21. Chapter Twenty-One— Carlotta
Chapter Twenty-One— Carlotta
It’s my bladder that wakes me.
Untangling myself from Cassiel’s heavy arm slung over my waist, I tiptoe into the bathroom.
Sore between the legs after what we did last night, I clean myself up, noticing the marks on my hips from his touch—imprints of his fingertips from where he held me.
Flushing the toilet and washing my hands, I peer into the shiny reflection of the mirror for a better look.
The same red marks mar my breasts, nipples puffy, a perfect purple bruise blossoming into the soft curve thanks to Cassiel’s filthy mouth.
Moving my gaze upwards, I take stock of the sensitive rash coating my neck too from his stubble. My fingertips come up to graze the skin there, relishing in the ripple of gooseflesh that appears and the clench of my sore pussy when I recall exactly what we did last night.
Exactly how Cassiel wrung two otherworldly orgasms from my body—once with his thick fingers and the other with his huge dick. Not to mention the filthy pour of his words as they coated my skin like sweet honey…
I shift, feeling a fresh surge of arousal building in my core. Ugh, how can she still be so greedy after last night?
Turning on the cold-water tap, I wet my hands and splash my face, swiping under my heavy eyebags.
Gripping the edge of the ceramic sink, I take a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth and finally—finally—look at my face.
I look exactly the same as I did the morning before, only maybe a little more flushed from the freezing cold water and the pleasure wrung from me.
Groomed brows, green eyes, framed with thick lashes.
High cheekbones, button nose, full lips.
Nothing about my appearance has changed and yet…
I killed a man yesterday.
A man died last night because of me
A killer stares back at me, copying my motions when I wrinkle my nose and purse my lips.
She’s me, but not.
She’s different, but the same.
My stomach convulses on thinking about the basement, the bang of the gunshot, the sight of the blood splatter across my face, the back of my hands, my chest. But without any food in my gut, nothing threatens to expel, not even bile.
With shaking hands, I brush my teeth and swill a thimbleful of mouthwash, all the while staring at that face in the mirror.
Why can’t this be a nightmare that I can be shook from?
Please God, wake me from this nightmare I’m living.
Making a grab for a set of loungewear hanging out of the top of the laundry basket, I pull on the pink long sleeved top and slouchy pants. Regardless of who I am, killer or not, I’m parched for a vat of hot coffee.
And yet somehow, that scares me more.
How can I have such a human need—to slake my thirst and stop my hunger—when I killed a man, stopping him from ever experiencing such humanity ever again?
Blowing out a shaky breath, I rip open the bathroom door, only for my eyes to connect straight with Cassiel’s as he lays in bed, his head propped up on one of his muscular biceps behind his neck.
There he lies; the man who killed for me last night. Who pulled the trigger and then placed the gun in my hands so Rome would believe I was the one who called the final shot.
“Morning, Princess.” His husky voice, gruff and gritty with lack of use, has my core spasming again.
“Morning,” I mumble back. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Cass shrugs. “I turned over to cuddle you and you weren’t there. It had my heart racing for a second, not gonna lie.”
Cuddle me? Who is this man?
“I had to use the restroom. Sorry, I didn’t mean to panic you. I’m gonna make some coffee” —I throw my thumb over my shoulder— “do you want some?”
“Sure, I’ll make us—why are you walking like that?”
“I’m not walking like nothing,” I protest, hearing my stomach begin to rumble as she wakes up.
Cass tips his head to one side as he sits up, abs crunching deliciously and swings his bare legs over the side of the bed. “You sore?”
I feel my cheeks flush at his question—a silly reaction seeing as how he was inside me mere hours ago. “A little. Why?”
“No reason.” He stands to his full height, closing the distance between us and towering above me as naked as the day he was born.
“You’re just walking like somebody who got thoroughly fucked, Princess.
I’ve gotta tell ya,” he swipes a lock of hair from my lips, “it’s an ego boost. You start the coffee, imma piss and then I’ll whip us up some pancakes. ”
Blinking past the whiplash this man gives me—from cute to filthy to domestic again—I do as he says.
I set the coffee pot to brewing with a fresh filter while I hear the toilet flush, and the sink run water. I’m reaching up on my tiptoes for two mugs when I feel a warm figure, much bigger than myself, tuck themselves behind me, reaching the highest shelf with ease.
Spinning in his arms, I notice Cassiel wearing a pair of sweatpants slightly too small for him if the gap above his ankles are anything to go by.
“I got to tell ya, Princess, I’m feeling a little possessive over finding a pair of men’s sweats in the back of your wardrobe.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat that always emerges when I think of him and force my lips to move. “They we’re Cristiano’s.”
“Shit, Princess, I’ll go change—”
“It’s fine, Cass.” I give him my back so he can’t see the pain in my eyes, but I keep my tone soft. “How do you take your coffee?”
Large hands land on my hips, squeezing there, before he places a closed mouth kiss to the nape of my neck. “Black. One sugar, please.”
I doctor our respective cups of caffeine the way we like them—mine with two sugars and a splash of vanilla creamer—while I listen to the sound of Cassiel rummaging through my pantry.
Blowing across the top of my coffee, I take a small testing sip, finding it the perfect temperature and leaning my back against the kitchen countertops to peer at Cass. “What are you looking for?”
“Eggs. Milk. Flour.” His blond head pokes out to glance back at me. “You got any of those?”
“First two are in the refrigerator. I might have some flour way up in the back, second shelf, but you’ll have to check the sell-by date.”
Leaving Cass in the kitchen, I round the sofa to turn on the TV, making a grab for my phone too so I can get in my early morning scroll.
