CHAPTER 9
ANGELO P.O.V.
I stood in the shadows of the alcove right outside the light's reach, staring at the CCTV monitor before turning my head to look at the actual fucking room.
The air recycler hummed like a dying engine but my pulse was louder, just a heavy, obnoxious thrum right behind my ears that was pissing me off.
She was still tied to the metal chair. Her head lolled.
The emerald silk of her gown was torn and filthy.
This was the plan. Break the Silvestri princess.
Rip the legacy out of her. I should be feeling like a king right now, looking at the ruin of my enemy's bloodline, but all I felt was this sick, crushing hunger that was slowly dismantling every rule I had left.
I jammed my hand into my pocket and flicked my heavy metal lighter open.
Clack. Shut. Clack. It was the only mechanical, predictable thing keeping me grounded in a bunker that suddenly felt twenty degrees too hot.
"You're breathing too fast, Fiorella."
She flinched violently against the ropes.
"Tell me you hate me so I have a reason to stay away."
She didn't answer. Her jaw just locked up.
"The dark suits a Silvestri," I muttered.
I started walking. Just a slow, predatory circle around the perimeter of the room.
I brought my combat boots down hard on the concrete, deliberately making enough noise to build a sonic cage around her.
Left, right, behind her. I watched her ears twitch, her body leaning instinctively toward the vibration of my steps even though she was supposed to be terrified of me.
It was fucked up. She was completely broken down to base reflexes and instead of shrinking away she was tracking me.
I dragged my index finger along the edge of a metal supply crate, leaving a thick trail in the light layer of dust that had settled there.
The rubber of my soles scraped over the grit on the floor.
"Can you hear me coming, princess?" I asked.
Her chest heaved.
"You're tracking me like a compass."
She kept shifting her head toward my voice, desperate for an anchor.
"Stop searching for a way out," I snapped. "There's nothing but me."
I stopped dead directly behind her chair.
I was so close my shadow completely swallowed her small frame.
I gripped the back of the metal chair frame so hard my knuckles turned white, fighting the absolute worst urge to wrap my hands around her throat and just squeeze until she passed out or drag my hands lower and ruin us both.
The bunker was lead-lined and dead silent and the pressure of it was driving me insane.
If I touched her right now the whole hostage game was dead and buried.
I let out a slow, heavy exhale. My warm breath ruffled the loose strands of chestnut hair at the nape of her neck, and a sharp gasp hitched in her throat.
The fine hairs on her skin stood up. I could smell the salt of her dried tears mixing with gardenia perfume and cold ozone.
"I can hear your heart trying to jump out of your ribs," I muttered.
"Still silent, Fiorella? That won't last."
"Your skin is shaking."
She let out a pathetic whimper, her lips parched and cracked.
Thirsty. Good. I stepped to the side and grabbed the heavy metal canteen off the workstation.
I unscrewed the cap with a slow, grinding twist of metal on metal, letting the harsh sound echo so she knew exactly what I had.
Water. Control. Dependency. I hated being the one taking care of her, hated that I wanted to give her what she needed while playing this bullshit caregiver role.
I swirled the canteen in my hand, making the liquid slosh audibly against the steel sides.
"Drink," I said. "I don't want you fainting yet."
She strained upward against the bindings.
"Is this what you wanted, princess? A drop of mercy?"
I brought it to her lips. "Don't choke."
I tipped the metal rim against her mouth.
She didn't just drink, she attacked it like a dying woman, her throat working in frantic, messy gulps.
The water spilled out the corners of her mouth, running down her chin and soaking straight into the delicate, ruined lace of her bodice.
The emerald silk darkened instantly, clinging to the shape of her breasts.
The sight of it felt like a fucking sledgehammer to my restraint.
My hand actually trembled slightly as I held the canteen, a pathetic glitch in my system I couldn't hide fast enough.
"Slow down, cazzo." I pulled it back an inch.
She chased it, opening her mouth wider.
"Look at you. A Silvestri begging for a drink."
She gulped again, water sloshing down her pale neck.
"You're making a mess."
I tossed the canteen onto the desk. I couldn't take the sight of the water on her skin anymore.
I reached out and used my calloused thumb to roughly brush a stray droplet from the hollow of her throat.
