CHAPTER 4 #3
Angelo closed the remaining distance between us in two rapid, predatory strides.
I scrambled backward on pure instinct, but there was nowhere left to go.
My bare shoulder blades slammed into the freezing concrete wall with a hard jolt.
He was standing so incredibly close to me now that I could feel the intense, radiant heat rolling off his massive body, completely overriding the bunker’s freezing chill.
I physically shrank, pulling my shoulders inward, trying to occupy as little space as humanly possible to avoid touching him.
"Nowhere left to run, Fiorella," he murmured, his voice practically vibrating against my skin.
"The wall is just as cold as your brother's heart. "
Before I could even blink, Angelo slammed his hands against the wall on either side of my head.
The violent crack of his heavy palms hitting the stone echoed like a gunshot in the tiny space.
He leaned his entire weight in, using his sheer, terrifying mass to pin me in place without even laying a finger on my body.
A loose strand of my chestnut hair got caught painfully under his palm against the wall, tugging sharply at my scalp.
"Look at me," he demanded, his face inches from mine.
"Do you smell the blood on me, Principessa? "
The proximity was completely suffocating.
My chest heaved uncontrollably, the torn, filthy silk of my bodice brushing friction against the hard, abrasive nylon plates of his tactical vest with every frantic breath I took.
I could see the fine, pale scars crossing his jawline, the dark stubble shadowing his lip.
I tried to whip my head away to look at the floor, but he tilted his head to intercept my gaze, intentionally blocking my field of vision until all I could see were his empty, oil-slick eyes.
"Breathe, Fiorella," he whispered, a twisted satisfaction in his tone.
"I want you to feel every second of this.
Your heart is hammering like a trapped bird. "
Then, his gaze dropped. He noticed the way my right arm was clamped rigid at my side, my knuckles turning white against the fold of silk at my hip.
A slow, deeply cruel smile spread across his face.
"What have we here?" he murmured smoothly.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached his large, gloved hand down, moving with an agonizing slowness right toward my hip.
"Show me your little secret, Fiorella." I panicked, trying to rip my hand away from my body, but I was completely wedged between the wall and his massive chest. I couldn't move an inch.
He wrapped his hand right over my clenched fist. His grip was an absolute, bruising vice.
With effortless, clinical precision, he applied pressure and pried my fingers open one by one, completely neutralizing my strength like I was a toddler.
He reached into my palm and plucked the jagged concrete flake free, holding it up into the dim light between two fingers.
He examined the dusty little rock with open, mocking disdain.
I wanted to spit right in his fucking face, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my painfully dry mouth.
"A rock? This is your grand plan?" he mocked, a dark laugh rumbling in his chest. "You were going to kill a lion with a pebble. "
Instead of throwing it away, he brought the sharp, dirty edge of the stone right to my face.
I stopped breathing entirely as he trailed the point of the concrete flake lightly down the column of my throat, tracing the exact line of my frantically beating jugular.
It was a slow, deliberate motion, heavy with an insane, terrifyingly sexual tension.
The stone caught on a stray thread of my hair, pulling it tight against my sensitive skin.
He tracked the movement of the rock with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
"So soft. So easy to break," he whispered roughly, the heat of his gaze burning my neck.
"I could end the Silvestri line right here, with your own little toy. "
He held it there for one agonizing second longer before he casually flicked his wrist, tossing the stone over his shoulder.
It clattered uselessly into the darkness like trash.
Then, without warning, he pushed off the wall and stepped back three full feet.
The sudden removal of his towering presence hit me like a physical blow.
The freezing, damp air of the bunker rushed directly into the space he just vacated, slamming into my sweat-dampened skin.
I shivered violently, my knees buckling slightly as the structural support of his terrifying presence vanished.
I sagged back against the wall to keep from collapsing.
"Keep your toys, Principessa. They won't save you," he said, his voice returning to that cold, detached baseline. "Six days left until the debt is due."
Angelo turned on his heel, his shadow sweeping across the bunker floor like a dark cloak. He paused right in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with eyes entirely void of human empathy. "Six days, Fiorella. Try not to choke on the ghosts."
He stepped out, and the heavy steel door slammed shut.
The massive deadbolt slid home with a sickening finality.
I slowly sank down the wall until my bare knees hit the cold concrete floor, my trembling fingers reaching up to lightly trace the spot on my throat where his stone had touched my pulse.
The silence crashed back over me, heavy and absolute.
"Six days," I whispered to the empty room, dropping my hand into my lap. "Bastardo... come back and finish it."