Page 31 of Darkest Sin

I stumble back, breathing heavily as my ass finds the edge of my bed. I bury my face into my hands, leaning forward as I try not to fall into a panic attack, but truth be told, I think I’m already there.

“I forgot to feed my goldfish once,” I tell him. “He died. I can’t be trusted with a baby. You know they need constant supervision, right? Plus, they suck the life out of your tits.”

“Okay,” he says, moving to my side. “We’ll shelve the heir idea for now, but just know that in time, I will require a child. Just as you require honesty and equality from me, I require an heir from you. It’s non-negotiable.”

Non-negotiable.

I glance up at him. “So, it doesn’t have to be now?” I confirm, a sliver of hope beginning to burn through my chest. “It can happen in ten, maybe twenty years down the track?”

“I am not waiting twenty years,” he growls in that thick, delicious accent. “You get two.”

“TWO YEARS?” I panic, my eyes widening like saucers. “Holy fuck.”

“Alright, I see that I’ve upset you,” he tells me, beginning to back up from the hysterical woman, clearly way out of his comfort zone. “That was not my intention. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Vodka,” I say. “Lots and lots of vodka.”

He laughs, and the sound lifts my gaze from my hands. I hadn’t realized a man like this was even capable of laughter. “That,” he says. “I can do.”

15

CHIARA

I’m surrounded by the Romanian Mafia. Every damn member is dressed in five-piece suits while their wives sip red wine in their spectacular gowns, eyeing me with distaste. One thing is for sure, if Killian hadn’t filled me with vodka before making our way here, I probably wouldn’t have the balls to look a single person in the eye.

I knew my Romanian captor was the head of the DeLorenzo family, but hearing it and seeing it are two very different things. The people here—the very ones he calls family—fear him, and it’s clear that Killian DeLorenzo is a wicked man.

He’s callous and cruel, unforgiving and twisted. The things I’ve heard on the news about his family are enough to send me into a blind panic. And yet here I am, standing in the middle of their annual family ball.

I can’t say I’m well educated on the Romanian Mafia, and I don’t recognize a single face, but I imagine that Killian isn’t the only wanted man in the room. There must be at least five hundred people here. It’s probably an FBI agent’s wet dream. I wouldn’t want to be the sorry asshole who decided to bust this party wide open. He would be dead before he even stepped foot inside the building.

The very thought makes my palms sweat. Just the thought of what the men in this room are capable of makes my blood turn to ice.

My hand curls around Killian’s strong arm as he leads me through the room, holding conversations in Romanian, and I can’t even begin to understand what sick deals they are discussing right in front of me. But I do my best to be polite, and whenever he gestures toward me, I give subtle smiles to play my part.

Women stare at me from every corner of the room, and I hate it. I feel like a butterfly with pinned wings, forced under someone’s microscope. They watch me as though having a woman on his arm is unheard of. Their callous stares burn up and down my body with disapproval, comparing me to themselves, and probably wondering what the hell is so special about me. If only they knew how I came to be here. Hell, in this type of company, perhaps my story isn’t as unique as I think. Who knows how many of the women in this room started just like I did. Some poor girl snatched away from her world only to be dazzled by this crazy, glamorous life.

And glamorous it is.

The room is huge, decked out in what I can only assume is the most luxurious Italian marble. Subtle geometric patterns cover the floors, sailing right out to the wide dance floor where a string quartet plays the most hypnotic music.

It’s a scene right out of a Jane Austen film, but absolutely none of it prepares me for the high ceilings and stunning crystal chandelier. The room is a masterpiece. I suck in a breath, needing to hold on to Killian tighter as he leads me through the crowd, far too distracted by the stunning architecture and design of the ballroom.

God, I’m a sucker for good architecture.

The deeper into the room we get, the more people step in to say hello, attempting to get into good favor with the most powerful man in the world. Yet somehow, out of all the women who could have fallen at his feet, he chose me.

The thought has a thrill sailing through my body, and I find myself stepping even closer to his side. I know he probably doesn’t hold any real affection for me, but I feel there’s a possibility here. A possibility for this to be real, for something more to develop.

I feel I could maybe even love him one day.

Shit. I really do have some fucked-up version of Stockholm Syndrome.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m smitten with my captor, but how can I not be? The way he looks, the way he smells, and good God, the way he fucks! I’m not just smitten, I’m completely taken with him. He’s captured me in more ways than he ever bargained for. But something tells me I might have done the same.

Killian was intent on keeping me at arm’s length. I was to keep my mouth shut and bend to his will, but he’s allowed me freedom within his home. He’s allowed me to set my own boundaries and promised to revisit the ones he wasn’t ready for. Hell, he woke up this morning to me sneaking into his bed with the intention to fuck him and allowed me to take what I needed.

He might say we’re not equals, but in my eyes, we’re just about there.

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