Chapter 13 #6
“You,” he says slowly, “are the most infuriating woman I have ever met.”
“And you’re a psychopath.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t deny it or even flinch. “But I’m your psychopath, Mina. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
“Easier for who?”
“Both of us.” His thumb traces a small circle on my hip, and heat blooms beneath my skin. “You can keep fighting and running away. You can keep going on dates with men who bore you to tears. But we both know how this ends.”
“With me in a cage?”
“With you in my bed.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Where you belong.”
I should have a comeback for that, sharp and cutting, something to wipe that satisfied look off his face.
But then his expression softens, just slightly.
“Do you have a sitter for Leon tonight? All night?”
The question is so unexpected that it takes me a moment to process it. I was expecting threats and possessive declarations, but not that.
“What?”
“Leon.” His voice is quieter now. “Is someone watching him tonight?”
I stare at him, thrown completely off-balance. “Rosa has him. He’s sleeping over with his cousins.”
“Good.” Something eases in his shoulders.
In the middle of his jealous rage, carrying me out of a restaurant like a caveman, he stopped to make sure my son was taken care of while he kidnapped me.
“He’s a beautiful, happy boy, Mina.” His eyes hold mine. “You’ve done well with him. But he needs a father. I want to be his father.”
My heart stops.
He’s figured it out. He’s seen Leon’s face and realized I’m lying about his date of birth.
But there’s no accusation in his expression. No triumph. Just a quiet certainty that makes my stomach drop for an entirely different reason.
He’s not saying, I should be Leon’s father because I am.
He’s saying, I want to be Leon’s father regardless.
He would claim another man’s child just to claim me. He would raise a boy he believes isn’t his, love him, give him the Montoni name, all to keep me in his life.
I don’t know if that’s beautiful or terrifying.
The elevator doors open.
We’re in a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the glittering Malus skyline, and the room is all clean lines and expensive surfaces. Leather sofas, abstract art, a bar stocked with crystal decanters. A view of the city that makes everyone below look like ants.
Cristiano’s hand slides from my waist to the small of my back.
He guides me forward into the penthouse, and I take in the opulence with growing unease. This is his world. Wealth, power, and danger, all wrapped in Italian leather and charcoal silk. I don’t belong here, but he’s looking at me like I’m the most valuable thing in the room.
I turn to him. We’re past pretending. Past politeness. I want to see the monster. All of him. I want to know exactly how dark it gets.
“That day I twisted my ankle,” I say, remembering that sunny afternoon five years ago that completely changed my life. “When I fell in the gutter.”
His hand stills on my back. “Yes?”
“You came out of nowhere on your motorcycle. I know now you were stalking me.” I search his expression.
“You stared at me. For a long time. I couldn’t see your face through the visor, but there was tension in your body.
Something strange about the way you held yourself.
Something that made me shiver. What were you thinking? ”
“I’m trying so hard to be what you need, Mina.” His voice drops. “Don’t make it impossible.”
His words should scare me. They do scare me. But beneath the fear, there’s a morbid curiosity that’s been gnawing at me for years.
“Tell me,” I press. “When I was lying there helpless in the street, what was going through your head?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His amber eyes are dark and unreadable. “You don’t want to know.”
I’ll probably regret this tomorrow, or possibly as soon as the words leave his mouth, but I hold his gaze. “Tell me.”
Heat kindles behind his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is lower and rougher, like the memory alone is doing something to him.
“You looked so small.” His hand slides up my back, slow and deliberate. “So fragile. Sitting in the gutter with tears clinging to your lashes, cradling your ankle like a wounded bird. So pretty in your pain.”
His thumb traces my spine, and I feel him leaning closer, his breath warm against my lips.
“And all I could think was…like this, she can’t run away from me.”
My breath catches.
“I sat there on my bike, watching you through my visor, and I got so hard.” His voice has dropped to something molten. “You were crying and helpless, and I thought about what it would be like to pick you up and carry you somewhere private. Somewhere no one would ever find us.”
His hand presses flat against my lower back, pulling me closer.
“You couldn’t fight me. Couldn’t flee. Couldn’t do anything but let me do whatever I wanted to you.” He exhales against my ear, and I can hear the arousal thickening his voice. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Mina? Seeing you like that? Knowing you were mine for the taking?”
