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I swallow the knot in my throat, moving inside, letting the door swing shut behind me.

Vincent moans, eyes widening when he sees me, and begins thrashing on the table. He strains against his bindings, shaking with such force that the gurney rolls back and forth.

“What’re you going to do to him?” I ask, watching as he approaches the gurney, picking a vial and needle up off the side table.

He squints, turning the vial over and sticking the needle in the top, extracting the liquid inside. Replacing the glass bottle, he looks up at me, maintaining eye contact as he plunges the needle into Vincent’s neck, pushing down on the applicator.

Vincent’s screams grow in volume and intensity, as if they’re being forcibly removed from deep inside his chest.

My heartbeat kicks up the longer I watch him writhe in agony, wondering how strong of a dose Kal just gave him. If he’ll pass out before he gets to the good stuff.

“We don’t have long,” Kal says, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. He picks up a circular saw from the floor, plugging it into an outlet nearby.

My lips part. “You’re using that?”

Glancing at the saw, he nods once. “I don’t half-ass these things, Elena. Men who cross me don’t get mercy.”

It’s not as quick as I’m expecting, but the second he brings the blade down to Vincent’s chest, I’m stuck staring, enraptured by the way skin and bone split open for him, bowing to Kal’s precision and force.

Like souls bending for their reaper.

Heat stirs in my core as I watch him work, filling me with unease that has less to do with the gore in front of me and more to do with the fact that I’m apparently not at all disgusted by it.

I keep waiting for the shock to settle in, for numbness to flood my body as my brain tries to block out the trauma, but it never happens. A small fire burns in my chest as Kal opens Vincent’s, and I clench my thighs together in an attempt at relief.

Maybe it’s because I grew up a mafia princess; I’m definitely no stranger to death.

Or maybe it’s that the violence comes as a tribute to me, being wielded on my behalf in a way no one has ever done for me before.

When you grow up in the world of la famiglia, you’re taught to take the abuse. Fight back when you can, but on the whole, and especially where men are involved, you’re expected to put up with it.

That’s why I was still going to marry Mateo de Luca.

Why I thought I could handle him.

When Kal finishes several minutes later, brushing his forearm over his face and smearing blood over his cheek, I’m met by an intoxicating, complicated wave of arousal.

Cleaning up quickly, he ushers me from the building back into the main house; I don’t even protest, too lost to the storm raging inside me, threatening to drown everything in its downpour.

Guiding me into the en suite bathroom through our bedroom, he positions me in front of the glass shower, reaching inside the stall to turn on the faucet. His hands are caked in Vincent’s blood, his clothes ruined, but he doesn’t seem to give that a second thought when he reaches for me.

The air grows thick from steam and lust, pressing down heavily the longer we stand in silence.

Pushing the robe from my shoulders, he keeps his eyes trained on mine as he proceeds, like he’s afraid that looking away might shatter the ethereal moment ebbing between us.

Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of my dress, the same red number I’ve had on since yesterday, he starts a slow ascent up my thighs, pausing for a breath when he reaches my hips.

His throat bobs at the same time cool air brushes my lace panties, goose bumps popping up on my thighs. Skimming a thumb over the scar on the inside of the left one, he frowns when I wince, biting the tip of my tongue as pain radiates from the site.

My heart thumps erratically, knocking against my ribs like a caged monster desperate to be set free. Self-consciousness rears its ugly head, making me wonder if he can hear it, too; how embarrassing it’d be for my husband to know how he affects me.

Kal continues pulling my dress up, exposing my stomach and pausing once again when he gets to my breasts. There’s a dangerous heat in his gaze that has my insides melting, molding, burning for his touch on my skin.

He shifts, moving up farther still, thumbs grazing my nipples, making them pucker as a blush crawls over my chest. In one swift motion, he rips the clothing over my head, tossing it to the floor, then takes a step back, nodding at the shower.

“Do you need help?” he asks, tearing his eyes from mine, leaving me charred.

Licking my lips, I shake my head and turn away, stepping beneath the hot spray, letting it wash the grime and dirt off me. I take the bar of soap from one of the built-in shelves and lather myself up, scrubbing any evidence of the last twenty-four hours from where it lurks beneath my skin.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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