Page 37 of Depths of Hunger

“You told me you were a vampire,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “But it’s not like in the movies. You go out in the daylight. You don’t?—”

I cut her off with a harsh laugh, my smile twisted and humorless. “You think you understand the rules, huh? That you can put me in some little box and feel safe because you’ve got it all figured out?” I crouch down in front of her, close enough that my face alone fills her vision. “I’m not a story, Mia. I’m not some tragic hero with a tortured soul and a weakness for love. I’m a fucking monster, and I will do whatever it takes to keep what’s mine.”

Mia’s breath hitches, her eyes darting to the door, but there’s no escape. Not here. Not now. She’s trapped in this room with me, and every inch of her knows it. I can hear her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

“I fed on Angelo because he crossed a line,” I continue, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “He was a traitor, and he thought he could take what belongs to me. And I made an example of him, just like I’ll make an example of anyone who tries to touch what’s mine.” I reach out, my fingers brushing her cheek, and she flinches, but she doesn’t pull away. There’s a defiance in her eyes, but it’s fading, overwhelmed by fear.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You think I’m going to run? You think I’m going to betray you?”

I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. The touch is rough, and I see the flash of pain in her eyes, but she doesn’t fight me. “I’m telling you this because you need to understand, gattina. You don’t get to beafraid of me. You don’t get to run from me. You don’t get to hide from what I am.” I lean closer, my breath hot against her ear. “You belong to me, which means you’re part of this. There’s no going back. Not now. Not ever. You are mine, gattina.”

Her trembling increases, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She’s trying to hold it together, but I see the cracks. I see the fear that she’s trying so desperately to hide, and it thrills me. She’s not some meek, obedient wife; she’s fire and fury, and right now, she’s terrified of what I might do.

“I hate you,” she says suddenly, the words spat out with all the venom she can muster. Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. “I hate what you are. I hate that I’m trapped here with you.”

I smile, slow and menacing. “Ah,la mia tigre, do you really hate me?” I ask as I run my finger down over her breast. Her nipple pebbles under my touch. She licks her lips. I chuckle. “Good,” I say, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Hate me. Fear me. But you’ll never leave me. You can’t. You’re mine, Mia, and you’ll never be free of me.” I tighten my grip just enough to make my point, and her breath hitches in her throat. The tears are closer now, threatening to spill, but she’s holding on by sheer willpower. I want to relent but if I do, she’ll think there may be a chance that she can manipulate me, that she can get away. She must never know that I care about her. It’s my weakness.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Renzo, I?—”

I pull back, releasing her abruptly, and she falls deeper into the sofa cushions. I stand, towering over her, and I can see the mix of anger and fear swirling in her eyes. She’s trapped between wanting to fight back and knowing she can’t win, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Understand this, Mia,” I say, my tone softening just slightly. “There’s a part of me that’s always hungry, always hunting. I keep it under control most of the time, but when I’m crossed, when someone threatens what’s mine… I don’t hold back.” I pace slowly around her, like a predator circling its prey. “I’m a monster, yes. But I’myourmonster. And that means I’ll protect you, even from yourself.”

She stares at me, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, and I feel a flicker of something that almost resembles pity. But I stamp it out because there’s no room for softness here. She needs to see me for what I am. She needs to fear me because fear is the only thing that will keep her safe.

I reach out, gently this time, and cup her cheek. She leans into the touch, but it’s not comfort she’s seeking—it’s survival.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” she admits, her voice breaking. “But I am.”

I lean in, brushing my lips against her forehead in a mockery of tenderness. “Good,” I whisper. “Fear keeps you sharp. Fear keeps you alive. But never forget, Mia…you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine with everything I am.”

She doesn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes tells me enough. She’s scared. She’s angry. But she’s still here, and that’s all that matters. I pull away, leaving her sitting on the sofa, her breath hitching as she fights to keep herself together.

I turn back to the window, staring out into the darkness, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the night sky. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that comes before a storm, and I can feel it brewing between us—dangerous, electric, and inevitable.

“You and me, Mia,” I say, my voice barely more than a murmur. “We’re just getting started.”

Chapter

Sixteen

Unable to summon any kind of appetite, I push the food around my plate and stare into the flickering flames of the fireplace that fails to warm me despite the heat radiating through the room. The fire does cast a warm, golden glow over the dark wood paneling and plush leather chairs in my—no, Renzo’s office. It’s cozy now, quieter without him looming over me, but the comfort is hollow. He’s back, and with him, every inch of this space is his again. I marvel at how quickly I had made myself at home here, the way I filled the space with my presence, my decisions, my control.

When I first married Renzo, fear gripped me so tightly that drawing a full breath was barely possible. I had wanted to run, to escape the moment the ink dried on the marriage certificate. But when everything went to hell, I stepped up. I took the reins, and for the first time, I felt powerful. No, it felt fucking glorious. My mother, spiteful as she is, was right—I would’ve made a great leader of the family. She would’ve been, too, if she’d ever had the chance. But, in accordance with her father’s wishes, she married my father and settled for pulling his strings from behind the scenes. I’m cut from the same cloth, tougher than my father ever was. Smarter, too. Runningthe family didn’t terrify me; it exhilarated me. I loved every second of it. It was my birthright, but he gave it away.

I sip my wine, savoring the rich, bold flavor as it coats my tongue. Renzo’s earlier warning about alcohol creeps into my mind, making me pause. He said it dulls my senses which makes me vulnerable. But I can’t let him control me. Not entirely. I tip the glass back and drain it in one go, defiance burning in my chest. I want to hate him…to challenge him on every level but then he has this control over me. Not just physically but mentally. I lust for him. How do I fight that?

The reality of my situation slams into me once again—Renzo is a vampire. A fucking vampire. The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but not-unreasonable terror clings to my skin like a second layer. This isn’t some fantasy where the vampire has a tragic backstory and an unquenchable thirst for love. Renzo is dangerous, unpredictable, and none of the crap from movies will work on him. No garlic, no holy water. I’ve seen his reflection in mirrors; I’ve seen him eat garlic without flinching. And though he rarely goes outside during the day, I’ve caught glimpses of him in the sunlight, and the only part of him that sparkles are his eyes when he’s incredibly turned on. He isn’t bound by a single goddamn myth, and that terrifies me more than anything.

Images flash through my mind—Renzo’s eyes on me in the mirror as he fucked me, his grip tight, possessive. I swallow hard, trying to banish the memory, but it lingers, taunting me. There’s no escape. Shooting him doesn’t work, so maybe a stake through the heart? But if nothing else about vampires is true, why would that be? I’m running out of ideas, running out of hope.

I think about pouring myself another glass of wine, but fear wraps around my heart, squeezing tight. God, I can’t live like this—constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if the man I’m married to is going to be the one who ends me. Running seems like my only option. Australia still sounds good. It’s far, isolated, and big enough to lose myself in. Change my name, change my look, disappear.

But I’ll need help. And money. Well, the money part is easy. I’vehad a secret bank account in Luxembourg since I was old enough to understand who my father really was. Unlike the Swiss, Luxembourg is ironclad—discreet and impenetrable. I’ve been squirreling money away for years, ever since my grandfather died and left me a small fortune. I told my parents I blew it on cars, apartments, and vacations, but instead, I invested it wisely. Now, I’ve got nearly eight figures tucked away. So, while money isn’t a problem. logistics are. Obtaining a fake passport, finding someone trustworthy enough to get me out without alerting Renzo. And so many other tiny details that could trip me up.

I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I text Pippa.

Do you remember our trip to Mexico?

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