Page 38 of A Beautiful Crime

Those coal black eyes soften.

And everything else ceases to exist.

There’s just him and I.

The Devil of the East Coast and the dead woman walking.

Constantine Donati and Carina Fiore.

Time stands still.

The world is bending at our will.

“Carina,” my brother’s voice calling out my name with reprimand in his tone causes the world to snap.

And with that snap everything goes back to how it was before.

Back to the void.

Back to the abyss.

Back to loathing.

Constantine’s eyes return to black coal as they sharpen on my brother like a butcher’s knife. His eyes flick down to the stain of my blood on his shirt and then back to me.

And if my brother wasn’t furious before I know he certainly is now.

Not only have I eavesdropped and gotten caught, disrespecting him once again, I am also terribly indecent.

The beige colored bandage wraps that Giuseppe dressed me in cover the entirety of my torso. On my bottom half, to not rub against the bandages, I only have on a pair of simple black boy short panties.

I would be embarrassed if I could feel such a thing anymore.

I would be frightened by the look in Luca’s eyes but with him here, with Constantine only so close to grasp Luca around the throat, I don’t feel frightened at all.

And I don’t know how to feel about that.

I don’t know how to feel with the man that I loathe becoming my sword and shield.

But then again, who is more frightening than the devil himself?

Luca goes to take a threatening step towards me. No doubt to berate me and god knows what else, when he’s stopped by the heavy hand of Constantine laying on his shoulder.

Luca freezes beneath him but turns his head to spit at him, “Take your fucking hand off of me.”

Constantine speaks calmly, too calm, and it reminds me of the tone that papa uses. The calm cool tone that kills. “You take another step towards her and it will be more than my hand on you.”

The threat takes me by surprise but I do not let it show.

“She isn’t yours yet, Constantine,” Luca reminds him with bite in his tone.

The only word that I’m focusing on is yet.

I’m not Constantine Donati’syet.

But I will be.

And for some reason unbeknownst to me I feel a dash of excitement, a bit of thrill.

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