Page 42 of A Beautiful Crime

His touch is like a branding to my skin. A burn that frays my nerve endings and has me craving for more.

The startling pace of my heart beat returns. Pounding against my chest wanting to break free and fall in his corrupted hands.

And it can’t be.

Yet my body can’t help but come alive when he’s near.

Why is it that the Devil of the East Coast, the man who killed me himself, the one and only infamous Constantine Donati, is the very same person who is responsible for my re-awakening?

Acid sits heavy at the pit of my stomach.

A bitterness coats my tongue.

Loathing causes my eyes to harden on his.

He smirks. “You will be free from this soon, Carina.” He promises me and I will myself not to react. He leans down to where his lips brush against the shell of my ear. And I hate how I shiver. I feel his lips pull into a smile. “But freeing you from yourself will take much longer if you keep denying the truth.”

I snap my head back and ignore the flames that light across my back as I do. “What truth?” I ask harshly.

He steps away from me but the smirk on his face transforms into a devilish smile. One that will possess you to commit all seven of the deadly sins and worship at his feet.

His eyes, those whisky colored eyes are filled with nothing but dark promise.

And I hate the fact that it calls to me.

That his darkness entices me.

“You and I both know the truth, Carina.” My name sounds like velvet off of his tongue, “Except only I accept it. You’re denying it. Fighting it. All your attempts are futile. You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

My nostrils flare.

The audacity of this man.

Speaking as if he knows me.

Smiling as if he knows my inner turmoil.

He doesn’t.

No one does.

The fight in myself between the darkness and the light.

The fight to bring back the woman before the rebirth. The one my mamma adored.

And the fight to not fall deeper in the temptation of sin. To be cursed to damnation.

“And what is my fate?”

“To not be a pawn but a Queen.”

CHAPTER 8

Carina

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. This is my first confession.” My voice is a haunting melody that softly encompasses the confessional.

I sit inside the wooden structure with a centre compartment that divides the priest and I.

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