Page 39 of Stolen Seconds

“Wrong place, wrong time.”

My mother was innocent and had fallen into a situation where her life was taken to prove loyalty. She’d overheard something that she wasn’t supposed to.

“My scars are my father’s creations. After that day, he saw to it that I learned what a true heir to the Mafia meant. He said it would make me stronger.” I laughed humorlessly. “More ruthless and unforgiving but it only made me resent him.”

“Did it stop?” she asked with a strain in her voice.

I searched her eyes, a flicker of anger swarming within them.

“At the age of fifteen, when I overpowered him and broke his hand.”

We stared at each other, the air past boiling. Something shifted between us. It was evident in the way Irina’s gaze lingered on my chest as if she was understanding the meaning behind my tattoos.

I didn’t know if I was relieved or if it made me hate her for it a little.

She stood and my hands clenched at my sides thinking she was going to leave but then she stepped in my direction.

My breaths came out quicker when she reached me. It was hard to read her expression.

“You won’t be getting my pity,” she confirmed before surprising me by sitting on my lap, her knees on either sideof me. The robe bunched around her hips, and I gripped her waist to keep her from changing her mind.

I didn’t know what was happening or what kind of game she was playing at, but I didn’t care either. Her body felt so fucking right against mine that I didn’t care.

“I want to feel you.” Her gaze was fixated on my chest, where my heart resided and ready to stop beating at any moment.

She raised her hand but before she could touch me, I caught her wrist.

No one had ever wanted to touch my scars, let alone stare at them for longer than a few seconds because of how distorted they appeared. That’s why I had gotten the tattoos to cover them, not because of others’ opinions but to stop being reminded of them.

And who takes care of you, Luca?

Eva’s words replayed in my head, and it might’ve been for all the wrongs reasons, but I guided Irina’s hand down on my chest, her fingers splaying to feel more.

I swallowed harshly, a knot in the pit of my stomach forming from her smooth fingers gently caressing me as if my skin were something delicate and to be treasured.

Her hands were wandering but my attention was focused on her face. She went over every groove, every ragged bump and crevice deliberately, up until she reached my shoulders, and her hands explored my back—the scars there longer and harsher.

Her jaw clenched as she gazed at me with ferocity.

Time ceased to exist in this space of uncertainty. Her warm hands burned hotter on my skin, sending bolts of electricity in every nook of my being.

“Let me ease your pain.”

My fingers curled, pulling her closer to me. Was this her way of thanking me for tending to her cut? If so, I didn’t want it. I’d done that for my own selfish reasons. To carve it into her mind that she’d never escape me—that she’d never be alone.

“I’m not in pain,piccola ribelle.”

“Then ease mine,” she whispered, leaning down, and kissing me.

The second our lips touched; I was a goner. I had no idea how she could have this indescribable hold on me, but she did.

Her presence calmed that depraved part of me, and I never wanted it to end. I wanted her entwined with me.

I felt her hands between us, and I leaned back to see her untying her robe.

She pulled the fabric open and let it drop, her body completely naked and bewitching.

“You’re killing me,” I hissed through clenched teeth, tilting my head up and staring at her with hooded eyes.

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