Page 17 of Filthy Little Regrets

His eyes glint when ours clash. “What was that? What the fuck were you thinking?”

I rear back. “Excuse me? There’s a fucking dead body in the next room, Mace!” As soon as the words are out, I know it was a bad idea to shout, and he goes from angry to furious in a matter of seconds.

One moment, he’s a few feet away, and the next, he’s pushing me into the wall, pinning me to it with a hand around my throat. My pulse careens off its tracks, my breath stumbling in my lungs. His fingers aren’t as tight as they could be, but I still feel trapped, caged in. The shadows in his gaze have my scream evaporating, and intrigue flares.

There’s that darkness I recognize.

Mace searches my face for a few seconds, making sureI’m not going to scream again before growling, “The fucking mafia, Cassia? Do you have a death wish?”

I scoff. “Me?” I grab his forearm and try to rip his hand from my throat, but it’s useless. Mace is too strong. “You’re the one sucking mafia dick.”

“Careful,” he says, voice low and full of venom. There’s a promise of violence in the way he searches me, and without even having to say it, I can hear the warning.Don’t make me hurt you.

Fear has adrenaline shooting through my veins, hot like acid, and everything in the room seems to hyper focus. His breaths are harsh. His pulse thrums against my skin, a fast and brutal beat vibrating through the pads of his fingers. His navy irises flicker with ire.

“Are you going to kill me?” The question comes out of me in a spike of panic.

He stiffens. “I’m going to do what I can to protect you.”

Well, that’s comforting.

The backs of my eyes burn. “So what, I’m supposed to marry you?” It’s not a death sentence, but it may as well be. I don’t even like him. How am I supposed to agree tothrough sickness and in health?

“You don’t have a choice if you want to live.” He says it as if he’s giving me a choice, but there’s not much of a choice when saying no means staring down the barrel of a gun.

Helplessness pours through my veins. Digging my nails into his forearm, I drop my head against the wall and stare at the ceiling as desolation hollows my chest. “I can’t believe you’re working with the mafia.”

“Cassia,” he says, fingers flexing on my throat. “Please use your beautiful brain. Do you think I had a choice?”

My gaze flies to his. “Did you tellthem Luca was working with Moro...Morozov?” The real question is,are you the reason he died?I should know what type of man I’m marrying. He doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t. I still don’t understand why he saved me.

“Lucawasworking with Morozov. Understood?”

Meaning,catch the fuck up, Cassia! I lied to the head of the mafia to save your life.Swallowing, I nod.

“You should be more careful,” Mace says.

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking terrified.” Pretty sure I won’t be on the darknet anytime soon. The dark threads of his irises seem to grow. Mace could have handed me over. My gut churns. Why didn’t he tell them it was me?

“The mafia is no joke.”

“This is a great pep talk,” I say, desperately trying to fight the anxiety clawing through me. Sarcasm will only work for so long, though.

He lifts a shoulder. “It’s not meant to be one. This is who I’m”—he pauses and scowls—“whowe’redealing with.”

I don’t want to marry him. “Can’t you tell him we called off the wedding?”

He gives me a look.

Heaving out a breath, I mutter, “Great. Will you let me down?”

Releasing me, he takes a small step back. The distance is a canyon yawning between us. Without him trapping me, the reality of the situation sharpens and stabs my chest, penetrating through the wall I had raised to block out the panic. I spiral down into the chaotic mess inside my head, diving into a million bloody scenarios, horrific ends. Bullets to the chest. Hands around my throat, strangling. A pillow shoved over my face.

Snuffing me out.

Erasing my existence.

My lungs tighten. I clutch my chest, trying to force a breath, but it’s impossible.

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