I expected her to flinch away, to spit at me.
Instead, she leaned her cheek directly into my palm.
It was a silent, complete surrender to my touch.
She was claiming the warmth. I muttered a dark curse under my breath because right then I knew the debt was being paid in a currency I couldn't control.
I traced the line of her jaw with the edge of my thumb, feeling her frantic pulse thrumming against my skin.
"Don't lean on me, girl."
She pressed harder into my rough hand.
"You should be biting my hand, not kissing it."
I grabbed her chin. "Puttana... you have no idea what you're doing."
I pulled my combat knife from my thigh sheath.
The steel flashed under the shitty yellow overhead light.
I didn't warn her. I just jammed the blade under the thick hemp ropes binding her wrists and sliced upward in one clean stroke.
The fibers snipped. Her hands fell limp instantly as the blood rushed back into her deadened fingers, and then she immediately reached straight out and clutched the heavy denim of my tactical pants, gripping my thighs to keep herself upright.
I tossed the severed ropes into the corner of the room. They hit the concrete with a dull thud.
"You're free. Run. See how far you get."
She didn't let go of my legs.
"Don't touch me like that."
She squeezed her frozen fingers tighter.
"Your hands are like ice," I growled.
I reached behind her head, dug my fingers into the knot, and tore the blindfold away.
She blinked rapidly, her pupils constricting against the harsh glare of the bulb.
She didn't look at the bunker. She didn't look at the door.
She looked straight up into my eyes, her amber gaze raw, completely stripped of the aristocratic bullshit she usually wore like armor.
The hatred was still there but it was buried under a biological need that was totally feral.
I bunched the blindfold fabric in my fist so hard my joints popped.
"Look at me, Fiorella."
She stared right through my fucking skull.
"See the man who's going to ruin you."
"There's no one else here. Just us."
I dropped the knife. It clattered on the floor.
I grabbed her by the waist, digging my fingers deep into her hips, and hauled her upward out of the chair.
I kicked the chair backward at the same time and it skidded across the concrete with a loud, violent screech.
She didn't fight me. She crashed right into my chest, her arms winding tight around my neck, her fingers immediately tangling in the short hair at the nape of my neck.
Her body molded to mine, hot and desperate through the thin fabric of my shirt.
"You're trembling, Silvestri."
"Hold onto me," I sneered, gripping her back. "It's the only thing you have left."
"Bastardo..." she breathed into my neck. "Don't stop."
I crashed my mouth down onto hers. It wasn't a kiss, it was a fucking collision.
Just a brutal exchange of breath and teeth, tasting like salt and old iron.
I gripped her jaw hard with one hand, my fingers bruising her skin as I tilted her head back to deepen the assault.
I wanted to swallow her whole, to erase every drop of her family's blood from her veins and replace it with my own bare hate. She met my feral hunger with her own.
"Give it to me," I ordered against her lips. "Every bit of your hate."
She raked her nails right down the back of my neck and shoulders, digging in deep.
She grabbed fistfuls of my black shirt and yanked.
Threads snapped. Buttons popped off like tiny plastic hail, scattering across the bunker floor.
One of them rolled right into a floor drain with a metallic clink.
She didn't give a shit. She just wanted the heat of my scarred chest.
"Take it off," she gasped, her hands frantic. "More."
I walked her backward, shoving her with bruising force until her thighs slammed into the heavy metal surveillance desk.
I swept my arm across the surface, sending a stack of tactical folders and a tablet crashing to the floor in a chaotic mess of flying paper and cracked glass.
A plastic pen rolled off the edge and bounced twice on the concrete.
We didn't even make it to the cleared space.
"Nowhere to go, Fiorella."
"Look at what you do to me," she shot back, grabbing my hair again.
The weight of it just pulled us both down. We dropped to our knees on the unforgiving, grit-covered concrete. My right knee scraped hard against a discarded metal bolt on the floor, sending a sharp sting up my leg, but I didn't fucking care. The smell of kicked-up dust filled the air.
"On your knees, princess," I rasped, shoving her back slightly so I could look at her. "Right where you belong."
I grabbed the torn neckline of her emerald silk gown with both my large hands.
