Chapter 31 Massimo
MASSIMO
Paolo was waiting at the door when I carried Katarina into the townhouse I kept in Torino’s old town. The hallway was as dark and atmospheric as if I’d stepped through a portal into the seventeenth century.
Frescoes painted the walls, angels and demons battling for the fate of the world.
The heavy marble banisters gleamed in the light from the antique sconces on the walls.
This place had been a few days away from being torn down when I’d bought it.
It was a relic, a gorgeous, fading one, and I’d decided to restore it instead of watching it crumble.
Now it was dark, and Gothic. Beautiful in a way that spoke to my damaged soul. Could my angel live here in the dark with me? Only time would tell.
There were four spacious levels, and my rooms were on the very top. The view of the city from the balcony was stunning. I carried Katarina up the stairs to the fourth floor, with Paolo trailing behind us.
“Is there anything the lady would like to make her more comfortable?” he asked, hurrying behind us.
“I will attend to her,” I told him quickly. The thought of my old housekeeper providing anything at all for Katarina riled me in a way I couldn’t explain. It went beyond mere possessiveness.
I reached the top floor and carried her through the expansive dressing rooms and opulent bathroom into the huge bedroom.
A enormous four-poster bed with ornately carved posts dominated the room, which was hung with dark-red velvet curtains.
A large mirror leaned against one wall, its glass shadowed with time but still catching the light in patches.
Now I saw myself holding Katarina, a dark specter with an innocent maiden.
Her awful white dress was bloodstained here and there, adding to the effect that I was a devil come to carry my stolen bride off to hell.
I advanced into the room, turning away from the mirror. I didn’t need the reminder of what I was right now.
I set her down on the bed. The mural on the wall depicted a fair-haired maiden in a meadow with a shadowy robed figure on a black horse approaching.
The meadow where the maiden sat was warm and bright, but the approach of the rider held a spreading darkness, and the painting behind him was altogether different.
It was only early evening, but suddenly I was exhausted. Since the fire, I’d done nothing but worry about this woman. Now that she was here, safe, in my grip, all the fight went out of me. It was a strange feeling, and one I’d never experienced before.
If I’d been more naive, I might have thought it was contentment, but I knew that didn’t belong to a man like me.
I stripped off the dreaded priest’s robe finally, and threw it in the corner, then moved to Katarina’s clothes. The bloodstained wedding dress was a macabre sight. I didn’t want another man’s blood touching her skin. I didn’t want another man’s anything touching what was mine.
I cut the dress, turning it into simple strips that could easily be peeled off her.
Her underwear was the same threadbare, grayish cotton kind she’d worn at Hallow Hall.
I left it on her. When she woke, if she didn’t know me, she’d be scared, and this woman had had enough of being scared to last a lifetime.
There’d be time to dress her in the finest silks and laces. Time to give her all the things her hard life had denied her.
First, I had to wait until she came back to me.
I tucked her under the heavy comforter and slid in next to her. I pulled her into my arms, breathed in the smell of her, and finally, slept.
The sound of metal rattling woke me. It was a quiet rattle. Careful. I opened my eyes before I moved so I could take my little stray in and see what she was doing before she realized she’d woken me.
Morning light streamed in the windows. I’d slept right through. It was unheard of.
Katarina stood at the door, carefully turning the knob this way and that, trying to get it to open.
“It’s locked,” I called to her, my voice rough with sleep.
She jumped. She’d wrapped a blanket from the couch around herself, and she nearly dropped it.
I shoved the bedding back and sat up, leaning against the ornately carved headboard.
“I had the housekeeper lock us in.”
Her gaze darted around the room as she looked for an escape.
“Why?”
“To keep you safe,” I supplied, and pushed myself out of bed.
I was naked except for underwear, and she froze as her gaze ran up and down my body. She lingered on the bandage on my thigh. It had turned pink with weeping blood overnight.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
“Who do you think I am?” I sauntered across the polished parapet toward her, giving her plenty of time to get used to the sight of me. It didn’t seem to be working. A pulse hammered in her throat, and her eyes widened as I got close.
She raised a hand in front of her. “Stop right there! I don’t know.”
Of course it had been obvious that she hadn’t recovered her recent memories, but the confirmation was disappointing.
“Did we . . .” She wet her lips, and pink touched her cheeks. “Did something happen between us last night?”
