CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Serafina
I rushed into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, my hands trembling so violently I could barely turn the lock. I collapsed against the closed door, heart hammering in my chest.
The blood. God, the blood.
It had been everywhere. And it was all on me.
I could still feel the warmth of it as it had sprayed across my skin, the copper tang filling my nostrils until I thought I might suffocate.
The scent of it clung to my skin, my hair, my clothes…a visceral reminder of what I had just witnessed. Lucca’s face, the terror in his eyes, the gurgling sound as his life drained away onto that cold concrete floor.
“God,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared down at my hands. They were stained crimson, flecks of blood spattered across my skin like macabre freckles. My dress—once a beautiful cream silk—was now ruined, soaked through with the evidence of Adrian’s brutality.
“You’re fine,” I said to myself.
But I wasn’t fine.
I didn’t think I would ever be fine again.
My stomach lurched again, bile rising in my throat as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I had to get it off me. All of it. Now.
I had maintained my composure downstairs. Had walked away with my head held high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
But now, alone in my room, those carefully constructed walls crumbled.
I had just witnessed a man’s death tonight.
A cruel, heartless death.
I tore at my dress, fumbling with the buttons, my fingers clumsy, the expensive fabric ripping as I frantically pulled it over my head.
I couldn’t get it off fast enough. The blood had dried, making the material stick to my skin in places.
I gagged, fighting back the urge to vomit as I finally managed to free myself.
Adrian had made me watch. God, how ruthless could he be?
I turned the water on full blast, as hot as it would go. Steam filled the bathroom as I stepped under the scalding spray, my skin immediately turning red. I didn’t care.
I needed to burn the memory away, to scrub every trace of what I had witnessed from my body.
I grabbed the soap, lathering it between my hands before scrubbing at my face, my arms, my chest. The water ran pink around my feet, swirling down the drain—but no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t wash away the memory.
I scrubbed until my skin stung, until it felt raw and tender. Still, I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
The blood was gone, but I could still feel it. Still see it.
A small, choked sob escaped me as I slid down the shower wall and wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth as tears mixed with the hot water streaming down my face.
I had seen death before.
Adrian had snapped a man’s neck right in front of me, but this... this was different.
This was intimate. Brutal.
I had been mere inches away when Adrian slit Lucca’s throat.
And I had seen it all, slow and now etched into my memory, burned into my mind, never to be forgotten.
The way the man’s eyes had widened in terror before life drained from them.
The way the blood had sprayed from his jugular, arcing through the air to spatter across my face. The gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood. I had heard his final breath and smelled the copper tang of his life force as it emptied onto the floor.
And Adrian…
My husband had watched me the entire time, his cold blue eyes studying my reaction as he committed murder.
I had tried to remain composed, to show him that I wasn’t afraid. That his cruelty couldn’t break me. But inside, I had been screaming. Terrified. My heart had been hammering so hard I thought it might burst out and leave a gaping hole in my chest, if that was even possible.
My stomach heaved, and I doubled over, retching into the shower. Nothing came up but bile and the bitter taste of fear. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, my body shaking uncontrollably.
“Stop,” I commanded myself, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
I needed to stop thinking.
I needed to… breathe.
I needed to remain calm.
But the images wouldn’t leave me. The knife. The blood. The way Adrian had looked at me afterward—expectant, almost proud, as if he were showing off his handiwork.
The water turned my skin bright red, nearly burning. My flesh felt like it would peel away from my bones, the heat almost unbearable but I couldn’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I couldn’t…
I scrubbed harder, desperate to feel clean, to feel anything but the horror that clung to me like a second skin.
When my flesh started to feel raw, when I could no longer distinguish between the pain of the hot water and the pain in my heart, I finally turned off the shower. I stood there, dripping, shivering despite the bathroom’s warmth.
I wrapped myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t want to see myself. I didn’t want to acknowledge the woman who had sat there, silent and still, as a man was slaughtered before her.
