I had no fucking idea what that meant.
But then to my surprise this odd murderous growl left him, and I realized that. . .his gaze fell to the bruises and marks on my arms.
Another low growl rumbled from his chest.
This rough Italian left his lips.“Who would dare to hurt what is mine?”
He raised a hand as if to touch my bruises, but then hesitated a little. Instead, his fingers hovered just above my skin. The airbetween us crackled with tension, and I held my breath, terrified of what he might do.
Gianni’s eyes then traveled to my neck, and his expression darkened further. More rough Italian left him.“No! How did I not see this earlier?”
Another growl escaped him, more menacing this time like he was some sort of wolfman getting ready to shift into his beast.
I realized with a sickening lurch in my stomach that he must have seen the finger marks on my neck, left by Vito’s choking grip.
His hand moved closer, as if he were about to touch my neck, but again, he stopped short, his fingers twitching with barely restrained anger.“No one harms what is mine.”
Finally, his gaze landed on my lips, and I could see the moment he noticed the swelling there.
Shit.
Gianni’s face twisted into a deadly expression. His eyes narrowed to slits. His lips curled into a snarl that bared his teeth, and his nostrils flared as if he were trying to control the rage bubbling just beneath the surface, but seriously failing.
His jaw clenched so tightly that I could see the muscles ticking under his skin, and those green eyes darkened, turning almost black with fury.
I inched back.
He glanced over his shoulder and roared. “Get Sofia!”
Who the fuck is Sofia? And why are we getting her?
Chapter seven
Sofia’s Song of Blood
Who the hell was Sofia?
And why at the mention of her, were some of the guests quietly leaving the ballroom as if unable to deal with the next scene about to unfold.
But before I could dwell on it, my stepfather was rushing forward and shook his head violently. “Bringing out Sofia is not necessary. I brought my daughter to you on time.”
I glanced at Vito as he followed Maximo over and was visibly shaking now, his eyes wide with terror.
Oh God. Sofia must be a crazy, violent bitch.
Gianni’s gaze returned to me. “Who choked you?”
His voice was deceptively calm.
I hesitated, taken aback by the directness of the question.
A part of me might have defended Vito if he hadn’t been such a disgusting rapey psycho in the dressing room.
But the memory of his hands around my throat, the way he had tried to force himself on me, and the fact that my stepfather had barely stopped him in time was still fresh in my mind.
Without a second thought, I answered, “Vito choked me.”
Gianni’s head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing as he considered my words. “And who put those bruises on your arms?”
