So, with a rough, lingering press of my lips, I let her go, releasing her wrist and uncoiling my fingers from her hair.
Sienna falls back against the door, panting, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed with a volatile mix of arousal and fury. She glares at me with enough hatred to burn the car to the ground, violently throws the handle back, and steps out of the car.
She slams the heavy door shut behind her so hard the entire chassis shakes and my ears ring in the sudden silence. I watch through the tinted glass as her gold dress disappears up the stone steps of the Caruso mansion.
I lean back into the leather, a dark, dangerous grin slowly cutting across my face as I adjust my suit jacket.
Damn.
I have a lot on my hands with this one. She’s a wildfire. But thankfully, I’m never one to back down from a challenge.
CHAPTER TEN
SIENNA
"And remember, beloved, the heart is a deceitful thing above all else, desperately wicked; who can understand it? But grace is given to those who seek the light, to those who wash away the stains of the world and choose the path of righteousness..."
The priest’s echoing voice booms through the massive vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, accompanied by the low, solemn hum of the pipe organ echoing in the background. Around me, the congregation sits in quiet reverence, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and old wood.
To my left, Camilla and Daniela are listening raptly, nodding along to the sermon as if the words are writing themselves directly onto their souls. Beside them, Rosalia sits with her spine perfectly straight, her face a serene, unreadable mask of devotion.
Eleonora, who just returned from her vacation two days ago, is seated beside her, her brown hair in a chignon. She looks so good.
I usually love Sundays. Church is the one place we are allowed to go where our father and his armed guards aren’t constantly breathing down our necks, tracking our every breath.
Massimo always ensures we are front and center every single Sunday morning. He doesn’t do it out of faith, or because he cares a single bit about our salvation. No, it is all part of the grand illusion he builds around the Caruso name.
He wants to paint his daughters as pure, saintly, untouchable girls, driving up our value so our prices go up when it’s finally time to auction us off to the highest-paying men in the syndicate.
Bastard.
But regardless of his sick motives, my sisters and I cherish this place. Inside these walls, the people of the community don't look at us like mafia royalty or the property of dangerous men. They treat us like normal people. Like normal girls.
But today, I feel like I shouldn’t even be sitting in this front pew. I feel like I don’t deserve to cross the threshold of this house.
I am a sinner. A hypocrite.
It has been over a week since the night at Belvedere Manor, when I stormed out of Alessandro's car and slammed his door so hard, I was genuinely surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges and shatter on the asphalt.
He hasn’t tried to reach me since then. He hasn't texted, he hasn't called, and he hasn't shown his face at the estate. My wedding is in exactly three days—the final details were locked in just yesterday when I was forced to sit through a grueling four-hour meeting with the wedding planner to pick out floral arrangements and seating charts—yet the groom is a ghost.
I suppose I should be thrilled about his absence. It isn't like I want to see him anyway. But my mind and my body are doing more than enough to remind me of him every waking second.
Even now, my skin burns with the phantom sensation of Alessandro's touch. My brain constantly overwhelms me with the brutal, dominating feel of his mouth crashing into mine. The rough, calloused texture of his hands. The way he looked at me, completely detached yet entirely consuming, as he forced me to touch myself under his dominant gaze.
I have come to the memory of that night five times in the past week alone, shivering beneath my sheets in the dead of night, and the worst part is, I don’t even have the heart to feel dirty about it. I wanted it. I want him.
"Sienna? Are you okay?"
Daniela’s gentle whisper anchors me back to reality, jolting me out of the scandalous heat of my own thoughts. I blink rapidly, my heart hammering against my ribs as I look over at her sweet, concerned face.
A heavy wave of guilt washes over me. I feel even worse for harboring these wicked, desperate thoughts in the middle of a church service, right next to my innocent sisters.
"I'm fine," I whisper back, forcing a reassuring smile onto my lips as I smooth down the fabric of my dress.
I turn my eyes back to the pulpit, desperately trying to focus on the sermon, but the priest’s warnings about a deceitful heart feel entirely too late for me. The monster already has his teeth in mine.
Just then, a sharp, heavy vibration splits the quiet of our pew. My phone is buzzing inside my bag.