I nodded slowly. “Something happened, but not what you think.”
My cryptic answer did nothing to calm her down.
“What was it?”
We got married. Well, that wasn’t technically true, I admitted, just to myself. I married her. I decided in that split second that telling her while she was confused and disoriented was a terrible idea.
“We’ll talk about it later. First, I need to know how you are.” I put a hand to her forehead before she could step back.
“What are you doing?” She seemed scandalized that I’d touched her.
“Checking you for a fever. Your cheeks are terribly pink, little stray, unless that’s in response to something else . . .” I let my focus run over her, drinking her in.
She glanced down at my body, my insinuation clear.
Her eyes latched onto my cock, thick and hard in my briefs, and bounced back to my face, her cheeks only getting redder.
Yes, I was hard as hell at the sight of Katarina in my home, her smell in my bed, knowing we were married.
I was a simple man, at the end of the day .
. . and having her here was affecting me more than I’d expected it would.
“I don’t have a fever, I’m just . . . confused,” she admitted, and looked away.
I nodded. “That’s to be expected. You were drugged. It was something strong, but feel better knowing that you’ve been checked by a doctor and all is well. We’ll know more about the drug later.”
“Who would drug me?” she asked, and then narrowed her eyes. “Was it you?”
The suspicious and stone-cold bravery of that question while she stood alone and defenseless, locked inside a room with me, made me chuckle.
She was there, my angel of vengeance with the steely spine and shining wings, just under the surface.
No matter what those monsters at Hallow Hall had done to her, they’d never broken her.
She was unbreakable.
“Why would I bother drugging you, micetta? When I already have you here, under my command?” I lost the fight not to touch her, settling for brushing a lock of her hair back. It gleamed like liquid gold in the sunlight.
She raised her chin at me, refusing to be cowed. “To keep me quiet?”
I grinned at her. “But I like it so very much when you scream my name.”
Her eyes widened. She turned away from me, trying to put space between us, to keep her cool. She stared up at the painting that filled an entire wall.
“It’s Hades and Persephone. Their first meeting. It was in bad shape when I bought this place, but I decided to have it fixed instead of painting over it. A love story for the ages.”
“It’s horrible,” she said flatly, and then glared at me. “He stole her.”
“He loved her.”
“He brought famine on the world for the sin of taking her.”
I just shrugged. “That was her mother. Anyway, why would Hades care what happened to the world, as long as he had her?”
She shook her head. “If you find Hades relatable . . . you are beyond saving.”
“I don’t need salvation, angel. I have you.”
“Angel?” she repeated, her head tipping to the side. She tested the word, as if she remembered being called it before.
For an endless moment, heat and memories collided. I could see her start to remember me, the drug finally wearing off, when a knock at the door broke that precious moment to shards.
“Mass, do you want breakfast?”
“Cazzo, Paolo, you have the most fucking annoying timing! Come in,” I called out to him irritably.
Katarina fled to the bed and hid most of herself behind a velvet curtain.
The door opened, and Paolo came in, looking curiously for a sign of the woman I’d unexpectedly brought home. I didn’t bring women here, to my home. I didn’t bring women anywhere, really, as a rule. Relationships, even one-night stands, were a distraction, and one I hadn’t allowed myself in years.
Paolo beamed as soon as he saw her.
“Miss Dmitrova.” He held a silver tray with a tea set worthy of the Queen of England rattling on it.
Mrs. Lucciano. I ignored the possessive, dark growl inside me.
“Would you care for tea? I didn’t know how you took it, with cream, or milk, sugar, lemon . . . the options are endless,” he prattled on.
I was about to send him away when Katarina advanced toward him a little, her shoulders less tense. So, old Paolo was making her feel more relaxed? Then he could stay.
“Paolo, see to Katarina, whatever she wants or needs. I’m going out. I’ll be back shortly.” I nodded meaningfully to my housekeeper.
While I might be giving the appearance of ease, Paolo was under strict instructions not to let Katarina out of the room and to keep her locked in. I couldn’t have her getting away before she remembered herself, and me.
I took one last glimpse at my stolen bride. The angel I planned to keep in the dark beside me. Even seeing her standing there in the glorious morning light, the painting of Persephone right behind her, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
I left my new bride in peace, and she watched me go.