4. Cast
4
CAST
Willow’s been silent for most of the flight, her arms still crossed, gaze fixed out the window like I’m not sitting right across from her. The jet hums softly around us, but the tension between us is louder than anything.
I let it go for a while, but eventually, I can’t resist. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I look at her. “How long are you planning on pouting, Carina? Because we’ve got a few more hours, and I’d hate for you to waste all your energy being angry.”
She finally turns to me, her hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, I don’t know, Cast. Probably as long as I have your cum between my thighs.”
My blood runs hot, and my cock stirs at the thought of wiping that defiance off her face, of reminding her exactly who she’s dealing with.
“Willow,” I say, my voice low, laced with warning. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t even flinch, still staring out the window like I’m not worth her attention.
“Willow,” I repeat, sharper this time. “Look at me.”
She ignores me again, her fingers tapping impatiently against her armrest.
“Get over here,” I command, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She whips her head around, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say, leaning back in my seat, spreading my legs wider as I pat my thigh. “Come here. Now.”
Her jaw tightens, and for a second, I think she might actually tell me to go to hell. But then she shifts, slowly uncrossing her arms and standing, her movements deliberate and full of attitude. She’s challenging me, testing how far I’ll go, and fuck, if it doesn’t make my dick harder.
She steps closer, stopping just in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Happy now?” she snaps.
I grin up at her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down onto my lap before she can protest. She gasps, her hands landing on my chest as I grip her hips, keeping her firmly in place.
“Over the fucking moon, Carina.” I whisper into the curve of her neck and just like when we were teens she melts into me with a smile.
Her body softens, her anger momentarily slipping away as she relaxes against me. That little smile tugs at her lips, the one I used to live for, and for a moment, it’s like no time has passed. Like we’re still those reckless kids who thought the world couldn’t touch us.
“What exactly happened to my father, Cast?” she whispers, her voice trembling. The warmth in her transitions into something colder, and sharper. She sits up, her hazel eyes locking onto mine, and I see the fear creeping in. “Tell me.”
I exhale, my hands tightening on her hips to ground us both. “Damien was visiting him every Sunday. The Italians saw and took him out as a warning.”
Her breath catches, her body going eerily still. "Damien visited my father?"
“Yes,” I say too sharply, and she flinches. Cursing myself, I soften my tone, brushing my thumb along her side. “Willow. When you ran, we didn’t have any leads. Your father was the only connection we had to you.”
Her lips tighten, and I can practically see the storm brewing behind her hazel eyes. She sucks her teeth, the sound sharp, dismissive. “Karma,” she mutters under her breath.
“What?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and there’s no mistaking the icy edge in her tone. “I killed Rosemary, and now because of you my father was killed.” She says it so flatly, so numbly, that it knocks the breath out of me.
“Willow—” I start, but she cuts me off, her voice rising.
“No, Cast. Don’t. Don’t tell me it’s not the same, because it is. You just don’t want to admit it.” She pushes at my chest, trying to free herself, but I hold her tighter, keeping her in my lap.
“Listen to me,” I growl, my voice low and firm. “This isn’t the same, Carina. What happened to Rosemary happened so you could live. So you could survive.. And your father...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “He got caught up in a war he wasn’t built for. It wasn’t personal.”
She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound grating. “Not personal? Cast, I took her heart. Her actual heart. Then look at what happens? I leave and suddenly you and the boys are playing chess with my family’s lives.”
My jaw tightens, the memory of that day flashing through my mind like a brand. Rosemary’s death wasn’t clean. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t Willow’s fault, no matter how much she tried to shoulder it. No matter how much Damien wants to believe that it’s her fault.
“You didn’t kill Rosemary,” I say, my voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “You did what you had to. If you hadn’t taken that heart, you wouldn’t be here. She would’ve died anyway, and you know it.”
Her eyes glisten, but she shakes her head, her lips trembling. “And my father? What’s your excuse for that? He didn’t deserve to die because of me.”
“No,” I admit. “He didn’t. But the Italians don’t care about fairness. They care about sending a message. And you, Carina , would be one hell of a message.”
Her body stiffens, and I see the walls go up in her eyes. “So what? Am I a pawn in your little war now? That it?”
“You’re not a pawn,” I snap, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at me. “You’re the Queen. And if they think they can come for you, they’re about to find out how wrong they are. But I can’t protect you if you’re not with me.”
