Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Hevan
My heart is full of love.
The aqua sea sparkles below the rugged backdrop of the restaurant, and Azrael fits into the Italian setting perfectly. His bronzed skin and the scent of his aftershave are an aphrodisiac, and the way he looks at me like I’m his everything has hope flaring in my chest.
I know his world is a cruel one; I’ve witnessed its brutality firsthand, but I refuse to believe there’s no other option than this life for him.
He has money; surely, we can run. I just need him to see what being with me would be like.
Prove to him there’s another world than the one he’s chained to.
“You look beautiful, even with clothes on.” His lip twitches, with his hand locked in mine across the dinner table, and I laugh at his remark.
When he surprised me three days ago by waking me with packed bags and a private jet waiting on a runway of what appeared to be a warehouse, I was convinced he was sending me off somewhere.
I never expected to be whisked away to Italy.
Nor did I expect to have a private yacht take us to Montecristo today for an exclusive tour.
Now, as we sit at the outdoor restaurant, my world feels like it’s done a complete one-eighty. I’ve gone from being sold by my date to a trafficking ring, to loathing my captor, and now I’ve fallen in love with him and am expecting his baby.
Of course his outburst at discovering the pregnancy was not the reaction I’d have hoped for in normal circumstances, but it wasn’t normal circumstances.
Azrael is overwhelmed by the pressure of his duties, and while we haven’t discussed the baby, I’m hoping giving him the time he needs to come to terms with the pregnancy will provide him with my reassurance and support.
The soft-pink peony planters scattered around the restaurant are a pretty contrast to the whitewashed buildings, and the cobbled street gives the authentic effect I only ever dreamed about.
Everything seems so perfect.
“Sir. Could I offer you a Marques de Teran Reserva twenty-sixteen?” the server asks, presenting a bottle of wine toward Azrael.
“Yes. We’ll both take one.” Azrael nods in my direction.
“Of course.” The server ducks his head.
I place a hand over my glass. “Not for me, thank you.” Then I lift my gaze toward Azrael’s, and I’m pained to see his jaw tic. His sinister glare slices through me, and a cold shudder racks down my spine.
Definitely not ready to discuss the baby.
I shake off the ominous feeling mounting inside me and tell myself to embrace the sunshine and freedom of Italy.
It’s not lost on me that not once have I considered escaping.
I glance around the restaurant, and I can already make out three of Azrael’s men who escorted us on board the private jet and yacht.
You don’t want to leave, anyway, not with the progress you’re making with him, a little voice tells me.
“Signora.” The server places my spaghetti carbonara down in front of me, then serves Azrael his lasagna.
Azrael watches me as I twirl the spaghetti around my fork, and when I place it in my mouth, my taste buds burst to life. “Oh my God, this is the best ever.” I moan.
Azrael chuckles, and the sound is music to my ears. He’s back to being lighthearted.
“I’m pleased you like it,” he remarks while cutting into his own meal.
“You should have Elizabeth cook this for us,” I comment, twirling the spaghetti around my fork. “She’s so good at everything she does, she’d create this too. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you always so positive about others?” he asks, and dabs his mouth with the napkin.
“I mean”—I lift my shoulder—“there’s no point in being negative.
There’s too much of it in the world, so why put someone down if you can lift them up?
” Our eyes remain locked. “Everyone has the ability to make a difference, Azrael. Sometimes you have to try harder to pursue it, but we’re all capable of change.
We’re all capable of making a positive difference in the world. ”
“Not everyone.” He says it so low I almost don’t hear, and I reach across the table to stroke his hand.
“Azrael!” A loud, excitable voice cuts through our heavy words, leaving them unresolved and stagnant.
Our heads turn to a woman sashaying toward us like a model on a catwalk runway.
Her hair is in bold dark curls to her shoulders; her red lipstick is glossy, the way I know Azrael likes it, and then Azrael shifts and pulls his hand away from mine.
“I never would have expected to see you here. I was just in the boutique across the road, and I thought there’s just no way.
” She beams at him, and a part of me is envious of the tightly fitted white dress she wears, showcasing her slim build.
Then I quickly remind myself that Azrael literally gave me the black shirt off his back.
I now wear it with a belt around my middle to give the impression of it being a shirt dress.
“And who is this?” She smiles down at me, then her dark eyes deepen, causing a rush of blush to creep over my cheeks.
“Is this one of the girls from the whorehouse?” she says in a mocking tone.
“A sex slave?” My hand tightens on my fork, and I take the opportunity to look at Azrael.
There’s no denying the fire burning behind his eyes and the warning he shoots in her direction. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight. He’s about to explode across the table and commit an act of violence.
I clear my throat to think of something to say in hopes of breaking the tension she appears to be unaware of, unless she’s taunting him?
“Did you buy anything nice?” I ask, ignoring her questions and gesturing toward the bags on her wrist.
She gawks at me as if dumbfounded that I can actually speak.
“Jesus, Azrael. Don’t you allow the women you fuck to talk?” I tilt my head to the side and pout, hoping the show I put on is enough to throw her off the scent and away from the true reflection of our relationship.
“They were normally gagged,” he clips back while his scowl toward me deepens, and I only hope he’s playing along and isn’t as angry with me as he appears.
“Well, then, the other woman last night must have helped convert you.” I drill my gaze into his. Come on, you idiot, play along.
“You’re right. We’re going to head back to the villa now, and I’ll untie her and gag you instead. I’ve heard enough of your bullshit today.” Then he pushes back from the table and ignores the woman as he jerks my arm and pulls me out of my chair. “Walk.”
I open my mouth with a retort, but snap it shut at the thunderous expression on his face. “Don’t say another fucking word,” he hisses in my ear, causing me to swallow.
“Shall we meet up for drinks later?” the woman shouts as he marches us out of the restaurant.
“Azrael, you’re going to leave a mark,” I whine, but he ignores me.
“I already fucking left one, didn’t I?” he growls. “Just fucking walk, Hevan.” The disappointment in his tone churns my stomach, and the mark he’s referring to, I’m sure, is our baby.