Chapter 17 #2
I draw back but I leave my forehead pressed to hers. ‘Tigra, as fucked up as those choices are, you’re either with me, or—’
She slaps me with surprising force. The snap echoes. My fist darts up, palm covering my cheek. She stands, trembling, heat in her eyes. The sting, not where I wanted it on my chest, but in my face… riles me. Arouses me.
‘Get your hands off me,’ she spits.
I swallow and lean in close, voice low. ‘Take me seriously, picciridda.’
She stares back, her chest heaving. Saying nothing.
I bite down on my lip, nostrils flaring. ‘We’re leaving. And when we reach our destination, you tell me every goddamn thing you’ve hidden.’
She swallows past a ragged breath. ‘Or what?’
My gaze sharpens. ‘Or I drive you into the ground, blindfolded, until you beg for mercy.’
Tears prickle her lashes. She does not look away. ‘Bring it.’
I march her out of the abandoned villa and back to the car. There, I whip off my tie, and snap her wrist cuffs in place.
‘What the fuck are you—’
‘Shut the fuck up and turn around.’
She doesn’t.
I grip her waist, feeling the muscle jerk and quiver beneath my fingers as I yank her around and wrap a bandana over her eyes, knotting it tight.
She gasps as darkness swallows her, but her stance is resolute.
I shuffle behind her, secure the silk blindfold, then bind her wrists behind her back with my leather belt. Every motion is controlled, urgent.
She’s taut as a spring but doesn’t struggle. She knows my threats are never empty.
I bundle her into the back seat, dropping to smell her, drag my nose down her throat. ‘Try something, tigra. I dare you.’
The halo of bloodlust is both a rush and a poison. I want to fuck and kill and fuck and kill.
But with my quarry having slipped through my fingers, and a pliant Mancinelli sprawled out in my back seat…
Fuck fuck fuck.
A growl builds in my chest as I slide behind the wheel of my black Range Rover.
Like any thwarted assassin worth his salt, it’s time to regroup.
And I know the perfect place.
19:32 – Salvatore Vineyard, Fifty Miles Northwest
The vineyard stretches like a green ocean under sunset.
Rows upon rows of silvery leaves, grapes fat as marbles. Purple shadows pool between the trellises. An old stone villa stands sentinel at the far end, abandoned since my mama and my grandmother died.
I pull up outside that ruin, yank the doors open and drag Sofiya, still blindfolded, out onto the grass. ‘Stay.’ I step back, letting her breathe moon-warmed air. ‘You can fight me, or I can untie you. Your choice.’
She does not move. Her voice emerges, restrained. ‘Then let’s go talk.’
I release the belt.
She peels off the blindfold, blinking in the humility of twilight. I keep my distance, enough to let the vines between us hold our words.
‘You played me,’ I accuse, voice rough. ‘Again.’
She crosses her arms. ‘I have trust issues, especially towards Salvatores. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. At all.’
I lean against a vine stake, jaw clenched. ‘This’ – I sweep my arm at the villa, the land, the entire weight of inheritance and betrayal – ‘was one of my mother’s favourite places.’
She rubs her arms, as if warding off a chill. ‘I… I won’t apologise. Not for trying to protect my sister’s wishes.’
I nod. Smile. ‘It’s admirable you keep falling back on Maddie’s wishes, and not your own. It tells me a lot.’
Wariness creeps across her face. ‘And what’s that, exactly?’
‘That you might not protect the murderer who ruined your family, who tried to ruin mine when the time comes. And the time will come, tigra.’ The words burn. ‘You’ve saved his life. Twice now. I won’t allow a third.’
She flinches at the truth. ‘I know. You’ll do what you have to do. But…’ She swallows, anger igniting. ‘I won’t predict where I’ll stand. Because he’s still my grandfather. My family. My blood.’
I step forward, closing the distance between us. My fingers brush her cheek, warm despite the coming chill. ‘And he’s my war. The target that will begin to put ghosts to rest. Grant him a safety net again and I’ll ensure you both fall through it. Capisci?’
She freezes, her eyes wide, the revelation hammering the night air. I stare at her, trying to read who she is behind the mask of sorrow and defiance.
‘Where will it end, Rafaelle?’ Her voice is small.
‘It’s bigger than me, duci, this thing two old men started decades ago. But I have a part to play, and by fuck, I will play it.’
Her breath catches and her tears pool, but she doesn’t pull away. ‘I understand. And I’m finding that I want’ – she inches closer – ‘to be something more than a hostage between two men.’
A crack of thunder rumbles overhead; the sky gapes, ready to break. My chest throbs, raw as if grieving.
I cup her face as sadness and deep intent collide. ‘Then don’t stand between us. Stand aside. Or beside.’ Beside me. Fucking pick me. ‘Either way, his days are numbered.’
Stars fracture in the night sky and the first raindrops sizzle on my jacket, but I ignore them.
She leans into my palm, her siren-call dragging me closer. My enemy draped in beauty. Fuck. I press my forehead to hers once more.
She closes her eyes, and when she speaks her voice trembles. ‘He’s just an old man, Rafaelle. Can’t you—’
I tear myself away. Surprise. Sirens and their temptation bullshit.
‘No,’ I breathe, resolute. ‘And before you suggest another way, there isn’t one. Your father or the rest of your famigghia won’t stand by and watch him running about forever. Best he’s put down. Now. So we can handle the fall out of that. Until then, don’t fucking run,’ I whisper.
She grips my shoulders. ‘I can’t… I won’t. As insane as this is, I feel the need to see it to the end, however it ends.’
I lean in, kiss her – soft at first, then urgent, as though we might be the only two living beings in this world. Rain slants sideways, chasing us, soaking us, attempting to cool and cleanse the hot and depraved.
I place a hand on her shoulder, my voice low, and my heart – the same heart that refused to lift above dull thuds – hammering. Another Mancinelli witch, practising her dark arts. ‘Then I’ll give you the same choice, one last time, Sofiya. Truce or total war, right now.’
Her gaze meets mine, storm-washed and fierce. ‘Truce,’ she whispers. ‘As we search for El Topo.’ She swallows, her voice trembling. ‘How will I explain it to Maddie?’
I brush a raindrop off her jaw. ‘Let me deal with that. He won’t die by your hands.’
She studies me for a long moment. ‘I don’t know whether you expect a thank you… or a knife in the ribs for that.’
‘It’s fucked up, I know. But are you surprised? We’re fucked up.’
She shudders. ‘Blood. For blood. For Blood. When does it end?’
Lightning forks. I inhale her scent of olive leaf and gunpowder, salt and sorrow. I want to forget the plan and lose myself in her. Yet if I do, every compromise will bleed into my dreams.
‘Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow.’ Or ever. I catch her hand, pull her onto the portico as thunder splits the sky. Pin her to the wall.
When I pull back, neither of us breathes. ‘But the day after or one after that, we go again,’ I murmur. ‘Sì?’
She nods, tears mingling with rain. ‘Sì.’
Under a sky dividing itself in half, we stand – hunter and hunted, captor and betrayer – bound by loyalty, blood, and an impossible alliance that might save us both… or destroy us entirely.
Moments later, as the thunder fades to a distant rumble, a sound tears from her throat – something equal parts grief and relief – and she lunges into my arms.
Our lips crash together, rain and want coalescing into something feral.
The kiss turns carnal, urgent – two predators collapsing into the moment.