CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The Devil at the Dinner Table
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Devil at the Dinner Table
Regret is a funny thing. It doesn’t come knocking like guilt or creeping like shame. It stands in the corner of the room silently, watching and waiting for you to acknowledge it.
But I couldn’t.
Every time I looked at myself, I regretted not fighting harder.
I regretted not screaming louder or clawing at his face or making him bleed the way he had bled me dry.
But instead, I gave in. I didn’t want him, not because the thought of his hands around my throat thrilled me, but it was for the answers I desperately craved.
A bargain. My body for the truth. And yet, I had nothing to show for it but the phantom press of his fingers branding my skin.
A sharp knock on the door yanked me back to reality.
“Coming,” I mumbled, knowing it was Elena. ‘Cause knowing that pervert, he’d never knock.
“Dinner is ready, Mrs. Vitale.” Her voice was gentle, strangely, and there was something else, too; pity maybe.
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t hungry, that I couldn’t possibly stomach sitting across from him after what happened between us. But my silence wouldn’t change a thing. Zagreus would come for me himself if I refused. And I refused to give him the satisfaction.
So I did as I was told.
Dressing mechanically in another violet-ruffled dress, combing my hair, smoothing my expressions, and ensuring not a single trace of him remained on me. But I knew I would still feel raw, exposed like an open wound.
I descended the stairs slowly, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. It felt like I was at war with myself. I wanted to hide and to disappear, to fold into a forgotten letter.
But like I said, I needed answers as soon as I entered the dining room, and I found him sitting at the table.
There were no candles like the ones in his office, no dim lighting meant to lull me into some false sense of intimacy.
The dining room was simply elegantly set.
Silver gleamed under the chandelier’s soft ambient light, and the scent of rich cuisine curled in the air, teasing my empty stomach.
I didn’t look at him.
I couldn’t.
Not after the last time we were together.
But I felt him.
His gaze followed me as I rounded the table with unsteady steps and settled on the chair opposite him. He was a man who devoured with his eyes alone, before his hands ever touched.
I sat, suddenly hyper-aware of everything around me. Even with a huge gap between us, even without looking at him, I knew he was watching me like a creep. He always did that. Observed how I acted around him, how I ate, how I behaved in general.
The steady tap of his fingers against the table sent something crawling up my spine. A slow but predatory rhythm.
I chanced a glance through my lashes.
And there he was. Zagreus Vitale. The man who broke me, and yet, he looked…
pleased. Satisfied in a way that made my stomach tighten with something unnameable.
His cold eyes held a strange kind of glow, something darkly dangerous.
Like a sculpture gazing at his masterpiece of ruin.
A poet savouring the gravity of a tragic verse.
Like fire finding beauty in what it consumes.
His beauty was the kind that made fools out of saints, that lured the lost and the lonely into his den. It was a lie so sweet, so perfectly woven, that even I, broken and knowing, still ached for that trap.
I averted my eyes.
All that just made him a pervert and a serial killer.
Picking up my fork, I dug into the food without waiting or acknowledging him. To my surprise, there was red wine too. He watched me with immense interest as I poured the drink for myself and gulped it down. If I were to talk to him, I couldn’t do it sober.
He hadn't touched his food yet, and even though I was halfway done, there was no sign of Elena. It took me several deep breaths, five glasses of wine, and five mini panic attacks to push the plate away and part my lips.
“How do you know about my mother?”
My voice cut through the steel. And I was ready for him to laugh in my face. But he just shifted slightly, leaning back and tilting his head as if he was peering into my soul. And my insides shuddered at the intensity of his stormy eyes.
It took everything in me not to flinch and get under the table; as if there was a big enough table to save me from him.
“The way a man knows the bones of his own hands.”
I frowned, my fingers unknowingly tightened around the stem of my glass as I resisted the urge to throw the wine at his face. “That’s not an answer.”
His lips curled into a slow and lazy smile. “It is. You’re simply too dumb to understand it.”
Frustration flared in my chest. “Stop talking in riddles. Tell me the truth.”
He tilted his head to the other side. “Would you believe if I did?”
Something about the way he said it sent unease slithering down my spine. He knew something. Something about me that I didn’t even know myself. Like a marionette tangled with strings. Sand slipped through my hands, no matter how hard I tried to clutch it.
It wasn’t fair. I gave him my body, and he was supposed to be true to his words. Rage bloomed restlessly as I glared at him, ignoring how intimidating he looked.
“You’re a liar,” I accused, pushing the chair back sharply. His stormy eyes followed me as I slammed my hands on the table. “You used me.”
