Chapter Sixteen
Dante
She lies tangled in my sheets, and I run my fingers through her long, silky hair.
It looks like spun gold fanned across my chest. Her body is marked by my fingers and my teeth.
Knowing I should feel guilty that her porcelain skin is bruised, I find I love seeing my marks on her skin.
Seeing them fills me with a kind of primal pride.
Knowing I’ve branded her and other men can see she is taken by her alpha male.
Restless, I ought to feel full and content right now. After all, I’ve just had some of the best sex of my life, draining my balls repeatedly until we were both sated. Instead, I want to plunge my cock into her tight heat again. Would there ever be a time when I wouldn’t crave her?
I’ve decided, and I’m more resolved than before. The tiny angel in my arms will be my wife and the mother of my children, bound to me forever. The ring was chosen and is in my bedside table, waiting for the perfect moment.
Peering down, I can see she’s watching me, but she doesn’t look at me with fear, though I deserve it after how I handled her tonight. She’s looking at me with tender, wide-eyed curiosity. Her gaze drifts down to my throat and lingers.
The fucking scar.
I brush my fingers across the raised flesh without thinking. “You want to ask,” I croak, my voice rough and fractured.
“Does it still hurt?” She breathes the question as she props her chin on the hand resting on my chest, waiting for my response.
“Not anymore.” I give a bitter exhale. “The pain was easy. It’s the scar that helps me remember; it’s the poison, the deceit that festers inside.”
Evangeline isn’t looking at me with pity, but as if I’m someone worth saving. The pity would have pissed me off. The idea of saving someone like me is laughable. I’ve known for a long time, I’m well beyond saving.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
I could lie to her and say it was a street fight, a stray bullet, or an accident. But she won’t believe those lies. Not Evangeline. She sees me, sees through me. This woman can actually see inside my soul, to the bastard I think is beyond redemption.
“My father gave it to me.”
Her mouth parts, shock widening her eyes. Good. Let her grasp the kind of bloodline that breeds monsters.
“He molded me into the killer I am today,” I say, the memory clawing at me. “I was eighteen. He ordered me to kill the wife of an associate who betrayed him, but because I hesitated, just a heartbeat, that hesitation was my crime.”
Still today, I can see his face, similar to mine, cold as stone, merciless. The knife in his hand, slicing through my throat, precise. My blood spilled while he leaned in to hiss in my ear as I kneeled at his feet, “Weakness will kill you. You’re a disgrace.”
He could have killed me in that instant. The man knew how to wield a knife. Hell, he’s the one who trained me. Instead, it was a test to see whether I lived or died.
“He slit my throat himself,” I continue telling the story, my tone flat, emotionless. “Left me choking in my own blood to see if I’d crawl back. If I was strong enough to survive. It was Luca who got me medical attention, or I’d be dead.”
“But I did take a valuable lesson away that night. Kill swiftly, kill without mercy, kill before anyone can kill you. But I also learned my own fucking father would have left me for dead out of pride.”
She simply looks at me, a sheen of tears in her eyes, knowing there’s more to the story, so I go on with the grim tale.
“There’s a code in our culture that doesn’t allow for harming the wives and children of made men.
That night, he broke that code. By doing so, he lost the respect of his soldiers, his men. ”
I want her to know the rest of the story. It’s somehow cathartic to let the words flow, but I also want her to know how I got to where I am today.
“Despite my age, I had proven myself to the Vescari family, so his men were more than eager to switch their loyalty to me. He likely murdered my mother when I was just a toddler, so there were no siblings to assume the throne. Just me.”
“One night I confronted him in his study for his crimes, and he pulled a gun on me. But I disarmed him. Then, using the same knife he used on me, sliced his throat open and watched him bleed out on the floor. Our soldiers were witnesses. From that night forward, the Vescari empire has been mine.”
She regards me as if I’m something in need of fixing.
“Don’t pity me, angel.” My voice is sharp. “This scar, his death on my hands, crowned me ‘Il Malefico’, the Evil One. It’s why my enemies piss themselves at my name, why your uncle fears me more than Scarletta. It’s why you’re alive tonight.”
Her small hand presses against my throat, resting over the scar.
I should pull away, but I don’t. Her touch is warm, gentle, more dangerous than any blade. However, my breath stutters in my chest like I’m bleeding out, but this time it isn’t pain unraveling me. It’s Evangeline.
“You survived,” she whispers, pride in her voice, in her gaze. “And you’re more than what he made you.”
If only she knew. If only she understood the monster she’s entwined with.
I close my hand over hers, trapping it against my throat. “No, cara mia. You don’t understand. I am exactly his creation. This scar is my crown; blood is my throne.” I lean closer, letting her glimpse the darkness behind my eyes. “And now you’re mine, my queen.”
Her eyes glisten with fear and longing, tangled together. She will never escape because I will never let her.