Page 93 of The Viper's Wife

An inscrutable look crosses her face. I decide I’m going to be the one who learns to read those little expressions. I’ll be the only one who sees past her mask.

She lifts her foot and places it lightly in my hand. I take my time to unbuckle her shoe, checking for any injuries and committing every inch of her to memory.

“What did your sister mean?” Valeria asks softly. “About the consequences.”

I hesitate, my fingers grazing her ankle.

“That’s not the sort of story you want to hear before bed,” I say as I slip off her shoe.

Her fingertips come to the top of my head, the feather-light touch showering sparks down my spine and igniting a fire in my groin.

I stay on my knees and reach for her calves, filling my palms with soft skin, before I look up at her.

Her mouth is gently parted, eyes wide.

“I want to know,” she murmurs.

My brain is on the verge of short-circuiting. If I leanforward only a few inches, I could bury my face between her legs.

Maybe her expression at the hotel hadn’t been fear.

She strokes over my head again, and my resolve crumbles.

She can have whatever she wants.

“A few years ago, I had a job. Father sent me to deliver a message to our enemy—the Irish, at the time—and when I got there, the target wasn’t there. But his wife and their infant son were.”

I lean into her hand. Fear—real, raw fear—enters her eyes.

I remember the woman standing in the middle of her living room, holding her son’s face to her chest, a scattering of baby toys on the ground and a nursery song playing softly from the speakers. I remember how she met my gaze with tired, grim acceptance.

“I’ve killed so many people, Valeria,” I confess, staring up into her face. “Enough for a lifetime. But I couldn’t kill that woman or her son. I left, and when Father asked if I finished the job, I lied.”

Her fingers curl against my jaw. Her eyes flick between mine, searching. Whoever told her I went to prison didn’t tell her the rest, and now all she has is the word of a man who would absolutely lie to her for his own gain.

I don’t blame her for not being certain.

“He found out immediately,” I continue, “but he let it slide at first. I’m sure he thought I needed to toughen up my soft heart. He sent me on more jobs. And I just stopped doing them. Anything he asked of me, I did the opposite. After a few months of my shit, he had enough.”

My thighs ache from holding myself in this position.

“He went back and personally killed the family I hadspared months before,” I say. “He framed me for their murders and had me sent to prison for a year. I’m sure he wanted to teach me a lesson. That sort of thing had worked in the past. But this time, when I came out, the only thing I knew was that I would never work for him again. At the hotel tonight, Alessia was warning me. What Father wants, he gets—at any cost.”

“And what does he want now?”

“Compliance.” I suppress a bitter smile at my private joke.

“What doyouwant?” she murmurs.

My thighs burn. Chest expands.

“Just you.”

Her white teeth press into her crimson-red bottom lip. “I want you too.”

A feverish heat licks through me. My hands twitch against her calves.

Slowly, she grips her dress, gathering the thin fabric in her hands like a silk seller showing off their wares, until her simple black thong is exposed.