Page 52 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

I babble nonsense. It’s just air coming from my mouth, not real words. My brain is screaming at me to yell at him, hit him, curse at him.Get away from me!

But that would be a lie. I don’t want his hand to disappear. I want more of it. I want those lips where his hands are. I want him to choke the air from my throat while we find out just how deep those fingers can go, how wide I can spread for him.

There’s no maybe about it anymore—I’m truly falling to pieces.

“I don’t think you want that at all. I think you are dripping wet for me, darling. I can feel it. Oh yes, dripping wet indeed. But,” he says, looking fake-thoughtful for a moment, “just say the word and I’ll let you run along.” His eyes sparkle. “If you want, that is.”

My mouth parts. I don’t know what to say. I’m on fire, burning up from the inside out. My lower belly is knotted up so tight that I’m afraid it’ll snap my spine in half. His touch, his scent, his lips, his words—they’re all washing over me like an ocean of fire.

“Let me go,” I whisper finally in a hoarse voice. It’s pathetic, but it’s the best I can manage.

Leo holds onto me for one moment longer. Then his face splits into that cruel smile and he releases me. His hand retreats from between my legs. I feel cold and incomplete in its absence, like someone just ripped out a crucial part of me.

He whirls away without another word and continues up the stairs. “Hurry up,” he commands as he vanishes around the bend above me. “We don’t have all night.”

I try to examine my surroundings as we push the tapestry aside and move through the interior of the mansion, but Leo is walking fast and I’m having a hard time keeping up. Each of his strides is long and athletic. Meanwhile, I’ve spent a week or so chained in a damp dungeon with little to drink and less to eat, so I’m not exactly ready for the Boston Marathon.

What I do manage to observe is breathtaking. The room beyond the tapestry that hides the spiral staircase is even bigger than I realized on the night I tried to escape. The ceilings are impossibly high. I could swear that I see a bat or two flitting around in the upper reaches. Up here is made of stone, too, though the floors are marble and covered with exotic-looking rugs. The fireplace in the center is massive and surrounded by comfortable-looking plush armchairs. I see mahogany tables displaying jewelry and chandeliers dripping with thousands of crystals that refract the firelight. Hanging on the walls everywhere I look are oil portraits of proud men and women. They all have the same hard set to their jaw and the same aquiline nose that tells me I’m looking at generations of Biancis.

But I don’t have time to stop and gawk at the family lineage. Leo is walking down a long corridor that extends away from the left-hand side of the great room. I follow him in a hurry, keeping the blanket clutched close. I have the sudden burning realization of feeling so naked. In the cell, it almost became an afterthought. Up here, though, I feel wildly out of place. This isn’t just a home. This is a mansion, a historical landmark. The walls themselves feel old and important, like they’re looking down at me in stern disapproval.

I shrink into myself and walk faster.

There’s no sign of the other brothers or of anyone else as we move down a dark hallway and emerge into another small, circular common room area. Five hallways branch off it, radiating out like spokes on a wheel. He selects the farthest to the left without breaking stride.

A few steps down it, we stop outside of a huge wooden door that reaches all the way up to the double-height ceiling. Leo turns the handle and ushers me inside.

As soon as he does, my jaw drops.

This is it. The bedroom from my dream.

I step into the room and marvel at details that I know I have seen before. The four-poster bed sits against one wall. It is carved with lions and eagles in pursuit of one another. I step close and run my fingers up and down the fine woodwork.

Turning, I look to the far wall. The double doors to the bathroom are propped open, revealing an expanse of white- and gray-swirled marble. It gleams like it’s glowing.

I keep turning in place, surveying my surroundings. The walls of the bedroom are a deep sea green, flecked subtly with gold. I circle slowly around the room. I have an insatiable need to touch everything. My fingers ghost across the rich wooden credenza, the dresser, the nightstand, the gilded frame of a stormy scene depicted in dark, slashing oils.

I almost want to cry.

It’s too much. Like drinking from a firehose after nearly dying of thirst in the desert. The sensory overload is short-circuiting my brain. I turn to look at Leo, tears in my eyes.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask in a voice that I’m trying and failing to keep from quivering like a little girl on the verge of a meltdown.

He looks at me oddly. “This is where you’re going to stay now.”

“Here?”

“Yes,” he says, almost with irritation. “Here.”

I want to ask why, but I’m afraid to know the answer.

Just let yourself have this moment,I beg silently. I’ve been through so much. Even if this is merely foreplay to another horrible twist of events, just enjoy it while it lasts. After all, I might not ever get something like this again. Life is turning out to be far bleaker than I ever imagined it could possibly be. If I can have just sixty seconds of perfect, then I owe it to myself to take it.

So I do exactly that. I sigh and savor the scent of a cedarwood candle burning on the nightstand. I look at my feet and see the teasing play of evening sun streaming through the gauzy curtains and lighting up my skin. I let my fingertips rest on the down comforter. It feels like a cloud.

“Anyways,” Leo says after a moment. He doesn’t sound quite so irritated now. He must be pitying me. I’m sure I look like something worth pitying, though I didn’t think any of the Bianci brothers were capable of that emotion. “Dinner is in ninety minutes. You’ll need to shower and dress before then. As delicious of a morsel as you may be, time in those dungeon cells doesn’t do anyone’s beauty any good. I am here to supervise.”

“To supervise what?”

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