Page 54 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“Come on.” I swallow. “I’ll take care of you.”
Trilby
It isn’t fear that makes me look away as I hold out my hand. It isn’t trust either. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion.
I’m pulsing beneath the black silk that covers my body.
I just witnessed a man being murdered, shot at point-blank range and dropped to the ground three feet from where I sat. I watched, frozen and unfeeling, as my fiancé flew out of the car in pursuit of the attacker, without so much as a backward glance. Then I allowed the shock and disorientation to drag me under even as Cristiano yanked me out of the car by my ankles and clutched me to his beating heart.
This whole day has brought back memories I’ve tried so hard to bury. First, the church where I said goodbye to Mama when I was just fifteen. Second, the shooting that took me right back to the day I sat in the back seat of my mother’s car with her blood raining over me.
But now, in the quiet of the underground parking lot, under the dark shadow of the man who’s driven me to safety—the man whose eyes I can’t get out of my head—I’m a weak, boneless mess. I’m itching and aching, in need ofsomething. And a terrifying voice in the back of my head is convinced Cristiano is the only person who can give it to me.
Thick black elevator doors slide apart. Cristiano pulls me inside and presses a series of buttons. I watch the doors close with a sense of detachment. In seconds they’re opening again with a silence that reeks of money.
His hand warms my back, coaxing me into a bright, airy space. My ability to describe my new surroundings is impeded by the fact I’ve never seen anything like it. This place has no windows, just clear glass walls that seem to stretch around the entire outer edge. The view—not just of lower Manhattan but beyond it, to Staten Island and even as far as the Atlantic—tells me we’re almost as high as the clouds. And the furnishings, which initially appear to be minimally chic, are anything but.
Cristiano walks across the floor delivering voice commands to an unknown entity, creating mood lighting, darkened glass, and soft music. When he circles back and comes to a sudden standstill, his brows draw together as if he’s only just realized I’m standing in his apartment.
“Why the mood lighting?” I ask. “It’s mid-afternoon.”
He slowly pushes his hands into his pockets and watches me carefully. “You should try to relax.”
I look around some more. There may as well be bars on the windows for all the freedom I now have. It’s for this reason I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “For whose benefit?”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Yours, of course.” He nods toward a seating area. It’s probably a living room, but it looks too slick andunlived-infor me to comfortably call it that. “Go sit down.”
When I don’t budge, his jaw tics, and he turns to walk into a sleek, modern open-plan kitchen.
I walk up behind him, quietly seething. After witnessing a man being murdered just inches away from me, less than an hour after I sat outside the church of memories I don’t wish to revisit, I feel vengeful. And I’m not about to let anyone tell me what to do.
Fury is suddenly so near to my pores it burns.
I stand close enough to him that I can smell the sweat rising from his back. I fight the urge to place my palms over his thick muscles and feel the damp exertion beneath his shirt. Lust collides with hatred, and for some inexplicable reason, I want to hurt him.
His voice is soft as he turns his head a fraction. “Do as you’re told, Castellano. Go sit down.”
Mine is silky and spiteful as I reply. “Or else?”
His pause drags, and his breaths become heavy. “Don’t test me.”
His tone is thick with warning, but I can’t stop myself. I want to push him. I want to see how hard I can press his buttons before he lashes out at me.
And God, I need him to.
I need a reason tohatehim.
It’s suddenly crystal clear. The only way I can get through this marriage to Savero and have Cristiano in my life is if he gives me a reason to despise him with all my heart—every inch of it.
I speak slowly and with as much venom as I can muster. “Don’t tell me what to do. I am notyoursto order around.”
My heartbeat thumps in my ears as I feel his temperature rise. The heat between his spine and my chest feels oppressive.
I don’t even get a chance to take a breath. In the blink of an eye, I’m spun around and pressed up against a counter,my spine bent backward, with an enormous hand around my throat.
My windpipe is unrestricted, but the threat of its closure is darkly present. My eyes stretch wide, absorbing the stark white ceiling, until his face moves into my view.
He growls through clenched teeth. “What part of ‘don’t test me’ do you not understand?”
