“You,” I snarl when I reach her, my voice razor-sharp. “A word. Now.”
Lorenzo steps forward, positioning himself between us like some kind of fucking knight. “This isn’t the time,” he says, his Italian accent thickening with tension.
I laugh, the sound brittle enough to crack glass. “Move.” The single word carries enough threat to make lesser men piss themselves. But this idiot doesn’t move.
Aurelia’s hand touches Lorenzo’s arm, a gesture that sends fresh rage coursing through me. “It’s fine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll talk to him.”
I don’t wait for more discussion. My fingers wrap around her upper arm, squeezing. I drag her away from the crowd, from Lorenzo’s watchful eyes, toward a secluded alcove formed by empty wine barrels and stone. Every step feels like walking through fire, my skin burning where it meets hers.
When we’re hidden from prying eyes, I release her with a shove that sends her stumbling back against the rough stone wall. She looks like a wounded deer, eyeswide and glistening, a slight tremble in her lower lip that tugs at something deep and buried in my chest.
For a heartbeat—just one fucking traitorous heartbeat—I want to gather her in my arms and protect her from whatever has put that fear in her eyes. Even though I know I’m the one causing it.
Then I remember Adrian’s blood pooling on the carpet. The way my mother sobbed in my arms. The poison in Martinelli’s glass.
The softness crumbles, replaced by concrete rage.
“Martinelli?” I spit the name like it tastes foul. “Today of all days? Are you really that fucking cruel?”
She straightens, lifting her chin in that defiant way that’s always made me want to kiss her senseless. “I didn’t kill him. I had nothing to do with this. I swear. I would never?—”
“Bullshit.” I step closer, close enough to smell the faint trace of plain soap on her skin. “You found out he killed Lucian and decided to play a fucking game. To taunt me publicly.”
“He what?” Her eyes widen and then flash, a spark of that fire I’ve always loved—that I’ve always hated loving. “I didn’t know he killed Lucian. And I didn’t do this!” Her delicate jaw sets in a stubborn line. “You think I’d be stupid enough to kill someone at an event where I’m already the prime suspect for—” She cuts herself off, swallowing hard and pressing those full, pink lips together.
“For murdering my brother?” I finish for her. “Go ahead. Say it.” I lean closer until our facesare inches apart. “Say his name. Adrian. The man you claimed to care about for ten years before you put a bullet in him.”
“I didn’t!” Her voice cracks, eyes blazing with something that looks suspiciously like truth. “Your mother killed him. I told you that?—”
I grab her arms so hard it’ll bruise and shove her back into the stone wall. “Stop fucking lying! How am I supposed to believe that? My own mother? Are you insane? You’d have a better chance of convincing me it was a random burglar.” My hand slams into the wall beside her head, making her flinch. “So tell me the goddamn truth.Whydid you kill him?”
She doesn’t back down. If anything, she looks more determined as she leans closer, her breath warm against my cheek. “Here’s the truth, you idiot. Your precious mother is a fucking liar. She used me to eliminate threats to your position. She manipulatedallof us.”
My other hand finds the wall on the opposite side of her head, caging her in. “You expect me to believe that? After you killed Victoria against my direct orders? After you spent months executing your little revenge plans and showing me just how good you are at getting away with murder?”
“That’s different and you know it.” Her eyes dart to my lips for the briefest second, and something electric snaps between us. “I never lied to you about wanting those people dead. But Adrian and Martinelli?” She shakes her head. “I had nothing to do with either of them. I swear on my mother’s grave, and you know she means everything to me.”
For a moment—just one stolen moment—my eyestrace the curve of her mouth. The lips I’ve tasted more times than I can count. The same lips that have whispered filthy desires in my ear, that have pressed against every inch of my skin. My body remembers hers like a song I can’t forget, and the melody pulses through me, drowning out reason.
Especially knowing that fucker Lorenzo is hovering nearby, watching her with those hungry eyes. He must want her all to himself, the filthy bastard.
She’s stillmine.
My hands are braced on either side of her head, my body caging her in. Her sweet scent fills my lungs with every ragged breath. I’m trying to hate her. Trying to remember all the reasons I should crush her throat beneath my palms. But this close, with her chest rising and falling rapidly, her pulse visible at the hollow of her throat, hatred feels too much like something else.
Something in me gives—a dam breaking, flooding every rational thought with pure, primal need. I grab her face, fingers tangling in her hair, and crush my mouth against hers.
She tries to scream, but I swallow the sound, pressing her against the wall with my body so there’s no escape.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s punishment and pleasure wrapped into one brutal claiming. My teeth catch her lower lip, biting down until I taste copper, until she gasps and cries out. My tongue invades the warm cavern of her mouth, demanding her surrender while my body presses hers firmly against the wall, letting her feel every hard inch of what she does to me, as maddening as it is.
She fights me—I wouldn’t expect anything less. Her small fists pound against my chest, nails clawing at my shoulders. She turns her face away, breaking the kiss with a strangled sound that’s half sob, half fury.
“Stop,” she hisses, pushing against me with surprising strength. “You can’t just?—”
I recapture her mouth, swallowing her protests. She doesn’t get to tell me what to fucking do. One hand slides down to grip her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to mark her.Mine.The word echoes through my skull with each thundering heartbeat.
Her resistance is crumbling; I can feel it in the way her body softens, in the slight parting of her lips and her cries that are turning to moans. Her hands still push at my chest, but the pressure is weakening. She’s fighting herself now more than me.