Page 55 of Tide of Treason
With a frustrated sigh, I reached for my phone, scrolling past missed calls, ghosted reminders, texts from people I wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire. Paused on one.
Niccolò:Hearing your voice would almost make me miss my own.
Niccolò:Seriously, though—did you buy stock in my patience? Because I think I’m finally out.
Niccolò:A girl at the club last night actually laughed at my jokes.
I didn’t respond right away. Mostly because I was trying not to gag at the idea of anyone laughingwithhim.
Me:I guess miracles do happen.
The reply came faster than his orgasms used to.
Niccolò:You’re a heartless BIYCH.
I blinked. Frowned at the typo. Y was next to T, but even his keyboard couldn’t defend him. It was the most insulted I’d ever seen him, which said more about his standards than mine. Smirking, I tossed my phone onto the counter and popped the lid off the baked ziti. It was warm. Soft noodles, tangy sauce. Smoked with garlic and grandmotherly judgment. Made with love or layered spite. I never could tell the difference.
The bedroom door whispered open, a shadow unfurling from the threshold. Lucius stepped through, sleepy-eyed and bare-chested, wearing nothing but low-slung sweats and the remnants of last night’s scratches down his back. He ran a hand over his face, jaw flexing, gaze sweeping the room beforelanding on me. I took another bite and held his stare until he blinked away the sleep.
My phone buzzed. Again.
“No wonder you struggled taking my dick,” he mused out loud, wandering to the cabinets.
The fork I was lifting froze midair.
“What.”
He snagged a box of that exorbitantly priced, organic rainbow cereal and rattled it. “Probably because you’ve only ever fucked those plain, pale Italians with dicks the size of elevator buttons. You’re used to pressing ‘close doors,’ not taking the ride.”
When I continued to stare at him, he met my gaze with a lift of one brow and punctuated the moment with an obnoxiously loudcrunchof cereal.
“The last man who tested me the way you do is bobbing in the Hudson,” I warned. “Seven pieces. Each tagged with my initials in hydraulic red.” I promptly ignored the flutter low in my stomach. It had started the moment I’d woken up with my face pressed against his throat and his hand draped over my waist.
Blue eyes glinted.
“I mean it, Lucius.”
Ignoring me, he went straight for my plate.
I smacked his knuckles. Heat zinged up my arm, annoying and electric. “Touch my ziti again and I’ll string you up beside Hudson Boy.”
He shook his head, mouth full. “You really don’t share,do you?”
“Not with men who put bullets in my relatives.”
“Brando fucking deserved it.”
I tilted my head, brow arched. “Did he?”
Lucius looked me dead in the eye. “Absolutely. He called your sister a confused little dyke. What confused me, Kayla, is that I only shot him once.”
The only thing worse than this man’s honesty was how it blistered through my skin and left me with the acid burn of respect. I would’ve denied it, if I thought I could get away with lying to myself.
My phone buzzed again.
Niccolò.
Again.
