Page 94 of Taming Seraphine

I’m reeling on my feet as he slips my jacket over my shoulders. Not because he murdered a creep who deserved to die, but because Leroi broke the rules.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his side, his features a stony mask. That man Leroi killed wasn’t dangerous or even significant—just a regular lecherous asshole.

“Leroi?” I whisper as we walk to the exit.

“Don’t ask,” he growls.

My throat dries. This is the third man he’s murdered to protect me. The first was the one I stabbed at the gas station. He garrotted that one so he wouldn’t reveal anything about me to the police. The second was Pietro. Leroi snapped his neck for slashing my palm. Now, he’s killed that creep for grinding on my ass.

I stare at his handsome profile, wondering why he’s been taking such risks when he’s always so controlled.

Could he… like me?

We step out into the street, and a pair of green eyes meet mine. It only takes a second for them to widen with recognition, and I jerk my head to the side.

It’s Samson.

Samson Fucking Capello.

The more psychotic of the twins, whom Leroi said was dead.

THIRTY-FIVE

LEROI

Thank fuck Seraphine dropped that line of questioning because I’m a hypocrite. Every day, I chastise her for being careless and impulsive, yet I’m the one who’s racking up the kills. I can’t explain it. It’s not something I want to admit, but my little murderess is seeping under my skin and burrowing her sweet way into my heart.

I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her but me, let alone that worthless opportunist. Seraphine is mine. I swore to protect her from the evils of the world. Myself included.

If I don’t keep this fixation with her under control, the mystery Capello sympathizer will be the least of our worries.

Seraphine clings to my arm with both hands, squeezing so tightly that I stare down at her and frown. She can’t still be angry about that asshole?

“Hurry to the car,” she whispers. “Please.”

I’ve done this job long enough to know the signs of someone sensing danger, and her fear is unmistakable. Picking up my pace, I hover a hand on my holster. “What’s wrong?”

“Later.”

We’re inside the car in an instant. I start the engine, pull out, and don’t speak until we’re halfway down the road.

“Talk to me,” I say.

“Are you sure you killed every member of the Capello family?” she asks.

My eyes narrow. Maybe I should have pulled her out of that group of girls and informed her of the identity of her new dance companion, but she was having so much fun. I didn’t have the heart to ruin her night.

“I went through each room, taking out every guest staying in the mansion. There’s going to be a few cousins or illegitimate children left over, but I got everyone who counted. Why?”

She releases a shaky breath. “I just saw Samson.”

My hands grip the steering wheel. “Capello?”

When she doesn’t answer, I glance over to the passenger side. She sits forward with her head bowed, her darkened hair hiding her face.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I saw that face nearly every day the past five years,” she replies, her voice hoarse. “I also know the difference between Gregor and Samson.”

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