Page 64 of Twisted Embrace

There was no possible way of loving a man like Enzo, not that I was truly entertaining doing so. He was the kind of man to admire from afar, enjoying the sinful temptation from a safe distance. Even the aura surrounding him was dangerous, a reflection of the devil residing in his soul. What was possible was that the harsh, demanding addiction, if it took hold, would fester until there was no possibility of escape.

That’s the way I felt around him, as if I was flying high in the sky, knowing that at some point I’d come crashing down, my body shattered into a million pieces. But the ride would be wild, ripped with rounds of blissful passion. I’d never soared the way I had with him. I’d never experienced the kind of desire that consumed every inch of my mind, my body hungering for him just from being in close proximity.

At least now I knew the way he’d acted had been nothing but a fake reality. I’d never felt so buttered up in my life, a lamb for the slaughter.

I laughed as I raced through the trees, not bothering to glance over my shoulder. The bastard wouldn’t dare follow me.

Even though I knew what he thought about me, what his entire family believed should happen, I still craved his touch. That made me a very sick woman. I’d managed to fall into the lair of a monster, a trap that I’d seen coming yet had ignored the signs. Here I was in a country I’d never been to before with no passport, no money, and no method of getting back home.

Home.

Now the word seemed foreign to me, as if everything I’d believed in my entire life was a complete lie. I wasn’t entirely certain the parents I knew and loved actually gave a damn about me or had been pretending their entire lives, maybe as a favor or repayment of a debt owed to the Bratva. There was nothing more painful than feeling completely invisible.

I’d fled the house, trying to find somewhere that I could be entirely alone. There was no escape. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could disappear. I doubted there was anywhere on Earth where Enzo couldn’t find me. I had to come to terms with the fact I was nothing more than his prisoner of a war I could barely understand, but one I would feel soon enough.

As I weaved my way through the lush gardens, a tense moment of suffocation settled in. I’d never had my heart broken, only bruised before, and I certainly wasn’t going to allow a bastard like Enzo to be the first. He could burn in hell as far as I was concerned.

The break in my thoughts was a welcome relief, even if a part of me continued to ache for the man, which was ridiculous. I’d known him for days, not years. What I knew about him I could write down on Post-it notes. A laugh bubbled to the surface. I raced down a small knoll, finding a bank of wildflowers as well as a small stream, water trickling over rocks. The sound was soothing, the light breeze floating various spring scents in my direction.

Serene and beautiful, the view in the distance was spectacular. There were no buildings in sight, just the amazing quiet pasture of nature for as far as the eye could see. I moved closer to the water, noticing several small fish swimming downstream. I could understand why so many people fell in love with the Italian countryside.

If only I could care about anything at this point. It was ridiculous to feel sorry for myself as well. Enzo had saved my life, which meant at some point I could still try to figure out a method of escape, even if it would take time. Time was all I had. There was no reason to panic.

After drinking in the fresh air, I removed my shoes, trailing the water’s edge as I headed away from the estate. I’d seen several guards as I’d raced away, all armed, waiting for the next great battle. The thought was amusing, enough so I was able to smile, if only for a little while.

At least for a few minutes I could enjoy a sense of freedom. The sun shimmering through the trees was warming, the ground beneath my feet calming.

Sadly, I should have known it would be short lived. I detected his presence as I’d done every other time. There was no fear or sense of regret for slapping him, just a stark coldness that drifted through my veins.

I didn’t bother turning in his direction. I quite frankly didn’t care if he had an issue with my level of respect. The bastard could rot in hell as far as I was concerned. If he thought I would talk to him, the asshole was a fool. I continued to walk away, enjoying the day and some me time.

After a couple of minutes, I was curious as to why he hadn’t said anything. I stopped, folding my arms and ignoring the desire to turn around and confront him. Another two minutes passed and I heard a rustling sound. He was playing coy now? That wasn’t like him. He was far too dominant and sure of himself to play a game.

“It’s not going to work, Enzo.” My words were spouted with indifference in my tone.

The quiet was unnerving.

“Mi dispiace.” His voice was quiet, laced with an emotion that I couldn’t ascertain. The tone was decadently dark, the hint of danger subtle yet adding a deep bass vibrato, but it wasn’t a reflection of his brooding nature. Just quiet.

“What did you say to me?” As if I cared.

“That I was sorry.”

I laughed. What else was I supposed to do? Did he really think that his few words would mean anything to me? When he said nothing else, I spun around, surprised to see him sitting against a tree. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, his pose as if he was savoring spending time in nature. “That’s it? You admitted that I would likely be sold off when the time was right and all you can say is you’re sorry?”

He sighed, keeping his gaze pinned on the water. “Un uomo non dovrebbe mai dire che gli dispiace a meno che non sia disposto ad accettare il suo destino nel farlo.”

“Speak English, for God’s sake. Not that I really care what you have to say but you followed me.” The man was infuriatingly silent. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

As he rose to his feet, he shoved his hands in his pockets, taking methodical steps as he headed toward me. “My father wasn’t someone who offered kindness or words of apology. In his mind, once a statement was made, an action taken, a man should stand behind them. He was also someone who was determined to be right. What I said to you was that a man should never say he’s sorry unless he’s prepared to accept his fate in doing so.” He lifted his head, allowing his gaze to fall.

“Does that mean you’re prepared to accept your fate?”

“You already told me that you hated me and that would never change. It’s something I’m required to live with.”

I sensed no remorse, no true understanding of how much his words had hurt me. “Well. Okay then. At least I know my place. But you need to hear me. I will never allow you to sell me off to the highest bidder or anything like that. I would rather die first.” I glared him in the eyes, daring him to respond. When he didn’t, I moved around him, racing toward the gardens.

I hadn’t been prepared for the hard jerk, or the way I felt when he dragged me against his chest. Even as I smashed my hands against him, the feel of his hard body pressed to mine, his cock pushing into me was exhilarating. He fisted my hair, shaking his head several times.

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