Chapter 4 #3
“You killed her,” Adora sobs, and each word is punctuated by another strike. “You killed her.” Her voice breaks on a sob, but her arm doesn’t falter.
The capo lies still. She’s stabbing a corpse now, but she can’t seem to stop.
Helplessness and fear are pouring out of her in savage, desperate stabs.
Tears stream down her face, mixing with blood.
She’s sobbing and screaming simultaneously, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief and rage.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
I move forward and catch her wrist mid-stroke. “Doe. He’s dead.”
She fights my grip, trying to stab him again. “Let me go.”
“He’s dead,” I repeat, firmer this time. I wrench the knife from her grip and toss it across the room, where it clatters against the wall.
Adora stares at her empty, blood-soaked hands like she doesn’t recognize them.
“I killed him.” Her voice is hollow and distant. “Oh, God. I killed him.”
She stands, but her legs won’t hold her up. She stumbles backward and hits my chest. She freezes, then whirls around with a gasp. Her eyes are huge and unfocused, darting across my face like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“It’s you,” she says, the words ragged and confused. “You’re—you’re—”
My jaw tenses, waiting for her to say you’re an assassin or you’re a killer.
Then Adora Montoni does something that stops my heart.
“You’re my fiancé,” she whispers brokenly.
Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it. You’re my fiancé. As though the massacre never happened. As if we are still two people meant to build a life together.
Her arms lock around my waist, and she buries her face against me, clinging to me with desperate strength. Like I’m a lifeline. Like I’m safety incarnate.
Her protector.
The towel slips from her shoulders and pools at our feet. She’s naked, freezing, and covered in blood, and she’s pressed against me like I broke into her house, not to murder her father, but to save her.
My hands hover over her bare back, frozen in shock.
What the hell?
She’s shaking so violently I can feel it through my shirt. Her skin is ice against mine, and her breath comes in hitching sobs. Out of everyone in this godforsaken city, this blood-soaked Montoni princess is seeking comfort from me.
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.
But nothing about this is funny.
My hands slowly touch her back. She needs warmth or she’s going to die, and I need her to tell me where her father is. That’s the only reason I pull her closer instead of pushing her away.
“I’ve got you, doe,” I hear myself murmur into her wet hair. “You’re safe.”
I cradle her frozen body against my chest. Adora gasps at the heat from my body, caught between pain and relief.
She’s small enough that I can envelop her completely, her naked body flush against mine from chest to thighs.
A full-body shudder runs through her, and she nestles her face into the hollow of my throat.
Her lips brush my skin. Heat floods through me as I remember her mouth beneath mine last night.
I grit my teeth and focus on the practical. She’s cold. I’m warm. That’s all there is to this.
“Where’s your father?” I whisper into her wet hair.
But she just trembles and clings to me, lost in enjoying my warmth. Gradually, her violent shaking begins to ease. The desperate shivers become smaller tremors.
An idea takes shape. If she sees me as her protector, as the man she’s supposed to marry, I can use that. I can make her tell me everything I need to know to kill her father. All I have to do is make her believe I’m on her side.
And if I happen to take what I was promised in the process? Well, I was owed a bride.
Her breathing, which comes in short, panicked gasps, starts to slow and deepen.
Her muscles, rigid with cold and shock, begin to soften.
She melts into me. Her hands, which were fisted in my shirt in a death grip, slowly relax and spread across my chest. I feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my jaw as she blinks slowly, coming back to herself.
Heat pools low in my belly. My hands begin to move, one sliding up to tangle in her damp hair, the other drifting lower to the small of her back, pulling her closer.
She fits against me perfectly. Every curve pressed to the hard planes of my muscles. She sighs, and the sound is contented, almost peaceful.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
Against my throat, she nods cautiously.
“Who am I?”
“I’m afraid to say it out loud,” she whispers.
“Say my name,” I demand, raising my voice.
Adora opens her mouth, and then closes it again. There’s a war going on behind her eyes. Finally, she raises her head, and her eyes meet mine, clear now, and aware of who’s holding her.
She parts those beautiful lips and says in a steady voice, “I recognize you now. Vincenzo Vici. The man I was meant to marry.”
My hands tighten on her involuntarily. I wasn’t prepared for the way my body reacts to her saying my name. Heat floods my extremities, and I remember in vivid detail what it feels like to kiss her.
I’ve wanted her since I had her beneath me on that blood-soaked laundromat floor. Wanted her mouth, her body, her desperate little gasps of fear and desire all tangled together. She owes me for insulting me, hitting me, and most of all, she owes me for six weeks of grief and rage.
“Yes,” I say, my voice rough. “The man you were meant to marry.”
Then I twist the knife.
“Before you and your father murdered my family.”
Her face crumples. The amber eyes that were looking at me with something almost like trust fill with tears, and she breaks into sobs.
Well, at least she fucking feels bad about it.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.
I bite back my growl of anger. Her hands come up to cover her face, but I catch her wrists, forcing her to look at me and face what she and her father did.
She’s sorry?
As if sorry could ever be enough.
But let’s see if she means it.
“You want to make it right?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.
She nods frantically, tears streaming down her face. “Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Then give me what you owe me.”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
I grip her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You hit me with that bat and ran. I told you last night. You owe me another kiss.”
“Now?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Here?”
I look down at her naked body pressed against mine. The blood drying on her skin. The corpse lying next to us. “I can’t think of a better time. If I wait any longer, you’ll flee again. You’re good at running away, doe.”
Her lips tremble. Her eyes search mine, looking for mercy. Hoping for gentleness.
She won’t find it.
“I—” She swallows hard. “Okay.”
That trembling whisper is enough.
I crush my mouth to hers, claiming the kiss she owes me.
She makes a small sound of surprise, her body going rigid against mine.
But I don’t soften my grip on her. Don’t try and coax a deeper kiss.
I take what’s mine, my tongue sliding past her lips, my hand fisted in her hair, holding her exactly where I want her.
For a moment, she’s frozen.
Then she kisses me back. Desperate, almost violent. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. She’s not submitting. She’s giving as good as she gets, her teeth catching my bottom lip hard enough to sting.
When I pull away, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, and her pupils are blown.
She stares at me, her chest heaving. “That’s what you wanted? A kiss?”
“That’s what you owed me.”
“And now we’re even?”
I laugh, and the sound is dark and bitter. “Even? Doe, we’re not even close to even. That was for the baseball bat.”
Fear flickers across her face. “What do you want?”
Instead of answering, I kiss her again. Slower this time, but no less claiming. My hand slides from her hair to cup the back of her neck, holding her captive while my mouth moves over hers with deliberate possession. When I pull back this time, her eyes are glazed and confused.
I release her hair and take her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing across her flushed cheekbones. I let my gaze rake down her naked body, then back up to her face, letting her see exactly what I’m thinking.
She’s mine for the taking. Naked. Vulnerable. Desperate for protection. Why shouldn’t I claim what’s mine? Her father took everything from me. My family. My future. The life I was supposed to have.
She’s part of what I’m owed.
She’s trembling again, but not from cold this time.
“What do I want?” I echo, my eyes running over her and letting my face fill with dark intent. “I was promised a mafia princess to warm my bed. A bride. A wife. You.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed immediately by panic.
“What the hell is going on in here?” The voice cuts through the room like a blade, cold and authoritative, and laced with fury.
I look up.
Into the eyes of the man who murdered my family.