Chapter 7 #2
“Hope I’m not interrupting, but you did say you were famished,” Marcello says as he walks in, carrying a tray with a full plate of mouthwatering porchetta and rosemary roasted potatoes.
Okay. So I lucked out in the brother department too.
“Thank you,” I tell him, practically running to take the tray out of his hands. I set it on the floor and start digging in.
“And for you, angel,” Marcello adds before slipping back out for a moment and returning with two bowls of ice cream. “I figured you might want something for that sweet tooth of yours.”
“You know her all too well,” I say between bites as Annamaria practically skips to grab her ice cream.
They both settle on the floor with me, all of us digging into our food as if it were some kind of makeshift midnight picnic.
“This is nice,” Annamaria says, looking between Marcello and me. “We should do this more often.”
Marcello glances at our sister with an encouraging smile, though there’s a sadness in his eyes he can’t fully hide. Even if he won’t say it, I know these late-night picnics won’t become a recurring thing.
Marcello is slowly moving out of our home. Slowly drifting away from us, too. Not because he wants to, but because he thinks he has to. Because he doesn’t trust himself to stay with us too long, afraid of what we might see if he does. Of what he might do.
The monster that lives and breathes inside him is starting to win the fight my dear brother has bravely fought for so long. Piece by piece, he carves at his soul. Hatches at it. Chips and scrapes at the edges, like a vulture picking clean whatever pieces Marcello leaves unguarded.
Deep down, I know I should savor every little, quiet moment I still get with my brother… before he slips away completely. Before the Mar I knew is no more. Before all that’s left of my once shy, sensitive brother… is the devil himself.
The second class finally releases me from academic hell, I start plotting how to convince my dad, Dom, to sneak in a second training session before dinner. I’m reaching for my phone to text him when a familiar shape in the parking lot catches my eye.
Fuck my life.
Leaning against the hood of my car, as if he owned it as well as the concrete it’s parked on, Kirill’s trademark smirk is already waiting for me.
Even under his long black coat, he somehow still manages to show off those broad shoulders and ridiculous biceps.
And don’t even get me started on how the asshole loves wearing black shirts with the top two buttons undone just so he can show off the ink on his neck.
Men like him shouldn’t exist. It’s bad for feminism all around and worse for my self-control.
After last night, I shouldn’t be surprised to see him again so soon. He’s made it pretty damn clear he’s on the hunt. It’s almost laughable. As if I could ever be the prey.
Still, the sight of him doesn’t annoy me like it should. If anything, he’s exactly the distraction I needed—a welcome reprieve from professors, essay deadlines, and the hell that is group projects. Not that I’ll ever let him know that.
“You scratch my car, you’re buying me a new one,” I say by way of greeting.
That earns me one of his mischievous grins, slow and knowing, entirely too pleased with himself.
Goddamn it. The man is sex on a stick, and he knows it. I hate that he knows it.
“Always with a snarky comment,” he says, pushing off the hood and closing the distance between us as if he had every right to.
“Hold your horses, Casanova.” I plant a hand on his chest before he can get close enough to scramble my brain any further. “What do you want?”
“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Now what do you really want?”
Kirill’s smirk widens into dangerous territory, and of course, my pulse trips over itself the moment his dark eyes lock onto mine.
“Back at that ball,” he starts, his voice low and intimate, “I seem to remember making you a promise I haven’t fully delivered on yet.”
“I don’t remember a promise,” I counter, feigning boredom. “Just an invitation.”
“It does my ego good that you remember that night so clearly.”
“Cut the bullshit, Kill, and tell me why you’re here.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Say what now?”
He doesn’t bother repeating himself. Instead, he steps in closer, snaking an arm around my waist, his hand slipping into my back pocket to steal my phone. I only realize I’ve been holding my damn breath when he steps back and perches on my hood again, completely unbothered.
I don’t even reprimand him for sitting on the hood this time. Instead, I move closer, trying to see what the hell he’s doing to my phone.
Bad idea. Before I know it, he hooks an arm around me again and pulls me between his strong, bracketed thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“There,” he says, handing the phone back. “Now you have my number. Call it.”
With my eyes locked on his—and wearing as much disdain as I can physically muster—I give his phone a ring.
“And now I have yours,” he says, satisfied.
“And why exactly do you need my number?”
“Maybe because I want to hear your voice whenever it suits me.”
“Do women really fall for this shit?” I ask, trying to pull away, but his thighs cage me in place while his hands settle on my waist.
I could easily get out of this trap. But for some reason, I don’t.
“I’m going to send you an address tonight,” he says, his voice smooth like silk. “If you want our dance to continue, be there at midnight.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’ll know you’re not interested.”
“Interested in what exactly? You? Please. I’ve been more intrigued by drying paint,” I say with a dry laugh, but it dies instantly under the heat of his stare. That intensity hits like a live wire, burning through every lie I’m trying to hold up.
