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)
But does he just mean now? Or… is this it?
A cold, hollow fear flares in my chest, twisting through my ribs like a cruel hand squeezing the life from my heart. They’ve taken what they wanted with ruthless hands and hungry mouths. Is this their revenge now? To cast me aside? To send me home, back to the wreckage of a life I was desperate to escape? Or worse—to finish what they started and end me altogether?
No.
I won’t believe it.
They’re brutal men, ruthless, calculating, and dangerous, but they have hearts. Scarred and bruised, yes, tarnished by blood and vengeance, definitely. But still capable of tenderness, deserving of devotion in their own jagged, broken ways.
I glance at Luca, my eyes searching his handsome, scarred face desperately. He’s still seated, watching from his vantage point, but his hands are curled into fists on his thighs, his knuckles white. His expression is hard, almost impassive, but his eyes betray him. Midnight blue, dark with unspoken emotion, they’re locked on me like he’s barely holding himself back, like if he moves, he might destroy everything.
My gaze flicks to Alexis, who stands slightly apart, his fingers clamped around the back of his neck, gripping so tightly his bicep flexes. His chest rises and falls heavily, the cords in his throat straining with the effort to contain whatever dark, restless emotion simmers beneath his skin. But his eyes are on Antonio, watching him fight for restraint with an unreadable expression, half resentment, half reverence.
And then I look at Antonio, the man who refused me when I would’ve given him everything. His broad shoulders are tight with tension, his fists flexing at his sides. His head is bowed slightly, as though he’s fighting his own demons, or maybe just battling the urge to come back to me.
I can’t take it.
“I don’t want to go home, Luca,” I whisper, my voice trembling but loud enough for all of them to hear. My eyes find him across the aching space between us, and I reach for him, stretching out a trembling hand that suddenly feels too small, too weak, but desperate to touch him.
“I can’t go back there,” I plead, my voice barely above a breath. “I want to stay here. With you.”
Luca’s eyes darken with something primal, something so fiercely protective that it robs the breath from my lungs. His chair scrapes back sharply, and before I can blink, he’s on me, closing the distance between us in two powerful strides.
“Ssh, kitten,” he murmurs, gathering me into his arms and pulling me against his chest as if I belong there. His voice is a low, soothing growl laced with possessiveness.
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” he promises as his brothers gather closer. “You’re safe now. You’re ours.”
36
ANTONIO
A WOMAN SCORNED
The basement reeks of blood and sweat, the acrid scent mixing with the faint traces of damp stone and bleach. Enzo sits before us, wrists bound behind the chair, ankles zip-tied to the legs. He’s bruised, bleeding from a split lip, his temple dark with dried blood, but his eyes burn with undiluted rage. Spitting at the ground, he glares up at us like a rabid dog caught in a steel trap.
“You can’t do this,” he snarls, his voice hoarse from hours of yelling. “I’m a made man. You think you can take me like this and not answer for it? Alfonso will retaliate and kill every last Venturi rat.”
Luca steps forward, his hands in his pockets, looking down his nose at Enzo with that deadly calm of his, the kind that promises slow, deliberate retribution. “You ordered a hit on Aemelia, Enzo. On your own blood. While she is under our protection. That alone is enough reason to put a bullet in your skull.”
“I did what had to be done,” he hisses. “She’s nothing to me.”
Alexis leans against the metal table, spinning a knife between his fingers. “You and your brother rejected her when she was a child. What kind of person does that? You think she’s not a Lambretti, but she is. She’s your niece, and you tried to kill her.”
Enzo’s sneer deepens as his gaze flicks to where Aemelia stands, just behind Luca, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “I know she’s Carlo’s spawn. His filthy blood runs through her veins.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Everything Carlo touched should be exterminated. That bitch of a wife, her sickly sister, the addict brother—all of them.”
Aemelia doesn’t flinch. If anything, her chin lifts higher. I glance at her, searching for fear, for hesitation, but she seems bulletproof against his words. I exchange a look with Alexis. Does he know why Enzo is so determined to wipe Carlo’s family off the face of the Earth? I can’t even imagine having the same impulses about any family of my brothers.
Luca steps in closer, crouching so he’s at eye level with Enzo. “Does your boss know about your little vendetta?”