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I should resist. I just witnessed what Pavone did to liars. I know what he’ll do to me, to my family, if he catches us.
But apparently I really, really like playing with fire.
I grip Angelo’s shirt and groan as I open my mouth further, allowing his tongue to slide inside.
It’s strange, kissing Angelo. I’ve done it before, but normally only when he’s already deep inside me. Saint is the one who likes kissing, who needs all the signs of affection. Victor’s the one who kisses me with fake gentleness. Angelo likes to see me scared and crying, not getting all hot and bothered for him.
When he breaks the kiss, I sigh and try to follow his lips.
“Fuck, I want to, Princess,” Angelo says, “But there’s playing with fire and there’s actively being stupid.”
He’s right. Pavone is waiting for Angelo to join them, and if he isn’t there soon, someone might get sent back to find out why. I nod, but I don’t pull away from him.
He carefully pries my fingers from his shirt and steps back, and I’m overwhelmed by the loss of his body heat against me, the familiarity of his touch.
I step away as well, putting distance between us as I try to catch my breath.
He walks over to the table and picks up one of the red-stained invitations. “I’ll just take one of these. You don’t need it, do you?”
I’m still reeling a bit from his touch. “I guess not. Those are all ruined. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Angelo opens the invite, raising his brows as he reads it. “Are these handwritten? Jesus, are you a masochist?”
“No, Pavone is just a sadist,” I mutter. Bringing him up sours the mood again, and I sigh. “You need to go.”
“Yeah.” Angelo gives the body on the floor a quick kick, then heads toward the hall. He stops at the entranceway. “Seriously though. Be fucking careful, Princess.”
I nod. “You too. I’m not the only one playing with fire, Angelo.”
I turn my back on him, not wanting to watch him go.
10
LUCIA
This time, it’s somebody else’s scream that wakes me in the middle of the night.
I’ve been having nightmares, so I’m not surprised to be awake at 1:13 a.m., but the fact that the sound keeps going is what clues me in that something’s wrong.
A woman’s scream—Vanessa.
I shake the remnants of sleep off and rush to the bathroom connecting our bedrooms. The screaming lets up for a second, only to start up again, this time accompanied by sobs.
I slam the door open, running into her bedroom, and blink against the bright overhead lights. Vanessa’s screams die down into whimpers.
“Oh, good,” Pavone says. “I was worried I’d have to send somebody to go grab you.”
“Leave her alone,” I demand, utterly furious at the sight of my sister kneeling on the ground with Damien Rossi behind her, stroking her face. There’s a very prominent red mark on her cheek. “She hasn’t done anything.”
Jesus. I’d suspected they were tormenting my mother, but it’s completely different with Vanessa. My mother has dealt with mafia men most of her life, but Vanessa is innocent. She’s never been like me. She doesn’t sleep around, and she’s not experienced at all. From what she’s confided in me, she’s only been touched by a few men, and even those experiences hadn’t gone on for long.
I share a gaze with Vanessa, hoping she can be strong.
Pavone laughs at me. “Yeah, she probably hasn’t. But after the whole thing with Stevie today, I got to thinking…” He walks around Vanessa and Rossi to approach me.
I instinctively take a step back, but Pavone puts his arm around my shoulders. The sexy little nightgown I’m forced to wear for his benefit doesn’t do anything to dull his touch.
“I was thinking, it’s a real shame to lose a man just because of something some bitch said. No offense.”
