Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
She burns with resistance, her body vibrating against my hold. I walk forward to push her into the shower, but she fights me, trying to gain traction against the slick floor. She’s wild and fearless, a force of nature, everything I thought I’d never want in a woman, but find I deeply respect. Even against all odds, she’s trying.
I could shove her under the water, but I don’t want to hurt her. If she slips, she could bust up her face or break something. Instead, I toe off my shoes and force us both beneath the streaming water. The shock makes her still and she whips her head to look at me. Water cascades down my face, flattening my short hair and soaking my sweater. She closes her eyes, tipping her face upward, arching her slender neck so her head rests just below my shoulder. She’s breathing fast, like a rabbit that’s been chased across the fields by a vicious fox, and I close my eyes, hating what we’re doing to her. This isn’t right. She doesn’t deserve this. Every second she’s under our roof will change her, and she’ll never be the same. Sickness gathers beneath my diaphragm, driven by shame.
The end doesn’t always justify the means. Just because this is the easiest way to get to Carlo fucking Lambretti, doesn’t mean we should take it.
She swallows against my palm and shudders, and I move my hand to wrap it around her chest instead. I curve my body over hers, wanting her to feel an embrace rather than restraint. “It’s okay,” I tell her, surprising myself but not enough to stop. “It’s okay, Aemelia. It’ll be okay.”
Her body hitches, and I can sense her weeping before she makes a sound. I thought my heart was dead, but still, it seems to fracture and bleed for her.
I’m losing my fucking mind, but I can’t help how I feel.
I loved Mario, and avenging his death isn’t up for debate, but it doesn’t have to involve torturing this poor girl.
Turning her in my arms, I press my hand to the side of her head, so her face rests over my heart. It beats a rapid rhythm as I stroke her wet, tangled hair. The sound of her sorrow cuts my soul until I can’t take it anymore. Grasping her face between my hands, I force her to look at me.
I swipe tears and shower water from beneath her eyes. Her eyelashes are coated with droplets like diamonds that glint in the bright light of the bathroom. Her nightgown clings to her form, almost transparent now that it’s wet through, and my body sparks into an inferno.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” I tell her. It’s stupid. It goes against everything that Luca and Alexis want and expect from me. It goes against everything I’ve come to expect from myself, but this woman is an infestation that’s crawled under my skin and changed me.
“You’re holding me captive, Antonio. You’ve threatened me with violence.”
“I do what I have to do,” I say. “I do what’s expected of me.”
She blinks, her hands settling on my chest. She nods as though I’ve confessed something she understands. We don’t know much about Aemelia except her family relies on her for money. She was a waitress, doing what she had to do, doing what’s expected of her. Maybe, in some small way, she understands.
I let my thumb trace her lips, wiping away the water and her tears and she closes her eyes. Like this, with her armor washed away, she’s transcendent.
It isn’t fair that we’ve met like this, forced together to dance in the underworld. I think of the story of Hades and how he loved Persephone so desperately that he took her from the light and forced her to live with him in hell. Neither of us chose to be born into families with blood on their hands. We didn’t choose this life, it chose us, and yet we have to suffer.
“Aemelia,” I whisper.
“Gattina,” she reminds me, staring into my eyes, this time with a soft challenge. Her fingers drift to my neck to trace the sharp tattoo there. All around us, the steam swirls until I forget we’re in the penthouse, and I forget why we’re standing together in the shower, fully clothed.
I want to kiss her like I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone before. It’s a curse, a desire so thick, it’s impossible to wade through. I shake with it down to the pit of my rotten soul, and I have to lower my eyes, afraid she’ll notice my torment.
When her lips press against mine, I believe at first that this whole thing is just a dream. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m a jagged block of granite being caressed by the cool Sicilian breeze. But then her lips move, soft and coaxing, and I’m molten lava, pressing into her, slowly backing her against the tiled wall, finding my way inside the heat of her mouth and dying slowly with every side of our tongues.