Page 72 of Darkest Oblivion
I sobbed, thrashing helplessly, every shiver and gasp betraying me further.
He dragged his mouth across my thigh again, deliberately close to where I ached most, tormenting, denying.
“Say it, Penelope,” he commanded, his voice guttural, each word branded into me. “Say your body belongs to me. Or I’ll spend the night proving it to you until you scream it without breath left in your lungs.”
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the sound clawing up my throat, muffling the moan that threatened to betray me. Mybody trembled, torn between shame and the dark pull of desire I wanted to bury forever.
“I hate you,” I whispered, my voice raw and shaking, my tears falling harder, faster. “I hate what you’ve become.”
His head lifted.
Those icy eyes locked on mine, burning with obsession—but behind it, a flicker. Pain. Regret. A ghost of the boy who once kissed my knuckles under the stars. For a moment, his hand softened as it cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear as though he hadn’t been the cause of it.
“Penelope,” he murmured, voice low, almost tender. “Stop crying, babygirl.”
The endearment cut worse than a blade. I jerked my face against his palm.
“Take your hands off me,” I snapped, venom in my words even as my traitorous body leaned into his warmth.
My skin burned where he touched me, not with hate, but with longing I despised. I hated myself more for it—for the way my heart still reached for the boy who no longer existed.
His jaw hardened, the softness gone in an instant, his mask of steel snapping back into place.
He pushed to his feet, but a sharp wince broke through as his hand flew to his side. The stitches pulled under the movement, dark red blooming beneath the gauze.
For a heartbeat, he wasn’t untouchable—just a man, bleeding, broken.
But then his voice came, low, dangerous, steady as ever.
“The only reason I didn’t put a bullet through you,” he said, “wasn’t because you’re my wife. And it wasn’t because I need an heir.” His eyes narrowed, fire and ice twined in his gaze. “It’s because it wasn’t the Bellantis who attacked me.”
The words hit harder than his hand ever could. My chest hollowed, shock crashing over me like ice water.
Not the Bellantis?
Giovanni’s words echoed in my mind, a careful, insidious guidance that had led me to spill the truth.
Every question, every gentle nudge, had steered me, pushed me... until I confessed to planting the device Antonio had given me on Dmitri’s phone.
Had Giovanni—his most loyal enforcer—played me like a pawn?
My stomach churned, guilt and confusion tangling until I couldn’t breathe. I’d been used. Not just by Dmitri, but by the one man who had stood at his side through every war.
“Then... who?” My whisper cracked, barely audible, fear and regret wrapping tight around my throat.
His eyes pinned me in place, merciless. “It doesn’t change a thing,” he said, straightening despite the blood seeping through his bandages. “You betrayed me. And betrayal has only one price.”
He leaned down, his breath ghosting over my lips, cold and intoxicating. “You’ll pay for it, milaya. One way or another.”
Chapter 19
PENELOPE
He released my arms from the cuffs, but my legs remained shackled.
“Milaya,” he murmured, a growl that seemed to vibrate through the room, “do you want me to stop because you hate me... or because you’re ashamed of this body, laid bare before me?”
His eyes burned into mine, stripping me as completely as his hands did, and with a deliberate tug, he pulled my top over my head, exposing my stomach.