It feels oddly domestic to be sharing my space with Cassiel after what we did last night and I can’t deny that I like it.
I like him.
The clatter of a frying pan kisses my ears, mixed with the sound of terribly singing. I hide my smile in the sofa cushions while I peruse my social media apps, switching from one to the other.
“Lottie!” Cass calls over the sound of something frying over the stove. “Cell’s ringing on the table.”
My cell?
My cell is in my hand, so whose…
I shoot up from the sofa, bare feet pattering across the linoleum floor as I run to my small dining room table, making a grab for Cristiano’s still locked cell sitting there.
Except Cassiel is already there.
I watch his brows furrow as he picks up the device, peering at the caller ID splashed across the front before I snatch it from him.
But I’m too late.
The name on the phone—K—disappears, leaving nothing but a missed call notification. I swipe along, hoping to call them back, but the cell prompts me for the six digit code I’m still no closing to cracking.
“Is that…”
“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it. Cassiel knows what he saw. “It’s Cristiano’s cell. I took it from his coffin. Fucking sue me.”
Without uttering another word, Cass turns back to the kitchen, returning not a heartbeat later with two plates stacked with freshly made pancakes.
I can’t deny the pleased rumble of my stomach, nor the way my mouth waters at the sight of the golden brown, fluffy stacks, topped with cut up fresh fruit and a sprinkle of icing sugar.
“Sit. I’ll bring some knives and forks.”
I do as Cass says, my eyes flicking to Cristiano’s cell every millisecond in the hope K, whoever they are, calls back.
Armed with cutlery for the both of us, and his own cup of steaming coffee, Cass folds himself into the chair opposite me and starts on his breakfast.
I follow his lead, cutting into the butter like pancakes and popping a bite in my mouth. “Holy fuck, these are good.”
“Thanks.” Cassiel grins boyishly, a dimple forming in his cheek. “Eat up. You’re gonna need it after… last night.”
Snorting, I inhale another few mouthfuls, washing it down with my cup of caffeine.
It’s Cass who eventually breaks the silence between the two of his, his chin jutting in the direction of the cell lying like a ticking time bomb, beside my elbow.
“Anything on it?”
“I don’t know.” I pop my shoulders. “I can’t crack the code.”
“Oh.” He swallows a chunk of strawberry, tongue poking out to lick a droplet of juice on his lower lip. “Mind if I take a look at it?”
“You?”
“Mhm.” Cass’s throat bobs, stealing my attention for a heartbeat as he takes a drink. “I do a lot of hacking stuff for Ro—”
Shivers skate up my back at the mere mention of Rome Folonari, a ball of panic and undiluted fear building in my chest and threatening to tear the breath from my lungs before I slam it down.
You’re at home, safe and sound, Carlotta. Stop it.
“Here.” I push Cristiano’s cell across the table, ignoring the painful snap across my heart at the thought of losing the only piece I have left of my big brother. “I want it back in two weeks, even if you haven’t cracked the code.”
“Promise, Princess. I’ll hook it up to my computer back at home and see if I can hack the system.”
It’s all I can do but nod, swallowing down the last dregs of my coffee and hoping it doesn’t come back up.
“Do you—How are you feeling after last night?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I spit, settling the mug down on the table with more force than I meant. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, Cass, I just don’t—”
He shakes his head, a blond lock of hair falling across his brows. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Lottie. Not now. Not ever. I’ll be here when you’re good and ready to talk.”
“If.”
“If,” Cass agrees. I hate that he accepts who I am and where I am without question, as if it’s that easy. “I’ll be here if you’re good and ready to talk, Princess. You can count on me, okay?”
I can’t bring myself to say the words, so I stand instead, rounding the table and palming Cass’s well defined jaw, coated in third or fourth day stubble, and lay my lips on his.
With those large hands of his he makes a grab for my waist, perching me on his lap while his thick fingertips span across my ribcage beneath the thin material of my top.
My nipples harden under this touch, a pleasurable shiver working its way up my spine as he strokes the pads of his cut up thumbs back and forth along my flesh.
“Can I just ask you one thing?” he whispers, even though we’re the only two in my shoebox apartment.
I raise my brows in question and dip my chin.
“Last night when… the gun—” I watch Cass lick his lips, opening his mouth and then closing it again as if he’s not quite sure of his own wording.
I feel his tension beneath me, the pull of his abs and the ripple of his bare thighs. It feels only natural to stroke his cheek with the back of my forefinger in an attempt to force his nervous system to relax. “What about it?”
“Have you held one before?”
Cass’s question leaves him in a rush, wide, expectant hazel colored eyes boring into mine.
I shake my head. “No. Well… once.” A bubble of quiet laughter slips from me as I replay the memory in my head.
“Cristi, he snuck me to the gun range in our basement for my thirteen-birthday present. I had no fucking clue what to do, but he did. He’d been shooting since he was nine, whilst I was stuck in the house learning how to make a home for my future husband.
Anyway, it wasn’t long before Mother found me, not doing my chores, but reloading a Glock.
She…” I swallow, not realizing my hand is subconsciously gripping my cheek until Cass entwines his fingers through mine and brings it down to rest on his bare chest. “She slapped me so hard that my ear rang for days. I couldn’t hear anything; it was like I was underwater.
It frightened me so bad that I didn’t dare try to go down to the basement again. ”
“Did she lay her hands on you often?” Cass asks, voice deadly soft.
I nod.
Banding a big palm at the nape of my neck, he brings me in close until our noses are touching. “She won’t fucking touch you again. Nobody will, Princess, not so long as I’m alive and believe me… I’m a tough fucker to kill. You hear me?”