Page 57 of Twisted Embrace

I didn’t bother looking him in the eye, instead keeping my concentration on the woman with the fiery red hair and caustic attitude to match.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I’d felt something other than anger and hatred or desire for brutal sex. I felt a yearning that grabbed me by the balls, twisting my mind into thinking that I could share in the happiness and joy like what I’d witnessed in D’Artagnan and Lucia, others as well.

However, somewhere in the back of my mind I was well aware that at any moment, day or night, the exhilaration could be shattered by the very acts of violence that came second nature to me.

That wasn’t going to occur.

Anyone that dared take what already belonged to me would face a fate far worse than the assassin at the hospital.

“Chi attraversa un mostro dovrà sempre affrontare le fiamme dell’inferno.”

Those who cross a monster will always face the fires of hell.

CHAPTER 17

Joy

I remembered playing a game with a girlfriend of mine we called the ‘What If’ scenario. We both had vivid imaginations, making up fantastical heroes on huge black horses that would carry us off into the sunset. As we grew older, our games often included the most spectacular location for our perfect wedding. She almost always chose somewhere tropical, likely because her parents had always taken her and her brother on amazing vacations. My parents had taken me to Florida once.

That left me dreaming about faraway places including Italy. I’d conjured up the perfect setting with a cloudless day and cerulean blue skies, a church that had survived hundreds of years, gothic and gorgeous. I’d pictured the dress, white satin with just a hint of lace, mermaid in style and perfect for my hourglass figure.

I’d envisioned myself walking down a velvet-covered path in a beautiful meadow where the lush green foliage swayed lightly in the breeze, the scent of flowers coming from every direction. But the piece de la resistance was always the gorgeous hunk waiting for me with tears in his eyes. Insanely gorgeous, carved from stone with the soul of a lover and the heart of a warrior.

Somehow, I’d found a warrior but not only was his body made of stone, his heart and soul were as well. The fleeting glimpse of raw concern I’d seen immediately after the near tragedy in the hospital had faded, the deep blue shimmer of his eyes turning almost entirely obsidian black.

I’d stayed numb for much of the flight and other than checking on Lucia several times, I’d remained in my seat. I wanted to think it was because I was finally accepting of the hand of fate I’d been dealt but the truth was actually much deeper. The moment Enzo had driven the knife into the man who’d attacked me, I’d felt glee. That wasn’t like me. I wasn’t the girl who cheered on the killer in the movie.

Then there was the fact I’d melted the second he’d placed his arms around me, holding me as if nothing else in the world mattered. His kiss has brought me back to life in ways I would never be able to explain to anyone else. I’d felt free and happy even in the face of extreme violence. What had that turned me into?

As the driver of the Escalade pulled through a set of iron gates, I leaned against the window behind him. Two guards flanked the massive opening and I suspected there were others walking the perimeter. I caught a glimpse of stone walls that had to be eight feet tall surrounding a portion of the property.

There were three other black SUVs exactly like the one we were in sandwiching D’Artagnan and Lucia in the one behind us. The first Cadillac in line as well as the last car in our entourage were full of armed soldiers, all huge burly men in dark suits. I was spun back in time to another fairytale, only one that was reminiscent of a horror movie on Friday night.

I pressed my hand against my eye, grateful the ice Enzo had continuously brought me during the flight had lessened the swelling, aspirin dulling the ache. Fortunately, the slight cut hadn’t needed stitches. I would be a black and blue mess in no time, but I was alive. The poison inside the syringe had been identified as a sedative. The assassin had meant to take me hostage as the others had attempted.

And they would try again and again until they managed to steal me away.

A nervous laugh bubbled to the surface as I studied the incredible grounds. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the beautiful estate was nothing more than a painting from my dream. The landscaping was so lush that the color wasn’t represented on a palette, flowers so vivid they took my breath away. The expansive cobblestone driveway provided a dull set of vibrations that were somehow as alluring as the property.

As the parade of vehicles continued, I noticed at least six additional men, some with assault rifles in their hands. I finally sat back, my stomach full of knots. “How can you live this way?” I asked, turning my head toward Enzo.

He’d sat stoically next me, never saying a word. He appeared different in some way now that we’d returned to his home country. More powerful. He belonged here. Even with his bloodstained shirt and the hint of dark circles under his eyes, he remained the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

But my prince was no Prince Charming.

He glanced toward the windshield. “This isn’t my home and never will be.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because this is by far the most protected and secure estate owned by our respective families.”

“You’re expecting a war.”

“Perhaps.”

He seemed even more rigid, although I had a feeling he was still seething, likely planning how to eliminate the people responsible. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell me what that entailed. I continued to stare at him, and it didn’t seem he was paying any attention. Then his features softened, and he shifted in the posh leather, sliding his arm across the back of the seats.

“We will have our own wing, Joy. I assure you that D’Artagnan’s family will make us comfortable.”

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