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His face is all subtle, sharp angles, with deep eyes and high cheeks, sharp enough to draw the disapproval of the TSA. He’s clean shaven. Maybe it’s because of the scar on his cheek, or maybe it’s just because no man would hide a jawline like that behind a beard. I can imagine him being the kind of man that shaves with a straight razor, old fashioned, dangerous, and elegant all at once.
His black hair is combed back on top, tapering into a sharp fade around his ears and neck, well-maintained, as if he just stepped out of a barber shop and into this very club.
He may have expensive taste in suits and haircuts, but all that luxury style can’t cover up that Salvatore Mori looks dangerous.
Like a snake that can’t hide its nature. Black eyes and a cold smile. Devilish looks that could carry me away without any force at all, if I let them. Maybe I should have let them. It would have been more dignified than this circus act.
He is infinitely stronger than I am.
My cries for help are drowned by the music shaking the building. I beat my fists against his back and kick desperately at the air. One of my brand-new high heels goes soaring, vanishing somewhere along the narrow corridors winding through the back of the club.
I am extra mortified by how blindly turned on I am. Some part of me loves the way he manhandles me; loves the way I am helpless in his powerful grip. Like a child being carried to her timeout. Something wild and reckless has awoken in me under the attention of a man that is truly dangerous. He sets my blood on fire like no one else ever has.
“Sal!” A voice down the corridor calls out.
I don’t recognize it, but whoever it is, his first impression of me is my ass slung over Salvatore’s shoulder.
“Noctus,” Sal answers. He drops me back onto my feet. I cross my arms over the front of my ripped dress, feeling exposed, and it’s not cold enough in here to explain why my nipples are hard.
Near the exit, Lance sits on the ground, dazed and pressing a rag into his bleeding headwound.
Salvatore towers between me and the way back, while this stranger—Noctus—stands between me and the only other visible exit.
“What the fuck happened to Lance? He can barely talk. Did she do this?” Noctus’ eyes flash to me and my disheveled state.
“Your brother put his hands on my property. I corrected him.”
Noctus’ expression changes. Outrage to bewilderment.
“You? You could have killed him,” Noctus says.
“I still might.”
The baritone threat only riles Noctus up further. I glance into Sal’s face, trying to read him. He has the perfect stillness of a stormy day, just before a tornado rips apart a town.
Though Lance seems younger, he and Noctus share a sibling’s resemblance. Are they both related to Salvatore? God, I wish I had paid more attention when my father talked about the Moris family.
“Your brother is a walking liability,” Salvatore continues. “He was fucking around in the storage room again like a dog in rut. I warned him once not to try that shit under this roof, and I don’t warn twice.” He glances at the bleeding boy on the floor, no pity in his eyes. “That he picked who he did, well…that was his second mistake of the night.”
Noctus looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time. I see the moment the realization dawns on him, recognition washes across his face and brings with it his hatred and contempt for me.
“The Lovera girl?”
My name is uttered like a curse on his lips. Being so familiar and so despised by a complete stranger stings.
“It’s Tessa, thanks,” I say moodily.
Noctus steps closer, offended that I dare to mouth off to him. I shrink back, running up against Salvatore amidst my doubling panic.
Salvatore intervenes, leveraging his height and the severity of his demeanor. His arm drapes over my shoulder, possessive. I grimace at his touch. Though Noctus towers over me, he doesn’t measure up to Salvatore—not even a little. The soft heat between my legs throbs shamefully.
“Is there a problem?” Salvatore asks.
The soft question bristles in the air, a dare.
Like the men in my own family, Noctus wears his emotions in his eyes, and his anger smolders like an ashen pit. As if he can’t stop himself, he finally mutters, “is that what we do now? Defend Loveras, turn against our own? Back in the old days, you would have—”
“Back in the old days, I would have already had your tongue out of your mouth for questioning me. And it’s only my love for you that keeps it there now,” Salvatore interrupts.
