Page 66 of A Beautiful Crime

I swallow thickly. The air is charged between the two of us. One might catch a spark.

I part my lips to respond but before I even get the chance his finger is placed over my lips to silence me. My body burns from his touch in a way that craves. The traitorous organ inside my chest beats loudly, wanting to break free and jump right into his palm. As if that’s where it truly belongs

Whisky color eyes burn into mine. “Don’t lie.”

I respond coolly, trying to impose as unaffected. “It would be worse than death itself.” As I say the words they feel like acid on my tongue. There’s a churning in my stomach that makes me feel awful. It feels too close to regret. When has it been the last time I felt such an emotion?

There’s a flash of disappointment in his eyes followed by a flash of pain. It intensifies the awful twisting in my stomach. His jaw ticks once before he regains composure himself, offering me a curt nod of his head. It feels formal, distant.

Why does it bother me?

Leaving me bereft, without warning he opens the French doors to my papa’s office.

I would earn five lashes if I ever did such a blatant act of disrespect. My back burns just thinking about it.

However disappointed Constantine may be in me, he still outstretches his hand for me to take.

An enigma he is.

A maddening infuriating enthralling fascinating enigma.

One I can’t help but be drawn to.

Icarus to the sun is nothing compared to the way I am with Constantine.

I lay my hand in his and he wraps his fingers around my hand gently. I’ve never known a touch so gentle. Even more so with a man who is clearly upset.

Papa would've struck my face. Luca would've pushed me to the ground.

And yet The Devil of the East Coast caresses my skin as if I’m sacred. As if I am to be worshipped and not punished.

For the life of me I can not figure out the conundrum that is him.

He’s unlike any Made Man I’ve ever known.

He gathers me to his side protectively, and the churning feeling I had in my stomach slowly dissipates.

Despite everything I say and what I try so desperately to convince myself, the feeling I felt after the distance I created between the two of us. . . I don’t wish to experience that again. Which can only lead to sin and damnation for my soul.

I’m starting to wonder if I should care anymore.

Especially when the king of darkness himself has bestowed nothing but light and kindness to me.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the thunderous sound of my papa’s voice. One I’ve been conditioned to fear. Instinct has me wanting to curl my shoulders inwards and hang my head low. “What gives you the right to come in my office uninvited?”

The hand on my hip soothes me with its gentle touch. I peer up at Constantine through my lashes to find him staring down my papa with dark humor. “What gives you the right to think I can’t?”

My papa becomes flustered. An act I have never seen of him. His face as red as the fresh tomatoes in our garden. Unable to meet eyes with Constantine, his accusatory and cutting eyes are given to me instead.

Constantine tsks, as if he’s scolding a young child. “Don Savio Fiore cowering. You won’t look at my fiancé in such a way again.”

An order. Not a request.

I can see the fumes coming from papa’s head. I expect his wrath and I fear his punishment.

“She’s my daughter,” papa insists through clenched teeth.

“I don’t give a fuck if she was the daughter of the King of England. She’s mine. It will be my last name she’ll carry. You have no hold over her, do you understand? Carina is mine. Capisce?”

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