Page 13 of Venice

“Finally, she’s talking sense,” says Mom.

“You’re lucky you’re a grown woman,” says Dad. “Or we’d beat you senseless.”

“We still might,” Mom growls and hangs up.

I look up at my men. Their eyes are so wide, the whites show above and below their pupils.

“Your parents are the true monsters,” says Luca. “I’ve read several articles about their prejudice, but to hear them threaten and make demands of you . . .”

“. . . is unacceptable.” Marcello finishes Luca’s sentence. “You will remain here with us where we can keep you safe, and we’ll find another way to deal with their business.”

I look away. The truth is that I want to stay with my men. I don’t want to go back to my parents.

“Why are they so mean to you?” Emilio reaches for my hand. “Did they really beat you as a child?”

My eyes fill with tears. “They did, but after my brother was born, ten years ago, their demeanor changed, and they became—almost kind. But his death spiraled them, and now they’re even worse than before. Angry, violent, terrible. They always loved him more than they loved me. I assumed it was because I was adopted, and he was the baby my mother tried to have for so many years. Their natural born miracle.”

“Maybe it’s more than that,” says Marcello. “Maybe it’s because you have Signum blood.”

I glance at him, the tallest and strongest of the three. His dark curls are mussed from sleep, but he’s still just as commanding.

“I have always felt different,” I say. “But I hope that’s not why.” I still can’t fully accept all the supernaturals that live among us.

Luca takes my other hand. “You are different Diva, you’re beautiful and talented and strong and amazing.”

I beam at him. Emilio releases one hand and crouches at my feet. Bending down, he unlocks the ball and chain, then sits on the floor to remove each ankle shackle. He rubs my feet and leans in to kiss them.

My center heats at his touch, and I am forced to admit the truth to myself. I wanted to make that call. I wanted my parents to stop persecuting werewolves. Shit, these three really are growing on me. I look down at Emilio, and he looks up. Our eyes lock, and my heart flutters. Is it possible that I love him too? And if I am in love with him, aren’t I also in love with all three of them?

Chapter Eleven

Diva

“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marcello stands and motions his pack mates to follow him into the kitchen. Emilio stands and places a tender kiss on my lips, and Luca kisses the back of my hand. Then they follow their leader. Marcello speaks in a voice too low for me to hear.

I take the time alone to admire the decor of their house. Houses in Venice are from another era. The interior of this one belies the exterior. It’s fashionable and eclectic.

The downstairs is an open floor plan with the kitchen, dining, and living room combined. Everything is sleek and black, even the kitchen appliances. Muted lights spray the walls with decorative colors instead of artwork.

The dining room table is a black rectangle with curved silver legs. It matches the ten chairs that are placed around it.

I peek around and spot a spiral staircase made of seemingly floating black wooden steps. Dripping down the center are lights that resemble small bright globes.

I pick up my spoon and play with the now cold and congealed oatmeal in front of me. The coffee is cold too, but at least it isn’t congealed, so I take a sip.

The men return from the kitchen. Marcello stands over me and scoops me up. I wrap my arms around his neck. He carries me upstairs and the other two follow.

The bedroom they carry me into is similarly themed to the rest of their house. It sports black wooden furniture with chrome accents. The bed is covered in a red duvet, but the pillows propped against the wall are clad in black cases.

Marcello places me down on the large bed. Emilio walks around the room lighting candles on wall sconces. This looks like their fuck room for sure.

“Is this one your bedrooms?” I ask from my perch.

“It’s the guest room.” Luca sits down next to me.

“For lady guests only?” I add a lilt to my voice, hoping they won’t sense the jealousy that’s brewing.

“Not at all.” Emilio finishes lighting the last candle. “But some of our married friends stay here and have requested a romantic touch.”

---