Page 102 of A Beautiful Crime

“I do loathe you,” I insist, my response immediate.

He sighs, eyes filled with disappointment. Strangely it affects me. No. Absolutely not. Dio mio. I don’t like being the reason disappointment etches his features.

He lets me go then. Coldness embraces where his touch burned. The echoing loneliness returns in my dead heart. I swallow harshly, trying to regain a single ounce of composure but failing.

As he swallows himself I see a bead of crimson pool from his throat and follow the remaining drops down the column of his neck.

Much to my own horror I stare fascinatingly at the sight.

Me, Carina Fiore, has made The Devil of the East Coast bleed. And so easily.

“You’re staring,” he points out rather huskily.

I breathe through my nose. “And you’re bleeding.”

His eyes cut down to the knife still held in my grasp but now loosely. With an expression I can’t possibly read his furrowed finger comes to collect the drop of blood at his throat before it reaches its descent.

With his index finger painted crimson he reaches it out towards me. “Does this satisfy you?” His voice is low, soft. I can’t even begin to understand what it means. And I don’t understand why my body responds to it so.

I answer his question with a question. Evading my dark desires. “Do you want me to take pleasure in your pain?”

“I want the truth from you, Carina. No unspoken truths. No deliciously decadent lies. I want to hear you say it.”

I turn my head to the side, my eyes fighting to look at anywhere but him.

I feel him then, his hand wrapped like a band of steel around my bicep. I feel his chest rise and fall with even breaths against my body.

Those damn unkillable flutters return. The maddening race of my heart starts once again. And I feel so incredibly alive with his touch that it’s startling.

Locking his fingers around my wrist he brings my hand that holds onto the knife between us. He points the tip at his throat. I swallow a gasp.

“If making me bleed is what you wish then I am all too happy to grant it for you.”

He presses the sharp tip of the blade into his skin and I stop him before he can penetrate deeper. “Constantine.” His name falls from my lips in a breathless warning.

“How beautiful it is to hear my name from your lips,” he moans in appreciation. “Say it again.”

I close my eyes, trying with all my might to sever the magnetic pull between us. But I’m spellbound. And if I know anything to be true it is that he and I will always be bound to one another. “Constantine.”

To my utter surprise and own delight he traces my lips with the tip of his tongue. My eyes flutter open as I see him savor the taste.

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. No man I wouldn’t hesitate to kill. A world I wouldn’t gladly burn. What will it take Carina for you to realize that you and I are inevitable? What more must I do?”

“Signore.”

“No,” he says harshly. “No, you are not running from this. You are not going to deny what you know is true. Aren’t you tired of this, Carina?”

“Stop,” I protest weakly.

“Aren’t you tired of running from this?” He releases my bicep to slip his arm around my back, pressing me to him. “Aren’t you tired of running from yourself?”

I shake my head. “I’m not running.”

His eyes flare. “Liar.”

“I am not.”

“All you do is lie, Carina. You lie to your papa. You lie to your brother. You lie to your mama in her grave. You lie to the priest in which you confide in. You lie to me with every breath you take. But it’s you yourself you tell the most heinous lies to.” The knife before us falls as he releases me.

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