She stares at me, her breath shaky, her hands fisting the fabric of my shirt. “I don’t want your protection, Cast,” she whispers. “I want my father back.”
"I know, mi amor, " I say softly, pressing my forehead to hers. “But right now, we don’t have the luxury of what we want.”
Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “No, as always, Cast—you get the luxury of what you want.”
I tense, my hand stilling on her waist. “And what do I want?” I ask, my voice low, pulling her chin so she’s forced to meet my eyes.
She hesitates, her gaze flickering between defiance and a softer, more vulnerable expression. “Me,” she whispers finally.
The corner of my mouth lifts in a humorless sneer. “You think I want you?” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her jaw. “You’re wrong.”
Her lips part in surprise, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. I lean in closer, my voice rough and unrelenting. “I don’t just want you, Willow. I’ve needed you. Craved you. Do you know how hard it was to let you go when everything in me screamed to keep you locked away?”
Her breath catches, doubt flickering in her eyes—but then she shakes her head, her voice sharp, cutting. “You’re lying. You let me leave. You let me go, Cast.”
My grip tightens on her chin, and the fire in her gaze only fuels the inferno inside me. “You think I let you go?” My voice drops, lethal. “Because I didn’t drag you back kicking and screaming? Because I didn’t ruin you when I had every right to?”
“Yes!” she snaps, shoving against my chest, though she doesn’t pull away. “You let me leave. You let me live my life, but you made damn sure I couldn’t have anyone else. You’ve been pulling strings from the shadows, haven’t you?”
I don’t deny it. I don’t need to. She already knows the truth.
“See?” she says, her voice trembling with anger. “You think you own me, Cast. That’s why you didn’t fight. Because as long as no one else touches me, you’re fine sitting back and watching from your throne.”
I exhale slowly, my jaw tight. “You don’t get it, do you?” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You think you’ve seen the worst of me, Willow, but you haven’t. Not even close. You bring out the worst in me. You always have.”
She freezes, her defiance faltering as my words sink in. I let go of her chin, dragging my hand down to her throat, my fingers curling around the delicate curve of her neck. I don’t squeeze, but the threat is there, simmering beneath my skin.
“I’m not Vincent,” I growl, eyes boring into hers. “I’m not the man who will crush you to keep you. I’m the man who let you go because I love you too damn much to destroy you. But don’t mistake that for passivity. Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t burn the whole world down if someone tried to take you from me.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the air electric and I can’t breathe because I just said I fucking love you to her for the first time, and fuck I want her to say it back.
“You’re right,” she whispers finally, her voice trembling. “You’re not Vincent. You’re worse.”
The words cut sharper than expected, but I don’t let it show. I lean in, my lips brushing her ear as I speak. “Maybe. But you’re still here, mi amor. And that’s what matters.”
She shudders, her body betraying her even as she tries to hold on to her anger. “You can’t keep doing this,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I am going to my father’s funeral and then I am going back to school. You can’t keep me at your beck and call, Cast.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “And neither do you. Without you, I will go mad, Carina. Do you want to see how bad I can really get?”
“No,” she chokes out.
“So stop fighting it, Willow. You’re mine. You always have been. Always will be.”
Her voice is quiet, but the words slice through me like a blade. “And what if I don’t want to be yours anymore?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, all I can do is stare at her, the fire in her hazel eyes daring me to react. My grip on her throat loosens, but my hand stays where it is, my thumb brushing over her pulse—steady, defiant, alive.
“Then,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “I would burn the world to the ground.”
Her lips part, shock flickering across her face, but I don’t stop. I lean closer, so close that the warmth of her breath mixes with mine, my gaze locked on hers. “I’d burn it all, Carina, and then I’d make you and I choke on the smoke, together.”
Her breath catches, her body trembling slightly against mine, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re insane,” she whispers, her voice unsteady.
“Maybe,” I admit, a dark smile tugging at my lips. “But you’ve always known that, haven’t you? You’ve always known what I’d do for you, what I’d destroy for you.”
Her chest heaves, and I see the conflict in her eyes—anger, fear, and a deeper emotion she doesn’t want to admit. A feeling vibrant with raw vulnerability. “You can’t just decide that, Cast. You can’t make me stay.”
“I’m not making you stay,” I say softly, tilting my head. “You’re here because you want to be. Even if you hate me for it, even if you want to run—you’re still here, Willow. And you’ll stay. Because deep down, you know you belong to me as much as I belong to you.”