“Cristiano—”
“I wanted to strip you bare right there in the street.” His lips brush my temple, barely a touch, but it sends heat flooding through me. “I wanted to spread your legs and bury myself inside you while you were still crying. I wanted to fuck you until the only thing you could feel was me.”
I should be horrified. I should be backing toward the elevator.
Instead, my thighs press together, and I’m leaning into him like I can’t help myself.
“I thought about keeping you.” His forehead drops to mine, his amber eyes burning into me.
“Carrying you somewhere you could never escape. Making you completely dependent on me, for food, for comfort, for pleasure. Until you stopped fighting. Until you forgot there was ever a world outside the one I made for you.”
“That’s insane,” I whisper.
“Yes.” His lips curve into something that’s almost a smile.
“And then I took off my helmet, and I was so gentle. So concerned. The perfect rescuer.” His thumb strokes my hip, possessive.
“I carried you on my bike and you melted into me. Wrapped your arms around my waist like you belonged there. And later, in your bedroom, I had you underneath me, exactly where I wanted you.”
His eyes are dark with heat now, reliving it.
“That whole rescue, the ice pack, the snow globe, your first time, it was perfect. And you gave yourself to me so sweetly, Mina. You scratched my back and moaned my name and told me you were mine.” He brushes his lips against the corner of my mouth. “That was the best day of my life.”
My heart is slamming against my ribs.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I have no regrets about any of it. I’d do it all again. Every single moment.” He pauses. “Except one thing. I would kill my father in secret. That was my only mistake.”
He’s a monster. He’s standing here telling me exactly what he is, every dark, twisted fantasy, every calculated manipulation, and I should be running for the elevator.
Screaming for help. Doing anything other than standing here with my nipples hard and my underwear soaked, breathing in the scent of him.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t apologize. “I am.”
I grab his shirt and pull his mouth down to mine.
The kiss is ravenous. Five years of fury and longing and denial combusting between us. His mouth claims mine like he’s been starving for it, his tongue stroking against mine, his hands fisting in my hair to tilt my head back and take more.
I’m drowning in him. In the taste of him. The heat of him. In the solid wall of his body pressing me backward. My fingers tear at his shirt, desperate to feel skin, and buttons scatter across the marble floor.
“Mina.” He groans my name against my lips like a curse. “Fuck, Mina, I’ve missed you.”
“Shut up.” I don’t want words. I don’t want to think. I just want his hands on me, his mouth on me, the oblivion of wanting and being wanted.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, the rough fabric of his trousers pressing against my sex. The friction makes me gasp, and he swallows the sound, kissing me deeper, his hands gripping my thighs.
“I’ve thought about this every night.” He’s walking us somewhere, his mouth never leaving mine. “Every single night for five years. Dreaming about you. Waking up hard and aching and alone.”
“I said shut up.”
“No.” He bites my lower lip, and the sting sends heat flooding through me. “I’ve been silent for five years. Tonight you’re going to hear every filthy thing I have to say to you.”
My back hits the cold glass window.
He presses me against it, the city sprawling far below us, and I’m suddenly aware of how high up we are. How exposed. Anyone in a nearby building could see us. Cristiano Montoni pinning a woman to his penthouse window, her legs wrapped around him, her dress riding up.
“This dress.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes raking down the plunging neckline, the hem bunched around my waist. “You wore this for him. For that nobody.”
“His name is Danny.”
“I don’t care what his name is.” His fingers find my zipper and drag it down, slow and deliberate. “He’ll never see you again. He’ll never touch you. He’ll never even think about you without remembering the night I carried you out of my restaurant.”
The dress loosens and pools at my waist. I’m bare from the waist up and Cristiano’s eyes go dark.
“Mine,” he breathes, cupping a breast in his hand. “These are mine.”
He lifts me farther up, and his mouth closes over my nipple. I cry out, my head falling back against the glass.
He works me with his tongue, his teeth, until I’m writhing against the window, grinding against his stomach. It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
“Please,” I gasp. “Cristiano, please—”
“Please what?” He switches to my other breast, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Fuck me.” The words come out desperate. “Please, just fuck me.”