His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in those steel eyes. The glint from earlier was replaced with something sinister. Amusement? Or was it disappointment?
“You used yourself, Dolcezza.” He leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest, his voice maddeningly calm. “I only gave you the opportunity.”
The words hit harder than any slap could. I felt like a fool. A pathetic, desperate fool who bargained with the devil and expected mercy. Was he even listening to himself? How could he? How could he go back on his word?
Tears burned at the back of my throat. “I wish I’d never crossed paths with you.”
And that was when I saw it. The shift. The amusement was gone. The creeping funny bled into his features. Jaw tightened, and the muscle there twitched. I watched fearfully as his fingers curled into a fist against the table. The storm was brewing.
My breath hitched, and my neck craned as I watched him push the chair back and stand to his full height.
Time stilled for me. Even for a moment, but that took everything in me not to get on my knees and beg for his mercy.
My leftover pride didn’t let me. The food in my stomach threatened to make a reappearance, and the wine I drank sobered me up instantly.
The gigantic dining room became too small. I was still contemplating running. How long would it take me to make a run for my life? Before I could shift, he was across the room as his presence swallowed me whole.
“You wish you’d never met me?” He repeated my words as if he was giving me a chance to take them back.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Because the next second, his hand was on my throat. The heel I wore did nothing to match his height as I was pulled up on my toes, and instinctively, my hands flew to his wrist. His grip was suffocating, too tight, making me see black dots.
“P-please…”
The plea escaped like a prayer.
I trembled not only from fear but something worse.
I thrashed like a leaf as he pulled me to his mouth. I felt his hot, angry breath hitting my face. “You don’t get to erase me from your life, Dolcezza.” His voice lowered an octave. “You don’t get to wish me away just because it’s convenient for you.”
From the way my body trembled when I caught the unhinged gleam in his eyes, I wished I could reverse time and take my words back. I hated it. This feeling of patheticity and vulnerability. The way he held all the cards.
His hand moved from my throat to the cup around my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. “Shall I remind you?” he murmured, stepping into my vicinity and forcing me to back against the table. I was shoved back till I was half straddling the table and half his thigh. “Last night wasn’t enough for you?”
I quickly shook my head. It was enough. I couldn’t take any more. I was scared that I would again lose myself.
But the gleam in his eyes said he didn’t believe me.
His fingers flexed against my jaw possessively, his touch feather-light yet immovable, as if he were savouring the way I trembled beneath him.
“No?” His lips barely moved, the syllable like a phantom against my skin.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw, tight, and stretched thin over the weight of unspoken things.
His other hand slid to my waist, gripping, anchoring, and I realized—too late—that retreat wasn’t an option. Not when his thigh was already wedged between mine, not when the table’s edge dug into my spine, not when he was everywhere, everything, swallowing me whole.
As much as I wanted to deny it, to scream at him, I knew deep down, in the marrow of my bones, that he was right.
His hand tugged at the rims of my dress, fisting it and bunching it in his palms. My panic flared, but his free hand gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head. I pleaded with my eyes, but he seemed to ignore them.
My pulse skittered when his gaze dragged over me, undressing me without shame. I knew that look. I’d seen it before.
Not like this.
Heat crept up my neck, pooling low in my stomach as he gathered the dress at my waist, exposing my legs to the cold night air, and pulled me closer. When his fingers brushed my cheek, tilting my chin up, I forgot how to breathe.
“You provoke me on purpose, don’t you?”
His voice was rough, frayed with something wild, something barely restrained. My thighs clenched as his words slid over my skin like smoke.
“Let me go.” That was all I could muster.
“No.” His voice sharpened as his fingers dug into my waist. “You are Celestine Vitale,” he murmured, pressing his knees deeper, and I bit my lips.
“No,” I whispered.
He bit my jaw. “Yes.”
His fingers trailed lower, burning a path down my stomach and into my panties, and I shivered. “You live with my name. You will die with my name.”
His teeth grazed the side of my throat where he held me earlier, just over my pulse as his voice dropped. “You will scream with my name on your lips.”
A broken whimper slipped from me before I could stop it, my breath stuttered as his hands finally… finally… reached where I didn’t want him to touch. Between my legs. No. Please, not there.
He laughed softly, almost pleased. “Ah, there it is. The truth your mouth won’t admit.”
I arched against him, hatred and desire warring inside me, but he was relentless, refusing to let me slip into either entirely. He kept me balanced on the edge of the blade, right where he wanted. And I was… lost.