Page 38 of Kissing the Villain

Marcello locked onto me with his usual stern expression as I bit into the first slice of toast.

“You should smile. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“It might.”

Leaning back in his chair, he acted as if he hadn’t climbed into bed with me to pull me from my nightmare, like this was a normal thing we did.

As he typed a new text message, I studied his profile, noting the strength in his jaw and the hardness of his attractive features. Like his brother, he had the perfect bone structure and flawless skin. I wanted to paint him so badly that my fingers itched for the chance. The Salvatores were cold and cruel, but they were also beautiful.

“Did your mom ever paint you?”

He greeted me with more silence.

I was not giving up without a fight. Ideas for paintings raced through my mind, and I needed his cooperation to bring theconcept to life. He seemed okay with sitting still for hours at a time. Maybe with a little convincing, he would let me sketch him.

I was known for theMany Faces of the Devilseries. Lonely Boy could be the first in theLonely Heartscollection. Yeah, that would work.

I finished my second slice of toast and strolled over to my handsome captor. “How about we make a deal?”

He glanced up from his phone. “For deals to work, you must have something to offer.”

Wiggling my eyebrows, I tugged at the seam of his dress shirt that rode up my thighs. “There must be something you want from me.”

“I could bind your hands and mouth and leave you to rot in this room until Luca comes home.” He grinned. “How does that sound, princess?”

I shook my head, disappointed with the sudden change of events. What happened to the man who held me in his arms and whispered I was safe? It didn’t take long for him to disappear.

Shoving my hand through his thick hair, I pulled on the ends, forcing him to look up at me. “You’re a real jerk, Marcello Salvatore.”

A really sexy one.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by my advances. “If you want to shower, get moving. I don’t have all day.”

18

ALEX

Marcello droveme to Wellington Manor for dinner, promising to return in a few hours. As I strolled down the hallway, I got the same eerie feeling from childhood. The home’s interior did not fit my grandfather’s personality. Wellington Manor was cold and sterile. With its white walls, floors, and minimal color, even the expensive paintings couldn’t bring this place to life.

I entered a sitting room larger than the entire first floor of my childhood home. My mother sat on a bench by the window with an old-fashioned cigarette holder in her hand. A plume of smoke gathered around her head like a halo. She wore her blonde hair in a neat updo and a champagne-colored gown that flowed around her ankles.

Where is my mother?

The alien in front of me swapped bodies with my mom. She had been in Devil’s Creek for a few hours and had already slipped back into her role as the daughter of a Big Pharma mogul. This was the first time my grandfather had allowed my mother to come home in thirty years. She was disowned when she left—her punishment for marrying my father.

“Darling,” my mother said, appraising my appearance with disgust.

Darling?

I almost laughed.

For most of my life, she called me Little Bitch as if it were my name. But after Pops saved Aiden and me after years of suffering, she stopped calling me names.

All of her mental and emotional torture ended. It was the only way he would give this pathetic bitch a cent. My dad was a mediocre architect, and my mom was a wannabe contemporary artist. Between the two of them, my parents hadn’t found success.

“You look a mess,” my mother said in a clipped tone. “Wash your hands. I can see acrylic paint under your dirty nails.” She scoffed as if the thought of using acrylic paint was beneath her.

I used acrylics for all of my Devil’s paintings. The snotty art critics and cynics could suck it. I didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought.

---