CHAPTER FOUR A Little Death
CHAPTER FOUR
A Little Death
The woman pushed me toward the table. I resisted the urge to glare at her, watching the way her fingers trembled as she tried to guide me. Still, it didn’t make me hate her any less.
He hadn’t looked at me since she brought me here, but I knew he was aware of my every move.
A few slow steps and I was just behind him. My heart hammered against my ribs as I imagined pulling the broken glass from my dress. It would be so simple. One quick thrust into the artery of his neck.
My fingers twitched.
“Don’t.”
His deep voice made my hand fall limp at my side, my fingers trembling.
There was no way he could see me—no way he could read the thoughts raging in my head.
Chaos, he infiltrated inside me. I’d never felt such strong emotions for anyone, not even love, until this hatred. Disgust. Loathing.
The moment stretched into another, and I only released the captive breath when he motioned with the wine glass in his hand.
“Sit,” he commanded.
The woman behind me stiffened and stepped away quickly.
I clenched my fists as I reluctantly obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from him. The table was an untouched expanse of white cloth, the kind you’d see in a fine dining restaurant, not a prison.
Food was placed in front of me—lavish and warm, the kind of meal meant for celebration. My stomach churned at the sight.
He finally looked at me and gestured toward the plate. “Eat.”
I stared at him, bile rising in my throat.
“Eat?” I repeated. “You think I’m going to sit here and eat after you—” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “After you killed Adrian?”
His gaze didn’t falter, didn’t even flicker. He just sipped the wine as if I’d trust him with the food. It could be poisoned or drugged for all I knew.
“You must be hungry,” he said simply, ignoring the venom in my tone.
I shoved the plate away. “Don’t pretend you care,” I spat and glared at him. “You’re just a cold-blooded murderer.”
He tilted his head at me, and I almost winced. He didn’t say anything even though I was expecting much worse. Then, he leaned forward—just a fraction. It wasn’t dramatic, but the shift made him look dangerous. Instinctively, I leaned back, barely registering it.
“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be sitting here,” he murmured, so calmly I felt his words touching skin like wildfire. His eyes bored into mine, piercing grey like a storm cloud.
I had no reply.
The silence that followed was suffocating. He leaned back, not taking his eyes off me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his expression. A crack in the ice.
“Eat,” he repeated, softer this time.
I wanted to disobey him, to throw the plate across the room, and scream in his face. But I could feel the glass pressing against my ribs.
This wasn’t the time. Not yet.
I couldn’t breathe without tasting the bitterness of my own helplessness. I couldn’t think without shattering.
He was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. The fork trembled in my grip.
“Why?” The word slipped out, barely audible, and I knew if I stared at him anymore, I’d definitely lose myself. I blinked back the tears that burned, refusing to let him see. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were like ice. So damn cold I could feel the frost on my skin. They dissected me and peeled me apart layer by layer until I felt naked, exposed.
How could someone so beautiful, so composed, hold so much cruelty?
Something in me cracked. A sob clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. He wasn’t going to answer.
“I don’t understand!” I slammed my palms against the table, the pain reverberating up my arms. “You killed him! You took everything from me, and now you sit there, ordering me to eat?” The tears fell down aggressively.
“Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Do you want to see me crawl? Because I don’t—I can’t—”
Still, he just stared, wearing that cold mask.
“Say something!” I screamed. “Anything, you fucking psycho!”
He put the glass of wine on the table, unfolded his legs, spreading them wide and leaning back.
“If you’re going to beg, do it properly, Dolcezza. On your knees.”
I sat as if I hadn’t heard him correctly. But the look in his eyes told me I had.
My pride rebelled, screaming at me to stand, to spit in his face, and throw his plate to the ground. But the weight of grief and fear crushed me, dragging me down. And in the next second, I fell to my knees, tears spilling down my face as I pressed my palms to the cold floor.
“There,” he murmured. “Better. Now, pray.”
I blinked through the tears. “What?”
His lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Pray. At my feet.”
My chest tightened, my humiliation choking me as I lowered my head.
A deep breath. I had to act. Now. I was close enough to attack him.
Slowly reaching into my dress, my fingers wrapped around the glass. With a yell, I lunged at him, aiming for his throat, so ready to feel his blood on my hands.
Everything happened too fast. His hand shot out, catching my wrist in a vice-like grip. The shard clattered to the floor, my arm wrenched behind my back. Pain shot through my shoulder, as he twisted my other arm and slammed me against the cold surface of the table.
I gasped, struggling against him, his weight pinning me down. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.
What… what just happened?
Then I felt it: something sharp against my throat, and my eyes widened.
“Let go!” The sharp bite of the glass stole my breath, momentarily freezing me in place.
“You’re braver than I thought,” he mused. “Dolcezza.”
I tried to shake my head, to speak.
“You want to kill me?” He leaned closer as his breath brushed against my ear. “Go ahead. Try again.”
My lips trembled as terror took hold. I had underestimated him. Whatever he was, whoever he was, he was far more dangerous than I could have imagined.
“Next time, don’t miss.”