I didn't unbutton a damn thing. I just yanked downward with one violent jerk, ripping the bodice completely in half down to her waist. The long, drawn-out sound of the expensive silk tearing echoed off the walls.
I bunched the ruined fabric in my fists, using it as a handle to drag her flush against me, exposing her flushed, shivering pale skin to the cold air.
"Expensive trash," I told her, my eyes locked on her chest. "You don't need this anymore."
She reached down for my belt, her hands uncoordinated and shaking. I shoved her wrists away roughly. I needed to do it myself. My fingers worked the heavy buckle with practiced, ruthless speed, ripping my tactical trousers open. The heavy metal belt buckle hit the concrete floor with a loud clack.
"Let me."
"Be still," I barked, shoving my pants down.
I pushed her all the way down onto her back.
The contrast was a joke—my scarred, tattooed, muscular frame caging in her soft, porcelain curves.
I grabbed both her wrists with one hand and pinned them above her head, pinching them together so my thumb and forefinger met easily around the delicate bones.
My weight grounded her entirely against the cold grit.
"Look at us," I said, my chest heaving against hers. "The wolf and the lamb."
I nudged her thighs apart with my rough knee, forcing my way into the cradle of her hips. I didn't wait. I hooked my heels firmly around her calves to pull her even closer, locking her in place.
"Finally."
"Open for me," I demanded, though she already was, slick and ready for the absolute worst of me.
I drove into her with one deep, unyielding thrust. A sharp, broken gasp tore out of her throat.
Her head knocked back against the concrete with a soft thump, her back arching entirely off the floor.
She wasn't crying. Her internal muscles clenched around my cock in a desperate, violent welcome that nearly made me lose my fucking mind right there.
"Cazzo..." I groaned out, the vibration heavy in my chest. "Tell me you feel that."
I set a rhythm that was ruthless. Fast, fueled by a decade of stored rage and absolute obsession.
The wet, rhythmic slapping of our bodies colliding echoed obscenely against the lead-lined walls, drowning out the air recycler, drowning out the whole goddamn world above us.
I reached up and gripped the edge of the metal desk above her head to get more leverage, driving myself deeper.
"You're mine."
"Forget your name," I ordered, slamming into her again.
I shifted my grip down, grabbing her pale hips hard enough to leave dark, hand-shaped bruises. My fingers sank into her flesh, leaving white indentations that immediately flushed angry red. I wanted to mark her. I wanted her to look in a mirror and see exactly what I did to her.
"My mark," I growled, holding her down against my thrusts. "Hold still."
She didn't hold still. Her nails dug deeply into my back, finding the jagged ridges of my old scars and pulling hard. I felt a sharp sting as she caught a fresh scratch directly across a scar my father had given me years ago. Her amber eyes were dark, dilated, and entirely predatory.
"Don't stop," she demanded, her voice a fractured mess.
"Bastardo... harder."
The heat in the small bunker was suffocating.
A heavy drop of sweat fell from my eyelashes, landing dead in the hollow of her throat.
I dropped my head and followed the path of it with my tongue, licking the bitter salt off her hot skin while my hips kept up that manic, punishing pace.
My movements were frantic now. The friction was a wildfire I couldn't put out.
"You taste like salt and ruin," I breathed heavily against her collarbone. "Almost there."
The climax hit us both like a physical blow to the chest. Fiorella shuddered violently beneath me, her voice finally breaking on a high, keening sound that she tried to stifle by biting into my shoulder.
My own control completely snapped. I let out a low, guttural groan, surrendering everything as I poured myself deep inside her.
I buried my face into her messy chestnut hair, my teeth grazing hard against her earlobe.
"Fiorella..."
"Dio..."
I was completely spent. I collapsed heavily, crushing her against the floor, too exhausted to support my own weight.
I kept my face buried in the crook of her neck, my chest heaving against hers as I tried to find oxygen in a room that didn't have any left.
I didn't pull out. I remained totally connected to her, shifting just enough to rest my damp forehead against hers.
The sound of our erratic heartbeats slowed down in the damp air.
"Don't move," I rasped, my voice rough as sandpaper. "Stay."
She didn't push me away. My knee throbbed from the bolt on the floor, and the air recycler kicked on with a pathetic rattle, blowing stale air over the ruined mess we made.