Page 65 of Brutal Devil
Saint stops texting and glances up at me. “You worried?”
“No.”
Yes.
Damn it, Iamworried about him. Because I’m actually starting to like the man. I’m starting to like a murderer, a criminal, and a psycho. But the weird thing is, being down here with Priest and Saint for the last week has shown me that despite everything, nothing is as black-and-white as I thought it was. These men are gangsters, yes, but there are also parts of them that can be good. It’s all a big, confusing gray area.
“He’s not as bad as you think he is, you know,” Saint says like he was reading my mind.
“Right,” I say sarcastically. “He’s such a great guy, forcing me into marrying him and then imprisoning me in a basement mobster lair, keeping my phone from me and allowing me no contact with the outside world after my father was murdered in front of me.”
Saint winces. “It’s for your own good. Your father knew that, and it’s why he wanted the marriage between you and Priest. Reuniting the two families is what’s best.”
“Maybe it’s what’s best for the Revellos and the Andrianis, but what about what’s best for me?” I’m getting worked up again, so many new emotions rebelling inside me.
“What’s best for the familiesiswhat’s best for you. Being Mrs. Matteo Andriani is what’s best.”
I choke out a bitter laugh. “Of course it is, because it’s what suits the Andrianis.”
“You’re the don’s wife. Most women would kill to be you.”
The thought of other women falling all over Priest makes me want to throw something. It’s an irrational reaction. Despite the fact that we’re temporarily married and I had sex with him, I have no claim on the man. As soon as this shitshow is cleared up and I can leave the safe house, I’m getting my life back. He can have all the women in his bed he wants.
“Then he can have any of those women in my place,” I bite out, annoyed at just how much the thought of Priest and other women bothers me, on a cellular level. “Or all of them.”
“I don’t think you really mean that.”
Because I don’t. Or at least the stupid, weak, hormonal part of me doesn’t. That part of me is all in for more rounds of Priest going down on me and then giving me his magical mobster cock. I allow none of this to show on my face, keeping my expression carefully indifferent.
I raise my eyebrows and give Saint a so-what look. “I do.”
“Priest is doing his best to keep you safe. I know you’ve been out of the life for the last few years and your father did his best to insulate you from his business, but this is some serious, fucked-up shit, Luna.”
“You think I don’t know how serious and fucked up this world is? I do. That’s why I’ve spent the last five years doing everything I can to stay far, far away from it.”
I’m so worked up now that I want to throw something. I’m angry. Angry with myself for coming here at all. Angry with whoever murdered my father. Angry with Priest for keeping me here against my will. Angry with how electric we are together. Angry that I’m actually sitting here, a lump of dread in my stomach, worrying over a gangster I barely know.
A gangster I married.
A gangster who fucked me so good that my body is still humming with the aftereffects, hours later.
“Oh God.” I hang my head and hide my face in my hands.
That last part is the worst, and there’s no way I can pretend it didn’t happen.
“Do you really believe your father was going to allow you to leave this life?” Saint asks quietly.
I stiffen and jerk my head back up. “He promised me. He sent me away.”
“But he broke that promise when he ordered you home under false pretenses.”
Saint’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I’m more than aware of who and what my father was. His death didn’t magically expunge his record with me.
“The Andrianis didn’t leave him with much choice, did they?”
“Your father arranged the marriage with Priest. It was Tomasso’s idea from the beginning.”
Saint looks and sounds earnest. But he could be lying to me. Heisan Andriani. The enemy. He might be oddly endearing nowthat I’ve gotten to know him a little, but I have no reason to trust him.
