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He pressed his lips together and glanced out the window.
“You’re trying hard to ignore me.”
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable with your kidnapper.”
“No, you’re my stalker,” I quipped.
“Not quite.”
I drank my wine, and my tastebuds exploded from the flavor bursting on my tongue. “Ooh, this is nice. I can see why your dad likes it. But I’m surprised he doesn’t drink the wine from one of his vineyards.”
He ignored me, shutting down whatever chance we had of making conversation. I lifted the flap of my messenger bag and removed my sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. His gaze shifted to me for a second and went back to his phone.
Marcello had pretty but sad blue eyes that made my stomach hurt when I looked at him. I wanted to know the reason for his loneliness.
Was it his job?
His family?
His mother’s death?
His love life?
None of the Salvatore boys liked attachments, but Luca would never let me go. I was his obsession.
My past with the Salvatores had inspired my art. I’d spent years trying to break down Luca’s walls for him to show me the side of him that inspired the Many Faces of the Devil series. People knew me in the art world for my Devil paintings, though only Luca knew their true meaning. They were a part of him… and all of us. Even when I hated him, my feelings for Luca bled into every inch of the canvas.
Gripping the charcoal pencil, I flipped to a blank page and sketched the outline of Marcello’s face. He had a severe profile, all clean lines and sharp edges—perfect for me to draw.
Marcello tapped a platinum ring on the wooden table separating us. Onyx chips formed a snake at the center. Luca wore the same one, the serpent part of their family crest. The Salvatores controlled a gang called The Serpents. I needed to prove the link between them so that I could uncover the mystery behind my brother’s disappearance.
Aiden’s obsession became his passion, the thing that drove him to his… death? At least I would find my answers in Devil’s Creek.
Marcello’s eyes widened as he stared at my sketch. “Is that me?”
I finished the piece and shoved the book in front of him. “Don’t worry. I’m not adding you to my Devil’s series. I’m calling this one Lonely Boy.”
He rolled his eyes and groaned. “I’m not a boy.”
“No, but you’re lonely.”
“Go take your shower,” he ordered with his finger pointed at the back of the plane.
I yanked the sketchbook across the table and stuffed the pencil inside before closing it. “Artists can see what people are hiding. They capture what words can’t convey. You’re angry because it’s the truth.”
His nostrils flared. “Get your ass in that shower before I change my mind.”
I strolled down the aisle and into the bedroom. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, I unzipped my suitcase and rifled through my clothes. I should have paid more attention to what I stuffed into my bags. The art supplies occupied a lot of space, which left me with no options. So I settled on a pair of black leggings and a tank top.
I stripped off my dirty clothes and threw the clothes onto the floor. My skin smelled like a mixture of fresco chemicals that were giving me a headache. Sitting on the bed in my underwear, I needed a minute to regroup. Everything had happened so fast. One moment, I was applying wet plaster to a church ceiling, and the next, a sadistic prince kidnapped me.
I laid back on the soft mattress and stretched my arms above my head. The bed was so soft it was like sleeping on a cloud. A bunch of comfy pillows surrounded me, and I grabbed two, shoving them beneath my head. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths through my nose to still my nerves.
My doctor had warned me about changing my lifestyle. He feared it would cause me to spiral out of control. Some people called me crazy, but I preferred to think of myself as a survivor. I had endured so much shit over the years. Between my mother’s abuse and Luca’s mental torture, I would never be sane, and I was okay with being different.
A loud noise snapped me back to reality. From between my thighs, I looked at Marcello, whose eyes burned a hole through me. I sat up as he stormed down the aisle and entered the bedroom.
He stared down at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Thinking about taking a nap.”
He leaned against the doorframe, studying me with a mixture of anger and curiosity. “The pilot can see your pussy from the cockpit. Put some fucking clothes on.”
“Calm down, Marcello. I’m wearing underwear. It’s not like I’m naked.”
It wasn’t any different from Marcello seeing me in a bikini.
