Chapter 2 #2
“I told you,” Clara, my aunt, hisses, jabbing a finger at her, “you don’t speak unless spoken to. You’re here because we allow it.”
Lia stands there with her fists clenched. I see the fury in her eyes as she refuses to back down.
Her voice, when it comes, is steady. “But you’re accusing me wrongly.”
Marco whistles under his breath, low and impressed.
“Well,” he mutters, “someone grew claws.”
“I told you not to speak back,” Zia Clara shrieks. “How dare you pour water all over me like I’m some street rat?”
“I didn’t pour anything on you,” Lia says calmly. “You set your leg for me to trip while I was holding the mug.”
Zia Clara’s face twists with rage and embarrassment.
Before anyone can move, she raises her hand and slaps Lia across the face.
The crack of it echoes through the old library.
Lia’s head snaps to the side, but she straightens slowly. Her cheek is flushed red, and her eyes are almost as red as her cheeks.
I expect her to cry or apologize, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and raises her steady, defiant eyes back to my aunt.
Zia Clara raises her hand again, ready for another blow.
“Enough,” I say, my voice cutting across the room.
The small crowd that has gathered in the room freezes. The path clears as I step forward.
“Leave,” I say, “all of you.”
The staff scatter first. Even Zia Clara, muttering curses under her breath, slinks away.
Marco lingers just long enough to wink at Lia before strolling off.
Now it’s just the two of us.
The air between us tightens, thick and hot, buzzing with something I can’t name.
I walk toward her in slow, measured steps, like a predator nearing its prey.
I can see the tremor she tries to hide, the way she clenches her fists so hard her knuckles turn white, and the slight tremble of her lips as if she’s holding back every word burning on her tongue. And her eyes…
Memories of that night still linger in her brown eyes.
Still, she doesn’t bow or cower. She doesn’t look away, even though I know I’m probably the last person she wants to look at. That impresses me.
I stop a breath away, studying her.
The scent of her clings to the air. It’s citrusy, like soap, but it’s mixed with something else.
“You know,” I say quietly, “most people cry after Zia Clara slaps them.”
She lifts her chin, glaring at me with every ounce of pride she has left.
“I’m not most people.”
A slow, genuine smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“No,” I murmur. “You’re not.”
The silence stretches between us, crackling with something raw. I take another step toward her, and I catch the slight hitch in her breath.
“Did you miss me?” I ask in a low drawl.
She huffs before pinning me with a hard gaze. “I wish you would return to wherever you came from. My life is more peaceful without you in it.”
“Good,” I smirk, and because I can’t resist it, I raise a hand to touch the side of her face. “That proves you’ve been thinking about me.”
I’m the one who never stopped thinking about her ever since I first set my eyes on her.
Seeing her kneeling before the dead body of her traitor of a father that precious night unlocked something dark and twisted in me. She was breathtaking, even in her devastation. I knew killing her would be a waste.
I didn’t have a valid reason for wanting her alive. The excuse I gave my father was a stupid one. I only wanted her as my captive because there was something about her that fascinated me. Maybe I was bored, or maybe I just needed some excitement in my life.
Or maybe the other reason, the one you kept a secret all this time…
However, that swiftly turned into an obsession I couldn’t understand. Each day I woke up, there was an itch to see her in the morning before I left for work. And when I came back at night, the itch was still there, only to be soothed when I saw her before going to bed.
It terrified me.
And after that night, that moment of weakness, I knew I couldn’t live under the same roof as her. I had to leave.
My father had an ongoing project back home in Italy and needed someone to oversee it. I volunteered. And Marco, reckless and impulsive as he is, decided to go with me.
I take another step toward Lia, desperate to see a crack in her demeanor. But all I’m doing is complicating things for myself, making the torture of living under this roof harder than it already is. I have a freaking fiancée, for fuck’s sake.
And this isn’t the reason you kept her alive, you know that.
I know I should stop, end whatever this is, and ask her to leave.
But I don’t.
I let my gaze drag over her slowly, let my fingers drag down her side deliberately. I let her see that I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking.
She doesn’t push me away or ask me to stop. I see her struggling to act unaffected by my touch, but it’s almost amusing, because I can also see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tries to control her breathing.
My eyes trail over the curve of her breasts, the flare of her hips, and down to her smooth legs. Every part of her is beautiful and inviting, like a fruit begging to be sucked.
It’s been two months since I felt a woman’s touch, as per La Mano Nera initiation demands before I carry out my rites. That want, that primal need, is gnawing at me for the first time since my abstinence.
And her body, standing right before me with fire in her blood and defiance in her eyes, is feeding something dangerous inside me.
“You wish,” she spits venomously before moving to side-step me.
I grit my teeth before grabbing her arm.
“Who are you to think you can walk away from me?”
Looking directly into my eyes, she counters. “Who are you to think I can’t?”
I take a slow step closer, crowding her space. I feel her stiffen slightly, but she doesn’t back down.
“Then you’re either very brave,” I say, my voice dropping to a near whisper beside her ear, “or very stupid.”
She shivers slightly, and I fight back the urge to touch her, to feel her softness beneath my hands.
Just as she opens her mouth, ready to throw something snarky back in my face, the library doors slam open with a bang.
“Francesco,” I hear my father’s voice. “With me. Now.”
I don’t look away from Lia. Instead, I lower my voice so only she can hear.
“I’ll find you again,” I promise.
Without waiting for her response, I turn and follow my father down the hall.
I should be focused on whatever my father wants to say to me. I should be thinking about my responsibilities and duties now that I’m back. About my freaking engagement party.
Instead, all I can think about is her.