AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
Mia
Iopen my eyes, and a scream rises up my throat.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid and terror claws at my heart. Please let this be a dream.A nightmare.
Directly in front of me is the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the front of my wardrobe, and I stare into my own wide-eyed, terror-stricken reflection. My cheek is pressed into the pillow and the white ruffled strap of my pajama top has tumbled down. A shaft of silver moonlight falls across my comforter, and the clock on my bedside table ticks out every agonizing second. It’s nearly one in the morning. The witching hour?
More like the devil’s hour.
And the devil’s in my bed.
A large, muscular figure cloaked in darkness. He shifts with a sleepy murmur and the sheer size of him rocks my whole body. His head is behind mine on the pillow, and I can see little of him except for the dark, silky hair falling across his forehead and the sleeve of his black T-shirt tight around his muscular bicep.
This man is huge. Tall, and built like a linebacker. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought that he was uncomfortably, aggressively large, and I still think that every time he walks into a room. I feel like I’m sharing this usually generous bed with a nine-foot demon from hell. His body heat is scorching the backs of my bare legs and my normally sweet-smelling bedroom is filled with an invasive masculine scent.
I hate this man in the daylight, and I fear him at night. I can’t stand him looking at me or even breathing near me, and I absolutely loathe the sensation of his body brushing against mine. Every second of every day, I’m trying to avoid his massive body in the kitchen or ignore the way he glares at me across the dining table. The last place he should be is in my bed. We’re not lovers.
We’re not even friends.
Lazzaro Rosetti is Mom’s twenty-nine-year-old husband, a grade-A asshole, and my new stepfather.
I angle my chin up and sniff the air, trying to catch the scent of alcohol, which might explain why the hell Lazzaro has mistaken my bedroom for the one he shares with Mom, but there’s nothing but the aroma of his cologne. I say “shares,” but my new stepfather is unpredictable, coming in and out of the house at all hours of the day and night. He’s more like a restless animal than a man. Sometimes I catch him sleeping on the sofa or on a deck chair out by the pool. One morning last week, he was sleeping on the living room floor, and I stepped over him on my way to the kitchen. Lazzaro came suddenly alive, grabbing my ankle and refusing to let go as I squealed and tried to shake him off. His grip was an iron manacle, and his green eyes flashed with malice. All the while, he was grinning like this was a game to him.
I managed to kick him in the ribs with my sneakers and he grunted in pain. Still grinning, he yanked me closer so he could take his revenge by looking up my skirt.
Lazzaro gazed up at me from the floor. “Mm, white lace. My favorite.”
Cheeks burning with humiliation, I shoved my skirt between my legs. “You asshole.”
Mom’s footsteps could be heard coming down the sweeping marble stairs, and Lazzaro let go of me so fast that I stumbled. By the time she came into the kitchen with a crimson-and-gold silk robe hanging from her elegant shoulders, he was leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee machine to finish dispensing a double shot of Colombian roast.
I found my voice a few seconds later. “Mom, Lazzaro just grabbed me, and he wouldn’t let go.”
Lazzaro passed the coffee to Mom, no cream or sugar, just how she likes it. She stared in confusion at his out-of-character thoughtful gesture, but then accepted the cup.
“Mia stumbled and I didn’t want her to fall and hurt herself,” he explained mildly.
“That’s not what—”
Mom winced and pinched her brow. “Mia, please keep your voice down. I just woke up. And next time, look where you’re going.”
Lazzaro folded his arms across his enormous chest and smirked at me behind his wife’s back.
Mom pushed out through the double doors to drink her coffee in the garden. She didn’t look at me once. Mom almost never looks at me.
After all these years, you’d think I’d be used to it, but it still hurts being the Bianchi family’s shame. Mom’s face falls or her eyes skim over me whenever I walk into a room. Grandmother flinches whenever I speak at the dinner table. My three uncles give me stony glares before kissing my older sisters hello warmly.
There was a vicious whisper in my ear. “So, it’s true. No one believes a single word out of your mouth.”
Lazzaro was standing right behind me. He was so close that I could see every detail of the scar that cuts vertically through his lips on the left-hand side. It gives him a dangerous, roguish appearance, especially when he smiles and bares his strong white teeth.
His vindictive mouth whispered, “Or maybe it’s just that they don’t give a fuck what you have to say, and never have.”
Now he’s in my bed, and I don’t know if it’s a mistake or on purpose. But I’m not sticking around to find out. I grasp the edge of the mattress and wriggle my way toward it, staring at our reflections in the mirror and hoping I don’t wake him.
Lazzaro’s eyes pop open. I catch the feral gleam of his green gaze in the darkness, and my stomach swoops. A slow, nasty smile spreads over his face.
