38. CHAPTER 37—ANTONIO
CHAPTER 37—ANTONIO
W hen she enters my suite, something shifts in the air - like the moment before lightning strikes. Her simple yoga pants and blouse cling to curves I want to map with teeth and tongue, and that hint of fear in her eyes only feeds the hunger building in my gut.
I let her stand there, let the silence stretch until she starts to fidget. Until that mask of calm she wears so well begins to crack. "Sit." My voice carries command wrapped in promise.
She perches on the edge of my chair like she's ready to bolt, all that dancer's grace wound tight as wire. Good. Let her feel unstable. Let her remember who holds the power now.
"So, are you going to tell me what you have planned now? Or at least what happened to you?" I tilt my head, watching her pulse flutter at her throat. "Or lie to me again?" My fingers trace a path up her arm, and her sharp inhale feeds something primal in me.
"What if I don't want to tell you?" Her hand finds my forearm, electricity arcing between us. "What are you going to do?" That challenge in her voice - fucking hell, it shouldn't make me want her more.
"Not scared of me, Bell'cenda?"
"I'm terrified." But her voice stays steady, and she doesn't back down even with me crowding her space. Something like respect tries to surface - I shove it down hard. "Terrified for Naomi. For tonight." When I step back, trying to escape her gravity, she adds softly: "Terrified you forgot who you were."
"Don't." The word rips from my throat like smoke. "You lost the right to talk about who I was. The Beast is what's left. The Antonio you knew?" I turn, making her look at the ruin of my face. "He burned away with my skin. These scars? They're just the surface. The real damage runs deeper than flesh. My dreams aren't piano keys and perfect notes anymore. They're revenge written in blood. You made sure of that."
I expect her to flinch, to offer pretty lies wrapped in apology. Instead, she meets my gaze like a challenge.
Every look from her hits where I used to have a heart. Every accidental touch ignites something I thought I'd burned away.
Part of me wants to drag her close, claim her mouth, forget about revenge and just take what burns between us. But the Beast knows better. The Beast remembers betrayal.
"Damn it, Isabella." Her name tastes like poison on my tongue. "Why do you make this so fucking difficult?" Desire wars with vengeance, leaving me raw.
"I make this difficult?" Fire flashes in her eyes. "I'm here because you bought me like property. I'm here with our wedding blood still fresh, wearing clothes you picked, following your rules in your fortress. And I make things hard?" Her laugh carries edges sharp as broken dreams. "Stop smiling at me like that."
But I can't. Because angry? She's fucking magnificent.
To hell with dinner. With revenge. With every carefully crafted plan. The need to taste her drowns out everything but the pound of blood in my veins. I want to hear my name break on her lips, want to feel her come apart under my hands. Want to bury myself so deep inside her that she forgets everything but who she belongs to now.
For one heartbeat, the Beast wars with whatever's left of the man who used to play piano for her. Then I stop thinking and just take.
My hands frame her face like I'm about to break something precious. She tastes like mint and surrender and deadly promises - fucking intoxicating. Her fingers twist in my shirt like she's trying to anchor herself against a storm, but she doesn't just submit. No, my little ballerina gives as good as she gets, matching every demand of my mouth with her own hunger.
I control this dance, but the way she yields - eager and willing and so goddamn perfect - it does something to me I didn't plan for. Her arms slide around me, pulling our bodies flush, and fuck me, the soft sound she makes when I bite her lip sends fire straight to my cock. The moan that vibrates against my tongue promises everything I want to take.
Everything she shouldn't want to give.
Everything that could destroy us both.
I force myself back, but every inch between us feels like warfare. Like the Beast is trying to claw its way through my skin to claim what's mine.
What if this is just another performance? Her father's daughter playing her part perfectly?
But fuck if that thought can stop my body from wanting. My cock throbs against my zipper, every pulse a reminder of how easily I could take her right here. Pin her against that glass door overlooking the Mediterranean, let moon and waves witness how thoroughly I own her. Could lose ourselves in something that burns hotter than revenge, or maybe find new ways to destroy each other.
Her breath comes quick, fingers touching lips I just claimed. "Why bid on me?" The question hangs between us like smoke. "You could have hurt him other ways. What does this give you?"
"I ask the questions here." My fingers find that scar on her throat again, the one I don't remember. "What the fuck happened to you, Bell'cenda?"
Because somewhere between flames and now, someone else marked what's mine.
And the Beast doesn't share.
Not even with death.
Her mouth opens, closes. That hesitation hits like ice water, like remembering who we are beneath this heat between us. Like remembering every lie that led to fire.
"Tell me." I grip her chin, forcing her eyes to mine. Not gentle - the Beast doesn't do gentle. But the way she flushes under my touch, like she can see right through the scars to whatever's left of my soul? It makes something dangerous stir in my chest. "Isabella?" Her name comes out sharp because I see it now - not defiance in her eyes, but real fear.
Something twists in my gut watching her struggle for words. Is this worry? Some leftover instinct from when I used to give a shit about her pain? I don't want to care why she's scared. Don't want to remember how it felt to be her protector instead of her nightmare.
But fuck if the look in her eyes doesn't crack something open inside me. This isn't her playing games - this is pure terror. Not of me, not of what I'll do to her.
Of whatever truth she's hiding.
Whatever secret carved those scars into her skin.
Whatever makes her hands shake when she thinks I'm not watching.
I release her chin, reining in the Beast. Can't let her shut down. Not when I'm so close to answers.
"Come." My voice carries gravel instead of threats. "I'll get your secrets eventually. But first..." I gesture to dinner like this is normal, like we're not playing games with knives behind our smiles.
The table waits under Mediterranean stars, everything perfect because that's how I run my empire. But her wariness reads clear as blood on marble - fingers fidgeting with silk, eyes mapping exits that don't exist. She's still my little dancer, always looking for her next escape.
Too bad she'll never find one.
I want to watch her come undone beneath me, want her surrender sweet on my tongue. Want her begging for my touch, addicted to what I can give her. Because once she yields completely? That's when I'll snuff out whatever fire still burns in those eyes.
The grin that curves my lips comes uninvited. "Honeysuckle." Her perfume hits like memory, like promises I should have burned away. "You found the perfume.”
"I did." Her voice wavers just enough to catch. "Thank you. The clothes... they feel like me."
I pull out her chair, letting my fingers drift across her neck - just enough to feel her body betray her with a shiver. My lips find that soft spot behind her ear where curls meet skin, where pulse beats heavy with truth. The sound she makes, the way her hands twist silk like she's trying to anchor herself - fuck if that doesn't feed something primal in me.
"I remember everything." The words ghost across her skin, and isn't that the fucking problem? I remember every dance, every smile, every moment before flames rewrote our story. Tonight's more complicated than revenge - it's about getting under her skin, about making her remember who we were before making her see what we've become.
The bell feels foreign in my hand - privacy isn't something I usually chase. But tonight no one can witness this dance between Beast and Beauty. Can't let them see how gentle words might cut deeper than cruel ones.
Because breaking her isn't about physical pain - a blade's too quick, too kind.
This is about trust, about crafting possibilities she'll reach for like a dancer stretching toward perfect form. About letting her believe in redemption before I show her how thoroughly hope can burn. And to make her trust the Beast? I'll have to give her pieces of myself I've kept locked away, secrets that taste like blood.
Only then will her shattering be complete.
When she realizes the monster she created still knows how to play gentle.
Right before he shows her what betrayal really costs.