I dried myself quickly, my movements almost mechanical. More like a robot, less like a human. I pulled on a loose white nightgown, the fabric soft against my abused skin, the pure color a stark contrast to the violence that still echoed in my mind.
I walked out of the bathroom and my heart lurched to my throat before it then dipped to the pit of my stomach.
Adrian stood in the middle of my bedroom, his presence filling the space like a physical force.
How did he get in when I had locked the door?
No, that was a stupid question.
Of course, a locked door would never stop Adrian Salvatore.
He had showered too, it seemed. His dark hair was damp, tousled and curling slightly at the ends. He wore only a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chest bare.
I inhaled, taking a deep breath to steady myself, to rebuild the walls my husband had so effectively shattered.
I couldn’t let Adrian see how much he had affected me.
I wouldn’t allow myself to give him that satisfaction.
“Get out,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He didn’t move, but the muscles of his arms flexed, tightened. The tattoos coiling around his left arm seemed to come alive, to tell stories of violence and pain, stories I didn’t want to know. “We need to talk.”
My traitorous eyes traced the hard planes of his body, the defined muscles of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the powerful arms that had ended a man’s life with such casual brutality.
His skin was still flushed from the shower, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders, trailing down the valley between his pectorals.
He was beautiful. A monster, yes—but attractive in the way a hurricane was beautiful, in the way a wildfire was captivating. Dangerous. Uncontrollable.
And I loathed myself for noticing.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide the way my body was reacting to his presence.
His face was impassive, but his eyes... his eyes were dark with something I couldn’t name. They traveled over me, taking in my damp hair, my flushed skin, the way the thin nightgown clung to my still-wet body.
Adrian cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice low.
I blinked.
Silence filled the room after his confession.
I blinked again, confusion coursing through me.
And then I did the only thing I possibly could.
I laughed. Bitter. Cold. Humorless. “Is that supposed to be an apology? Because it’s the worst one I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m saying that I shouldn’t have made you watch.”
I took a step closer, shaking my head at his poor attempt at pacifying me. “So, this is an apology?”
His lips twisted but he didn’t respond.
“Your mouth just has to form the word sorry and speak it out loud. That’s how someone properly apologizes. Say it after me, s-o-r-ry.”
His jaw tightened, his full lips pressed into a hard line. His eyes darkened at my laugh, and his biceps flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest, the movement drawing my eye to the strength in his arms.
I could easily snap my neck if he wanted to.
But he wouldn’t…
He couldn’t…
I was his wife.
And our families had an alliance.
“I’m not very good at apologies.”
Despite everything, despite the horror I had just witnessed, despite the hatred I felt for him—my stomach still pooled with a dark, unwanted desire at the sight of him.
It made me sick.
It made me hate myself almost as much as I hated him.
“No, you’re good at cruelty. At manipulation.
At making people suffer.” I took a step toward him, anger replacing the fear that had consumed me moments before.
“What was the point of that little demonstration? To scare me? To break me? News flash, Adrian…if you needed to show me that to prove you’re in control of my life, then you’re not really in control. You’re losing it, husband.”
He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I wanted you to understand what I am. What our world is.”
“I already know what you are.” My voice cracked.
And I hate that I was attracted to him. I hated that my body betrayed me every time he was near. I hated that I couldn’t control how you made me feel.
“And it doesn’t scare you,” he rasped. “What I am. Who you are. What we can be together.” Adrian took another step closer. “You’re not scared of me because of what I can do. You’re scared of what I make you feel.”
My fists clenched at my side. God, he needed to leave right now. He needed to get out of my room and never come back. “You don’t own any part of me just because we’re married.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Adrian’s expression changed. And there it was…
Dark hunger, something akin to feral need, flashed in his eyes. He took another step toward me, and I found myself backing up until I hit the wall.
Thud.
“Don’t,” I whispered, but my body was already responding to his proximity, my breath coming faster, my heart racing.