Page 78 of The Devil Can Be Kind

“What the hell is your problem? Weren’t you ever taught to knock?” I huffed, feelingverynaked and all kinds of tingles that my mental bat was not doing a good job at smacking away.

His eyes were cold as they met mine. “You have two hours before guests start arriving.”

“What guests?” I spluttered.

“Today has been cause for celebration.” When my blank expression didn’t change, he continued, “Pretty Penny Loans has been dealt with,” He said smoothly.

My shock must have registered on my face.

Only a week had elapsed since I’d told them about the vault, and now I was finding out they had already carried out an attack. The amount of power the La Torre’s—Marco—possessed was sobering.

I swallowed heavily as I thought of the people that worked there and the deal I had made for him to spare them.

“The staff, did you kill them?” I demanded, blood draining from my face, part of me too afraid to hear the answer.

He appeared irked at my obvious concern and remained silent as he observed my reaction.

Overcome with the desperate need to know the truth and whether I had been the executioner of innocents, I rushed over to him and gripped his shirt between my hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t. Please tell me you are not like my father.Please,” I begged. Some of my carefully locked away emotions clawed their way back to the surface in my desperation, making my voice waver, something inside me threatening to snap.

I could see the hint of a scowl forming between his brows. “I told you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” His voice was firm.

It rung with truth.

A weight I didn’t realize I had been holding lifted from my shoulders and I sagged against his chest in relief. My forehead resting against the soft material of his shirt while his familiar spicy cologne enveloped me like a comforting embrace.

Before I could move myself away or rationality could rush back in, a heavy set of arms wound around my waist. He pulled me into the hard plains of his chest, and I felt Marco’s lightly stubbled chin come to rest against my head.

“Guess that means you’re coming with me to Sicily.” He observed quietly, an edge of humor creeping into his voice.

My voice was muffled. “Thank you.”

“Tell me you were wrong about me. That I’m not the monster you thought I was.” His voice was rough, smoldering with an intensity I couldn’t place.

I pulled away and stared up into his familiar eyes, seeing a storm hidden beneath their surface.

“I was wrong. You are not the monster I thought you were.”

With that statement hanging in the air I realized my feelings toward the man had inevitably resurfaced, impossible to fight off.

I was drawn to him.

The power, the control, and the fact he let me push buttons no one else alive was allowed to press, had culminated into an attraction that burrowed beneath my skin and crawled unrelentingly in my veins.

The fact that I was still alive was testament to the fact that hewasdifferent, and despite everything, he had listened to me when I’d asked him to spare the lives of people I had once known. That was something that no other man in his position would have done. No other Don would have cared for the wishes of a traitor’s daughter.

The feelings I had desperately tried to lock away in favor of self-preservation, were now escaping the cage I had so artlessly created. The irresistible pull I felt toward Marco weakened any remaining threads of self-restraint I had left, and it was only a matter of time before the cage would give way completely.

It didn’t matter what this man wanted from me anymore or what the damage would be to my soul—it was inevitable I would give myself to him.

Just as the mafioso becomes compelled by the irresistible pull of the trigger—it was too late for me to find another way.

To sayI was being glared at by seventy percent of the guests in attendance would have been an understatement.

The La Torre family were unmistakable amongst the swathing crowd gathered in the grand entrance hall, leaking out toward the terrace. All of them had raven colored hair and similarly darkened irises. All were beautiful, handsome, or at the very leastattractive. I felt horribly out of place surrounded by such glamorous and wealthy people. Though that was hardly surprising given the steady stream of disdainful glances I was getting.

It made the Mannino family gatherings look like child’s play. Like uncivilized desperation and new-money ignorance. I couldn’t help but feel stupid. I had no idea what true wealth really looked like until I came here.

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