirror, lips parted, eagerly waiting for my next move.
“You look like a goddess in this dress,” I say, sinking my teeth into my lower lip, eyes dragging over her. “The kind that makes men forget the rules and reach for the fall anyway.”
Her chest rises higher than before, but she remains silent, watching me. Her fresh and flowery scent hits my nose, nearly numbing my mind.
Fuck. It’s going to be harder than I thought.
How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself and keep her safe, when all I want to do is defile her in every filthy way a man can? I am here to protect her from monsters like her father, but the truth is, I’m worse.
It’s not her innocence I see when I look at her. I see the end of me. My downfall. It’s everything I’m about to lose the second I touch her. I’ll lose my mind.
I want her skin under my mouth, my hands sliding between her thighs, her voice breaking on my name while I ruin everything I’m supposed to protect.
She turns around and raises her feline eyes to meet mine.
“Thank you for yesterday,” she says softly, her eyes roaming all over my face.
A low hum rumbles in my throat, more growl than sound, my thoughts unraveling as all I can think about is fucking her against the mirror.
“I know you were just doing your job, but still.”
“It wasn’t just about the job.”
Her eyes return to mine, daring me to answer to her. “Then what was it?”
My fist shakes and tightens around the knife in my thigh holster in an attempt to hold myself before I do something I’d regret.
Why is she doing this to me? How can she be so damn intoxicating without even trying? Every muscle in me trembles from restraint, from the need to grab her, to taste the chaos she stirs in me, to stop myself from being the selfish bastard who’d ruin everything just for one touch.
I don’t feel it at first. The knife tears the holster and digs into my skin. Blood wells up from my palm, and it’s the only thing sharp enough to cut through the haze she drags me into.
Then, as if she knows, her eyes drop to my hand.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she gasps, grabbing my hand with hers.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, pulling it away.
I’m seconds from losing it.
Every goddamn thought’s tearing at me, screaming to just give in.
I drag my eyes away from her before I do something stupid, shove the knife onto the vanity just to remind myself what the hell it’s for.
The tie’s choking the life out of me; I rip it loose, muttering curses just to keep my hands busy and not on her.
Her arched brows narrow, but she remains silent. She looks confused; I don’t blame her.
Never in my life have I wanted something the way I want her.
The obsession gnaws at me, hollowing me out from the inside.
She feels like sin disguised as salvation, something forbidden that still calls to every deranged part of me.
And knowing that touching her would destroy her only makes me want to sink deeper into the damnation of it.
“Why the knife?” she asks abruptly.
I rest my hands on the vanity and give her a side glance. “I might need to gut someone,” I say with a smirk, trying to conceal my frustration. “It’s also protection.”
She scoffs. “From me?”
“From me.”
“Oh …” Her eyes widen. “Why not a gun?”
“What?” I spit, puzzled. That’s all she has to ask?
“Men like you usually use guns. What’s with the knife?”
I push myself up and prowl toward her. Her lower lip trembles, and her eyes stay locked on mine, as if breaking that gaze might break her, too.
“Do you want me to be honest?” She nods, holding her breath.
I reach for the ends of her hair, letting the strands slide through my fingers.
She trembles. Oh, fuck, how I relish the way fear and want blur together when I’m this close.
“Because a gun ends it fast. A knife makes you savor every goddamn second of it.”
“Y-You sound …”
“Unhinged?” I raise a brow.
She gulps forcefully. “Dangerous.”
I let out a low chuckle, my fingers brushing over her prominent collarbone. “Only if you don’t know which face I’m wearing.”
Her cheeks suck in for a beat; her eyes go sharp. “Show me.”
“Show you what, little orchid?”
“Show me how to use it.”
A dark chuckle slips out before I can stop it, savoring the bite in her defiance. “Leave this to me.”
“I trust you,” she breathes sharply, her fingers resting gently on my torso.
I let the hum hang between us, then slide the knife into her hand. “Do you trust yourself?”