Page 87 of Revenge on the Mafia

He was back to disappearing. Two nights and three days had passed. I’d not seen him for all of it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His tone sent a sizzle down my spine. The man was the kind of beautiful that hurt. So exquisite, but oh so unreachable because even as he stood just a few feet away from me, there was an invisible barrier. He might as well have put up bricks and mortar because it felt like it. His disinterested stare, the cold eyes. The dry tone in his voice.

My hand shook under the weight of his attention. I put the offending brush down on the dresser. Stared at it and commanded it to work. Then, with a slow inhale and a steady hand, I picked it up and spoke dangerous words, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Would you like a set of limbs added to that ripped-out heart?”

I gulped. Stared at him. “Dios mío.” He wasn’t joking. “I can’t wait to kill you,” I muttered, half under my breath.

“Stop it.”

I glared at him. “Qué? It’s not funny when someone wants you dead?”

“Quite the contrary,” he drawled. “I might get off at the thought of it.”

His game worked. Of course it did. My gaze dropped like lead to his crotch. What he’d done to me… what I’d done to him… the sudden rush of heat in my cheeks put my powder blush to shame.

I yanked my gaze away from his bulging pants. He looked bored. I wasn’t fooled. “At least you’ll die with a hard-on.”

A reluctant smile pulled at his lips. My heart skipped a beat.

“Besides…” I gave up on the mascara and dropped it onto the tray. No mascara today. “I’m a patient girl. I can wait.”

His amusement dropped in a second. I had wanted a reaction. I got it. The very air in the room stilled. Something ugly stole its place. His gaze dropped to the floor, hands curling into his pockets. He inhaled slowly, but so deeply that his chest moved with it. There was something so vulnerable about him that it was almost a tangible ache.

I wanted to snatch those hurtful words back into my vile mouth. The last thing on my mind was Joel. But because I knew he was out of his reach and my doubts brought up a resentment I couldn’t control, I wanted to abolish it by pushing him. To reach for a victory that was tasting bitter.

I stared at the floor where my feet drew circle after circle. I wanted to tell him I hadn’t meant any of it. Joel was the last man on my mind. The only man on my mind… was him.

His voice came my way, and something in it cracked my chest. “Do what makes you happy.”

I rose to my feet and turned around. But the doorway was empty of him.

I’d wanted to win. So why did it feel like we’d both lost?

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ANNA

I’d spent an entire day at the Don’s house as if in a drug-induced daze. Daria had spoken. I’d answered. We’d done things I couldn’t remember. The whole time, it had felt like I’d left my limbs behind with him and walked out amputated.

The melancholy in my heart only thickened the moment I walked in. Deep notes of music floated from the living room. Tidal emotional waves dipping high and low. Each curve covered my skin with goosebumps. Fingers running over keys. Instead of fleeing, I moved toward it. It pulled me in as if I had no choice. My heartbeat fell to my toes and rose slowly, only to fall again. And again. It was desolation, agony, defeat… so much vexation… and nostalgia for something that could never be… When I came to a stop in the doorway, my lungs squeezed. In that short walk from the entrance to the living room, he’d grasped my heart. Meddled with it. Somehow, it was never going to beat the same again.

He was a shadow in the dark. His head bent, shoulders slumped, he drew me in. Note by note. One gripping emotion after another. A man capable of both cruel indifference to freeze my heart and setting that same heart aflame with undeniable emotions. So deep that when the last note struck, the heaviness of it hummed in the air.

An iron band had crept around my lungs. A sob caught in my throat.

He didn’t turn around. Even though he must have known I stood behind him. My throat had gone dry. The music echoed between us. It was in the air’s vibration. The stillness of the secrets between us. So tangible that it was a physical thing. If I reached out and touched it, I’d burn from the heat.

More than a month in that house. In all that time, I’d circled the spot with that instrument a thousand times. But never had I come close to it. Somehow, he’d pulled me in. I stood rooted to the spot, a mere three feet away from it. The devil and the angel. Both capable of shattering me.

“Play for me.” His voice was rough. The words out of his mouth soft. It wasn’t a command, but a request. Almost a plea.

One I couldn’t oblige. With a shake of my head, I stepped back. The denial was so strong that I needed a physical barrier. He didn’t allow it. Swinging his arm, he captured my wrist and tugged.

“No,” my voice broke. The abrasiveness of it overpowering the tone.

His thumb soothed the violent pulse beat in my wrist. He brought his heated gaze to my face. Then he spoke. With two words, he ripped my soul. “Por favor.”