Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
RICCI
The words I just spoke... I can’t believe I said them.
I finally did it. After all these years of watching her from the shadows of every room she walked into, burning for her in silence while I stood at Salvatore’s right hand and pretended she was just another piece of furniture in the Greco empire, I was always dreaming of the day I would claim her without a single lie between us. I actually said the words out loud.
“What I want is you.”
I’ve thought these words a thousand times—whispered them in my head in the dead of night when the house was quiet, and she was sleeping somewhere down the hall, imagined saying them while I watched her ride that Arabian mare across the estate fields, blonde hair whipping in the wind like gold silk.
But hearing them leave my mouth… Now my heart is pounding like a fucking drum, and the words hang in the air between us, thick, raw and irreversible.
Christ. It feels like I just stepped off the edge of a cliff and I’m still falling, wind rushing past, stomach in free fall, waiting for the impact.
She doesn’t leap for joy. Not that I ever expected her to.
I know her too well for that. I watch her face carefully, searching for any flicker, any tell.
The vulnerability that cracked through a minute ago—the tears, the tremble in her voice, the way her breath hitched when she asked for help—is all gone.
The mask is back on, perfectly cool and polished, green eyes politely expressionless.
I can’t tell how she feels at all. Not even a little.
That stings more than it should.
“This seems to be the response I’m getting from every man who has crossed my path lately. I must be more desirable than I thought.” Her voice is dry and amused, but there’s a bitter edge underneath.
I shrug, trying to keep my own mask in place even though my blood is roaring.
If she says no… “That’s my condition,” I tell her, and then I take the biggest gamble I have ever taken.
I turn away as if to leave. The heavy library door is only a few steps away.
Call my name. Call my damn name, Viola. My hand is reaching for the brass knob.
What the fuck do I do if she doesn’t call me?
Then her fingers catch my arm.
The touch is electric—her slim hand wrapping around my forearm through the sleeve of my suit.
A jolt straight to my cock. I won. I fucking won.
I turn my head and let my gaze drop down to her fingers.
They look so pale against the dark wool of my suit.
She lets go, like she’s been scalded, hand jerking back to her side.
The room suddenly feels charged, buzzing with sexual tension that crackles between us like a live wire.
A crazy thought flashes into my head. How easy it would be to take her right here.
To back her against one of the bookshelves, the wood cool against her spine while I slide my hands under that black dress, hike it up over her hips, and finally put my mouth on her naked pussy.
Exactly the way I’ve fantasized about for years.
Her legs will wrap around me. Once she is mine, I will protect her and take care of her the way no one else ever has.
I’d burn this entire empire down before I let anyone hurt her again.
She crosses her arms over her chest defensively, but the movement—unintentional—pushes her breasts together, the soft swell straining against the silk of her dress. My cock is so hard it is throbbing furiously.
“What exactly are you promising me in exchange?” she asks, voice quiet, almost sad. “Make the terms clear. The others offered me a roof and money. What about you?”
I hold her gaze as the heat between us coils tighter. “I’m offering my name, freedom from your father’s endless gambling debts, and ….” I pause, then add the part I know will change everything. “I’m offering you the ability to leave.”
Her breath catches, barely audible, but I hear it.
“You can walk away without consequences,” I say softly, “anytime you want.”
She looks stunned, her beautiful eyes widening until they are large green pools of beauty. “Are you joking?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “No. After you become my wife, if you are unhappy… you can leave with enough wealth that you’ll never have to worry about money again for the rest of your life… even if it’s after only a month, a week, or even a day. I’ll never imprison you.”
Confusion and suspicion flicker across her face as her brows draw together, making her look even more fiercely beautiful. She’s trying to figure me out, trying to decide if this is another trap wrapped in pretty words, another cage disguised as freedom.
“You’ll put this in writing? Make it legal?”
“Yes.”
In my mind, the quest is simple, but burningly obvious: I’m going to throw my entire being into showing her why she will never want to leave.
I’m going to make her think she has died and gone to heaven.
All her time with me will be another day in paradise.
She’s the reason I fought my way to this crown—every lie, every kill, every calculated move was fueled by the need to have the power to get her and then protect her, to give her something no one else could.
But if I coerced her, forced her, or lied…
it would all mean absolutely nothing to me.
I want her to choose me. I need her to choose me.
Just then there is a sharp knock on the door.
It swings open before either of us can speak, and Mario steps in.
His eyes widen when he sees us standing so close together in the dim library, the air thick with something he can’t quite name.
Surprise flashes across his face, quickly followed by something darker—ugly, tearing jealousy.
I recognize it because I have felt it too. Seeing my beauty with his father.
“I’ve been looking all over for Viola,” he says, voice too loud, too forced, trying to sound casual. “Some associates want to say hello and offer their condolences.”
I don’t even blink. “Accept the condolences on her behalf,” I say, my gaze sharp and lethal, the kind that has made stronger men piss themselves. “She’s busy right now.”
Mario knows better than to test me. He bows curtly, but enough to show submission, and backs out without another word.
I turn my eyes back to her, waiting. The ball is in her court now.