Page 22 of Cruel Tyrant

And about ten times guiltier.

I shouldn’t have snapped at him the day before. It was a low point, and I need to be stronger, because he and I are in this situation together whether I like it or not.

I head upstairs and drop my bags next to the bed. There’s banging coming from the third floor. It’s mostly storage up there, so I have no clue what’s going on, and my heart picks up the pace as nerves jolt through my body.

“Davide?” I call out and walk over to the stairs. “Are you up there?”

The banging pauses and he appears at the landing. My breath sucks into my throat as my mouth drops open.

He’s wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, worn boots, and nothing else. His muscles are rippling with sweat, his hair pushed back into loose, damp curls, and black tattoos cover his olive-dark skin. The man’s absolutely gorgeous, and my mouth waters just staring at him. My eyes drift to his defined chest, to his shredded abs, and down to the top of his jeans just barely hanging on. His hip bones are like heaven and that lovely freaking muscular V points straight down to heaven.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says, and my core clenches with the sudden image of him fucking me into submission on the bed. I think if he asked for it, I’d lick every little bead of sweat from his skin and thank him for the pleasure.

“Uh, you do?” I ask, feeling very small, and very, very aroused.

“Come up. Bruno and Emilio are here.”

That dashes some of my hope. He’s definitely not the kind of guy that would fuck me senseless in front of his friends. I head up, not sure what I’m going to find, and stare at what looks like a construction site.

Emilio and Bruno both wave. They’re sitting on boxes and drinking cold beer, both of them equally sweaty and exhausted-looking. But what was once a totally wide-open space mostly used for storage is now roughly broken up by a few half-finished walls.

“What’s all this?” I ask, genuinely not sure what’s happening.

Then Davide’s at my side. He puts a hand on the small of my back and he’s standing very close. I breathe in his musky smell and a shiver runs down my spine as the image of him between my legs comes roaring back, and, my god, this man does things to me, things that should be illegal in any rational community.

“You said my house was too open for you.” His voice is gentle, and I don’t deserve gentle right now. I deserve angry, vindictive, harsh, but not whatever’s happening. “I’m giving you walls. I’m giving you space and doors you can lock.” He gestures at the general areas they’re closing off. “Three rooms to do whatever you want with. An office, a studio, it doesn’t matter. They will be yours and only you will have the key.”

I stare at him, completely astounded by this gesture. Yesterday I called his house creepy and insulted him straight to his face, and instead of being pissed, he’s trying to do something nice for me. Which only deepens my self-loathing and makes me feel like an absolute wreck of a human being.

“You didn’t need to do this,” I finally manage. I’m not going to cry, especially not in front of Emilio and Bruno, who are very seriously drinking their beers and pretending like we don’t exist.

“You’re right, I didn’t, but you needed something, dolcezza, and I wanted to give it to you. We’ll be finished in a day or two.”

I stare at him. That stupid Italian nickname makes my heart flutter—it basically means sweetness. I don’t know why it’s getting to me so much, maybe because I just spent a few hours with his sister and mother and actually enjoyed myself, or maybe because this gesture is genuinely kind and thoughtful, but warmth fills my body and makes my ears turn pink.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, and I want to tell him even more—I’ll do better from now on, I won’t disparage your house again, I don’t deserve this but maybe one day I will—but his lips press against my cheek, and then he’s barking at his friends to get back to work, and I’m forgotten.

I remain by the stairs, stunned, as the three of them pick up where they left off. Davide’s a gorgeous god of a human, a perfect specimen, carved from granite and glowing with warmth. I’m still wary of him, and I still don’t want to be here, but at least I know my husband is capable of grand gestures.

Chapter 14

Davide

I finish the upstairs room over the next week, working mostly during the mornings. Bruno and Emilio help when they can, but I make this my project. I like hanging drywall and running wire, it’s strangely cathartic, and even though I have to stop a few times when I start to feel the bars of the cage clanging shut around me, the effort’s worth it.

Things changed after that day. Stefania hasn’t exactly thawed to me—she has her defenses very much in place, and it’s obvious she’s still feeling lost out here—but there’s much less animosity. Actually, she’s almost nice, which is hard to fathom. I figured with her, it was claws all over, and it’s nice to know she can have a soft side too.

I wish I could spend more time with her, but I’m busy hunting down and eliminating the men that sabotaged our ships. It’s an ugly and dangerous job, but it’s my role in the Famiglia, and I’ve relished it for a long time. Though I find myself thinking more about Stefania when I’m out on my hunts, wondering what she’s doing and what she’s thinking. While it’s a distraction I can’t afford when my life is on the line, it’s a distraction that I can’t get out of my head.

About a week after Stefania came to live with me, I find her up in one of her rooms building bookshelves. She painted the walls a pale gray color, and now she’s constructing what looks like a library: cozy chair near the window, lots of comfortable blankets and pillows, and stacks of books.

“This looks good already,” I say from the doorway and she looks up at me, her cheeks flushed and smiling. I don’t think I’ve seen her so happy, and it makes my heart beat faster. I like that she’s enjoying herself, and I’m aware that being in this moderately small room with her doesn’t bother me at all the way I thought it might.

I can’t remember the last time I could stand being in an enclosed space like this with a person I barely know. I can handle my close friends, my parents, my siblings, but I’ve been married to Stefania for barely two weeks. She should still be a stranger.

Instead, I want to get closer to her.

“I’m still deciding what I want it to look like when I’m done,” she says and sits back to stretch her legs.

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