Page 15 of Deviant Knight

“How’s the finger,newlittle sister?” He cuts his eyes to her, but there’s amusement behind his words, unlike the hostility he showed me.

“Careful, Dom,” Lorenzo hisses.

Snatching the bottle off the table, I put it to my lips before I say something that will only make my time here worse. Swallowing the liquid, my nose and forehead wrinkle. When I pull the bottle away and look down, I see why.

“You grabbed the wrong beer,” I tell Giovanni, eyeing him as he sits back down across from me.

“No, I didn’t.” He scoots himself forward, then takes a swig from the long-neck bottle, those hard eyes I’ve only noticed today staring at me as if beckoning me to challenge him. I glance at the non-alcoholic beer in my right hand and swallow the nonexistent saliva in my mouth. “You’re nineteen—still a minor. Besides, you’ve already had three. I think that’s enoughrealbeer for the night, don’t you?”

I glance at Tony, his brows raised as his dark eyes work out whatever he’s thinking. The scraping of a chair is the only sound I hear other than the air coming and going from my nasal cavity as my eyes flick from Tony and then back to Giovanni. After a beat, his cold stare leaves mine to look over my head.

I don’t know what I’ve done. Domenico was rude to me first. The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I know the cost of questioning men like him, and I will not put myself through that with these people if I can help it. There is no telling what they’ll do to me.

Good men don’t take possession of another being like they’re a commodity. The warmth I was beginning to feel here was an illusion I crafted in my own head. I’m no safer in this house than I was at my father’s or even the long years I lived in Hell at my great-uncle’s.

They’re all the same.

Criminals.

Heartless.

Cruel.

Scum.

My chair is suddenly yanked backward. A gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“Get up, Ciera,” Domenico orders in that harsh tone I’m starting to think is his usual. My body doesn’t move to obey. It’s taking everything in me to remain still even though I can feel the internal tremors wreaking havoc inside me.

When I continue sitting where I am, waiting for Tony or Giovanni’s permission to move, Domenico’s warm hand wraps around the bend in my arm and then pulls me up from the dining chair. His other hand meets the small of my back and gently pushes, making me take a step, then another, and another, until I’m stopped at the seat Krishna was in moments ago. His right palm skims up my back until he reaches my shoulder, where he lightly presses on me to take a seat. The heat from his hands warms me more than the thick material of the woolen blouse I put on half an hour ago.

My eyes go to Lorenzo, who is eyeing his brother with curiosity, so I glance to where his wife is seated between him and Giovanni. Sasha’s fists are clenched tight at the edge of the table, and there’s a snarl on her lips so sharp it could cut an object. Her left elbow twitches, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was thinking about smashing it into the face of the man that sits to her left, looking impassive. I know first-hand how stupid of an idea that is. She may be tough and strong, but these men are as ruthless as they are wicked.

I can see Krishna moving from my peripheral vision, and after I blink at the bizarre turn of events, my bowl of soup is placed in front of me. Domenico’s chest meets the back of my head as he leans over me, snatching his beer bottle from where it was on the table next to his meal. He holds it in front of me like he wants me to take it, which confuses me even more, so I tip my head back and look up at him from where he’s towering over me.

“You wanted it. Drink it,” he commands. My eyes widen. Giovanni just said no, and now I’m unsure what to do. Slowly, I reach for the bottle, wrapping my hand around the glass. The coldness does nothing to cool down the heat coating my face and neck over being the center of attention as I continue to feel everyone’s eyes on me.

Domenico moves from behind me and takes his seat opposite Tony as my chin descends, my eyes landing on the bottle my hand squeezes. I can’t look at anyone right now, afraid of what I’ll see. Domenico is giving me whiplash, and I don’t know why Giovanni suddenly has an issue with me drinking alcohol.

After a long beat of silence, my gaze snaps to Domenico when he speaks, his eyes on his father. “If she can get married,” he says with venom reverberating through him, “she can drink an alcoholic beverage.”

His dark eyes flick to mine, and I swear they soften just a hair as he stares at me, waiting to see if I will follow the command he issued.

You wanted it. Drink it.

So, that’s what I do. I lift the bottle to my lips, tipping it back and letting the ice-cold liquid flow into my mouth, and as I swallow, I don’t lose eye contact with the man that may very well be my downfall.

CHAPTER 10

DOMENICO

With my laptop perched on my thighs, I rest my shoulder blades against the fabric-covered headrest behind me with pillows bunched at my lower back. I have three standard-sized pillows on my king-sized bed at all times. It’s always been that way, even when I had a full size as a kid. Still to this day, it’s not uncommon for Ren or Si, or even both, to end up sleeping in here from time to time.

It’s always my room we gather in, never theirs. We all have the same size beds, but they prefer to pester me, so the pillows are a permanent fixture. The setup works for whatever strange reason I haven’t an answer for. It feels right, like I’m supposed to have three bodies in my bed, though that isn’t the case tonight.

Glancing to my left, Krishna’s sleeping form takes up the far side, leaving a gap between us. He’s never crashed here before, and I’ve only allowed myself to stay at his apartment once, knowing I need to be home in case something happens and my family is protected. I don’t take unnecessary risks with their lives. My responsibility, first and foremost, is to the three lives I’d give my own for to ensure theirs remained safe. Failing them isn’t an option.

He’s lying on his stomach with his arms tucked underneath the pillow his head is buried in. His forearm tattoos are hidden beneath the pillowcase’s gray, buttery soft fabric as his naked, muscular back rises and falls with each breath. Whereas my minimal ink is scattered around my body, his only takes up space on his flesh from his wrists to his elbows on both arms. It makes admiring the bruises I left on both sides of this torso along his ribcage all the better to see without anything covering the black and blue hues that are tarnishing his milky-white skin.

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