Page 64 of Devil Mine

Tristan correctly guesses that I’m dying for Italian food and takes me to a delicious restaurant in Geneva. There, he tells me all about Nera. While I’m concerned that he’s broken our father’s main rule for his exile, I’m also unsurprised – Tristan has always had low impulse control, especially when it comes to women. I assume this is just another of his many meaningless conquests.

But then he starts talking about her, his eyes glazing over and a smitten smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. His words tumble furiously past his lips, almost like he can’t physically keep up with everything he wants me to know about her.

He’s different from the last time I saw him. Happy. Settled. In love, although I’m not sure he even knows he is yet. I’m thrilled for him, but I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that gnaws at me. I never thought my self-proclaimed manwhore of a little brother was going to meet someone before me.

I don’t tell him about our father’s gambling debts or Thiago and our engagement. Where would I even start? I want to focus on the happy news for once. My brother is in love and spending more time pursuing his passion of becoming a chef, and that’s all that matters.

After sharing an ungodly amount of food, I pay the bill and we wrap ourselves back up in our winter coats before heading outside into the frigid January air.

“How have you been?” Tristan asks, holding the door open for me. “And how’s Mum? Has dad been leaving her alone?”

And there it is, the question I’ve been dreading. Guilt eats at me, voracious and relentless. How am I going to tell him that I abandoned her?

“I don’t actually know,” I finally admit.

Tristan frowns, turning to stare at me. “What do you mean? Didn’t you see her this morning before you came here?”

It’s unbelievably cold outside and my remorse does nothing to warm me up. I look away, unable to meet his gaze. He’ll hate me once I tell him.

“It’s a long story, but no. I haven’t. I haven’t seen her–”

My words trail off when Tristan’s eyes lift from my face to something over my shoulder. His face falls, the easy smile wiping instantly off his lips. A look unlike anything I’ve ever seen etches itself across his face.

I feel a presence, something dark and terrifying moving behind me, and my stomach falls because I know deep in my bones exactly who it is. I’m familiar with how his body moves in the dark, like an assassin mastering the shadows and bending them to his will. Warmth spreads at my back, ushering away the cold like it was never even there.

This is where I stop running, I realize that now.

He’s found me and unlike Paris, this time there’s no plexiglass to protect me.

Taking a deep breath, I turn around and come face to face with my very own devil. Even though I expected it, a shocked gasp still rips from my throat when our eyes collide.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to even try and run this time. His hand closes around my throat and squeezes. A squeak falls from my lips and I grab his wrist, but he yanks me against him, his other hand closing around my upper arm.

I’m pinned against him, inches from the deranged, frenetic look in his eyes as his gaze roves over my face. Volatile energy pours off of him in waves, making it clear that this situation could easily turn explosive. The air is charged with his anger, his obvious possessiveness. He hasn’t blinked since he laid eyes on me.

Neither have I.

His hand burns around my throat and when I swallow, he squeezes harder. There’s an invisible thread pulling between us, so strong that when he leans forward I find myself tilting my chin up slightly, inadvertently bridging the gap between us. I’m tethered to him, hooked like a fish on a line as I wait for him to speak.

My eyes drop to his mouth where he’s sucking on a piece of candy. His lips part and the familiar smell of cinnamon hits my nose.

“Found you,” he rasps, something akin to relief echoing briefly in his tone.

I inhale sharply, not in fear but in response to his heated breath caressing my face. His exhales abrade against each and every single one of my nerve endings, overshadowing the tight emotion in his words. Hungry eyes lower down to my mouth, and I start shaking. His hand tightens around my throat.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tristan demands. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

Reality crashes in, shattering our bubble. I’m ashamed to say I momentarily forgot about my brother. Reminded of his presence, I’m concerned for his safety, especially since he’s being held by Marco and Paunchy Guy, who remains nameless still. I’ve seen what Thiago did to my father, what he won’t hesitate to do to anyone who gets in his way.

“Tristan, it’s okay,” I answer, my voice tremulous. Thiago still hasn’t looked away from me, which is good. Hopefully Tristan can get out of this unscathed. “Let my brother go,” I order, with more confidence than I feel.

He doesn’t answer. I’d believe he didn’t hear me if his head didn’t tilt in response, his eyes continuing to dissect me.

“Let him go and I’ll come with you,” I offer.

This time, Thiago’s reaction is immediate. His lip curls up, his grip turning bruising as he snarls, “I’m taking you regardless.”

His words are ice cold, delivered on the edge of a blade, and I realize I’m dealing with the cartel boss now.

---