Chapter Twenty
Dante
The crack of the gunfire still echoes as Scarletta and Antony’s blood pools on the concrete.
Behind me, Luca is breathing hard, hands on his gun, eyes sweeping the corners for more threats.
I look at Evangeline, with her wrists bound, the rope biting into her pale skin, her golden hair undone, cheeks flushed, and eyes wide. She trembles, but not from fear. I’ve seen that one too many times on men I’ve broken until they begged for death.
This isn’t terror. It’s a revelation.
Her uncle’s body is cooling on the floor across the room, and her confession is ringing in my mind.
She saved herself.
How dare she put herself in danger? I ought to be furious with her and demand answers.
Instead, a perverse satisfaction and sense of pride coil in my gut.
She poisoned him.
Holstering my gun, I stride across the room, ignoring Luca’s muttered, “What the fuck, man.”
I crouch before her, and she gazes at me as if wondering whether I’ll chastise her, judge her, or kiss her. Her breathing is ragged, and my chest aches to touch her, to make sure she’s really okay. Burning with the need to know what those fuckers did to her; I clench my jaw.
Right now, though, I’m just relieved she’s safe.
I brush my thumb along her jaw, tipping her face up to mine.
She doesn’t flinch, but leans into my touch, seeking comfort.
There’s bruising and swelling on her face that makes me want to kill each of those motherfuckers all over again because the first time wasn’t painful enough. They should have had to suffer.
“Piccola mia,” I rasp, my voice ragged and hoarse, “you poisoned your uncle.”
Her lips quiver, and tears form in her eyes. “Silas wasn’t family to me anymore.”
My heart breaks for her because I know the pain of betrayal from your own blood; someone you once considered family.
God, she’s perfect.
Quickly scanning her for other injuries, I draw my knife and slice through the bindings on her wrists.
Her fragile skin is raw and bleeding, so I press my mouth to each welt in an act of reverence.
Her wrists drip with drops of blood, blistered where the ropes cut deep.
Again, I want to empty my gun into every corpse on this floor for daring to touch her.
Luca clears his throat, reminding me we need to wrap shit up.
“Everyone out,” I snap, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Christ, fine,” he mutters, shoving the others toward the door. “Cleanup crew’s gonna have a damn field day in here.”
I cup her face, pressing my forehead to hers. It’s then that I notice my hands still stained with the blood from Scarletta’s soldier. Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, but I know I need to get her home.
I want to pamper her and worship her like the queen she is. Like she deserves.
When I go to lift her into my arms, she gives a whimper and tries to speak, but I silence her with a look.
Her slight weight is held to my chest as I cradle her like a small child, one hand pressing her face into my neck as my other supports her ass.
She wraps her legs around my waist instinctively, melting into me, seeking warmth.
From experience, I can tell her adrenaline is dropping, and she’s shivering from shock.
“God, I want to kiss you so bad, amore mio, but not here,” I growl. My control is fraying; if I kiss her now, it’ll be fucking over. I’ll take her like a beast on the filthy concrete.
Luca waits in the doorway. He opens his mouth, sees the look on my face, and shuts it immediately. “I’ll drive.”
Good. Anyone who asks any more questions tonight will suffer. Tonight, no one comes between me and Evangeline.
The drive is a blur in the back of my SUV, her tiny body pressed to me and her breathing shallow.
Despite covering her with a small blanket Luca dug up out of nowhere, she’s still shivering.
My pulse pounds as the city lights streak past us, and I can’t stop drinking her in. This woman is everything.
Evangeline poisoned her uncle. She tried to save herself, eliminated the threat.