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I’m a Marchetti, and if they declare war on my family, it’s war onall of us.
And who is the best pawn for war?
The princess of the family.
Me.
I go back to my bedroom where Natalia is and pretend everything is okay. When she leaves, I call Antonio’s burner.
It goes straight to voicemail.
I throw the phone across the room.
If anything helps with a depressive episode, it’s shopping.
A new pair of heels for when you’re lonely and you need to brighten your day.
A new handbag to help you forget the man you were falling for completely ghosted you. Oh, and he might also want to kill you,literallymakingyoua ghost.
My sleep paralysis has worsened, and I have an episode nearly every night now. I still refuse to talk to anyone about them. That’s between me and the sleep gods. And apparently, that god is mad at me for something.
I’m in the dressing room, mid-change of a little black dress, when the door opens. I turn, clutching the dress to my chest as a figure wearing all black joins me. His heavy frame takes up nearly half the space.
“I told you to keep your ass in Italy,” Antonio sneers, shutting the door and locking it behind him.
His tone is as cool as ice, yet sexy as hell. It reminds me of all the times he used that same voice to praise me for sucking his cock so good. Goose bumps rise on my skin like warning signs.
How the hell did he track me down here?
I’m alone, but Bruno is just outside the dressing room.
Antonio creeps closer, and I inch back a step.
I don’t yell for help because, God, I’ve missed him.
The villain I invited to my bed and into my life still makes me weak in the knees.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he scolds, removing his blazer and draping it along the chair.
“Pretty sureyou’renot supposed to be here.”
“As soon as we’re finished, pack your shit and return to Italy.”
“I forgot the part where you have any say in what I do.”
He chuckles deviously. “I haveallthe say in your life.”
“You’re mistaken. A man who hasall the sayin my life doesn’t resort to sneaking into dressing rooms to see me.”
Antonio brings his hand to my neck and cups it—not applying as much pressure as he’s capable of. He sweeps his thumb along my throat. It’s slow, soft, and intimate. His thumb rests on my jugular vein, feeling my erratic pulse.
I swallow when he squeezes it once before gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. His gaze is piercing as our eyes meet.
He jerks me closer and sinks his teeth into my bottom lip. When I open my mouth to gasp in pain, he kisses me and pushes my back against the wall.
He holds my face tight, starving my breaths but giving me his.
When he finally pulls away, his lips linger on mine as he says, “It’s been a little complicated trying to see you, princess.”