“Are you saying you’re not?” he goads, wrapping his tattooed fingers around my throat and gently pulling me in.
“You’d be the last man who could ever interest me.”
“Now, now, milaya. I don’t mind you lying to me whenever you feel the need, but some lies are too incredible to believe,” he breathes out, his face merely inches away from mine.
“God, you’re a piece of work,” I retort, nostrils flaring.
“And you are a work of art.”
This fucker. Why does he have to say shit like that when he knows damn well it sends my heartbeat into orbit? Asshole.
“What’s happening at midnight?” I deflect, refusing to engage in his brand of flirting.
“A bit of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” I ask, my interest instantly piqued.
“The kind that involves a little bloodshed.” My pupils must blow wide as saucers, because I swear I feel his erection press against my stomach in response. “I see that has your attention. You truly are a woman after my own heart,” he murmurs, licking his lips, dying to get a taste.
Kirill wants to kiss me. I see it as clearly as daylight. But after last night, kissing him should be the last thing on my to-do list. Even if I’m somewhat tempted, kissing him in the middle of the campus parking lot would be… yeah, a monumental mistake.
Who knows who’s watching us? And by who, I mean Marcello.
Sure, he bought my excuse last night, but with him, I never know.
Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, doubt crept into that paranoid head of his, and he decided to show up at my school to do a little investigating.
Honestly? That’s exactly what I’d do if the roles were reversed.
Knowing I need some distance, I press my hands to Kirill’s chest again, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat for one traitorous moment before pushing myself out of his hold. My brows pull together when I realize I barely have to use any force as he lets me go with slow, deliberate ease.
“Just send me the address,” I say, heading for the driver’s side and quickly sliding in, before he has a chance to say anything else.
Kirill stands there in front of me, thumb sweeping across his lush lower lip, eyes burning holes straight through the windshield.
“Tonight,” he mouths, then he turns and walks away, disappearing into the sea of cars.
Instead of turning the ignition, I press my temple against the coldness of the steering wheel and just breathe.
God, I’m in trouble. I’m really in it now, aren’t I?
The rest of my day drags on, painfully slow, all because I’m too keyed up about whatever Kirill has planned for us tonight.
‘The kind of trouble that involves a little bloodshed.’ That’s what he said. That’s what he promised. And that alone has my pulse racing and my entire body humming with excitement.
Marcello might be on the unhinged side, but can I honestly say that I’m any better?
I mean, what woman gets hot with the idea of slicing someone open?
Yeah, okay, maybe Marcello isn’t the only one who needs therapy.
I could also do with a good dose of it. Too bad the Outfit frowns upon such things.
But that’s a problem for future-me. Tonight, I need to be razor-focused for whatever Kirill is planning to spring on me.
Luckily, Annamaria is out like a light before ten.
I get dressed and load up on every accessory and blade I’ll need for this little clandestine date before carefully heading to Enzo’s room.
When I slip into his room, I remember one itty-bitty, inconvenient detail—Enzo and Lucky share a damn bathroom between their adjoining bedrooms.
“You know, knocking is the appropriate etiquette when entering a room with a closed door,” Lucky says, towel around his waist, running another through his damp hair.
“Bite me, Luciano.” I roll my eyes as I glance at Enzo’s empty room. “Where’s Enzo?”
“Out,” he says, offering absolutely nothing else.
In other words, Enzo is off banging his latest conquest. I thought as much.
In fact, I was counting on it. Enzo’s room is the only one close enough to the big oak tree for an easy shimmy down to freedom.
Like me, he’s not afraid of the soldiers my father has posted around the property.
We’ve used this tree as our escape route more times than I can count.
Which is exactly why Lucky isn’t shocked to see me here, even if I’d prefer to keep my comings and goings under everyone’s radar.
Enzo wouldn’t bat an eye at me sneaking out of the house, but Lucky? Lucky asks questions. And if I wanted questions, I’d use the front door and get the third degree from any one of our parents.
“Should I even ask where you’re going?” he mutters, proving my point.
“You can ask,” I reply, “just don’t expect an answer.”
“Whatever.” He huffs. “Just make sure you leave the window open for Enzo if you get back first.”
I give him a mock salute, which only earns me a scowl.
Once he shuts the door behind him, I swing one leg out the window, then the other, balancing on the branch before inching slowly to the trunk and then climbing down.
I stick to the shadows and sprint toward the gate, making sure the guards don’t spot me.
Once I hit the main road, I break into a full run toward the Uber waiting for me.
The driver pulls away the second I get in, heading to the address Kirill sent.
I lean back into the seat, watching the secluded woods blur past, feeling excitement and restlessness coil tight inside me as I wonder what kind of trouble tonight has in store. Whatever it is, I’m more than ready for it.