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“You, Nazario. I always thought of you.”
“Me? Only me?”
“Always, only you.”
And none of it had been a lie. I could’ve disappeared back into the underworld in Sicily and never be heard from or seen again, but I wanted Nazario. Many times since that night, I would question why, but I kept returning to the same thing. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. I thought mine had been irreparably broken, but this impossibly infuriating mafia don proved otherwise.
“Ugh.” I sighed in resignation. I walked over to the counter and grabbed my glass of water. As I brought the cup to my lips, I remembered the last few things we’d said to one another.
“Your body... your mind... I want not only your every waking thought to be on me, but those in your dreams, too. I own you, Viviana. You are my property to use and do with as I please. Do you understand that? I own your heart too, Viviana. You can deny it as much as you like, but you’re wearing it on your fucking sleeve. I can see what you don’t want to say. Tell me, Viviana. Tell me that you love me.”
“No.”
No, you don’t love me. Or no, you won’t tell me?”
D-does it even matter?”
“It matters to me. Tell me, Viviana, or else I will keep fucking your ass all night long.”
“Fine. You own my heart, and you always will.”
At the memory, I flung the glass across the kitchen, only wincing slightly at the sound of it breaking on the travertine floor beneath me. Nazario had been pissed off at my friendship with the Catalanos. I might’ve pretended as if I gave a damn that it bothered him, but I didn’t. They had more reasons to be pissed off at him than he did at them. Angelo had died and all in retaliation for a murder that Nazario’s own father had committed.
He’d punished me for it all, and I’d let him. When I first resurfaced in Napoli and with his father, there’d been a fight inside of me, but it had since gone away and I didn’t understand it. Our encounters before had been like foreplay, and I lived for them. Now, I rolled over and caved at the mere promise of an orgasm.
“If I ever see another man touching what is mine, I will kill him, then fuck you in a pool of his blood.”
If that had been meant to scare me, it didn’t. I let out a sigh, then looked down to see the broken glass. The staff had gone to their quarters for the night and I didn’t want to leave this mess until morning, so I picked up a bowl and a hand towel, then moved over to the mess I’d created.
Kneeling down, I started to pick up the biggest shards and place them onto the towel. One in particular, I held up, and when I did, I saw my reflection in part of it. I stared at it for a few long seconds, then I closed my eyes. When I had returned from New York City without Donna, her father was dead set on making others pay, but I knew nothing he did would ever bring her back. I’d been in a deep state of depression. There’d been many nights when I wanted to go back in time and either go with her to the party, or be more forceful and forbid her to go. I couldn’t and as I used to do back then, I brought the dull edge of the glass to my wrist.
I rubbed it back and forth and remembered the first time I had tried the other edge. I’d nearly sliced a vein, but I hadn’t given a fuck. Many years later, I would care, but not then, and not now. I slowly turned the shard over, and using the tip, I moved a little higher and dug the sharp edge into my skin. The burn was noticeable the second I punctured my flesh. Dragging it a bit lower, I kept my eyes closed and embraced the pain. I was about to cut another line when I heard a noise. Startled, I looked up to see the housekeeper.
“Viviana,” she said, then hurried to me. “You’ve cut yourself. Let me get you a towel, then I will clean—”
“What the hell is going on?” Nazario’s voice made us both jump in surprise.
“Miss Viviana has cut herself trying to pick up the broken glass. I will clean this up,” she told him, her words coming out in a rush.
“It’s okay. I can—”
“Let her do what’s she is here to do,” he told me, then extended his hand.
I pathetically took it and even savored every moment that he held mine. It was about seven or eight seconds, then he stepped back. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the older woman came back with a towel and I took it from her. I pressed it against the spot just above my wrist and ignored the glances I was getting from Nazario. He knew. I could tell it in his expression. When he arched a brow, I rolled my eyes.
“I’m going back upstairs.” From there, I left Nazario with the housekeeper, and I returned to my room. It didn’t take me long to treat my wound and by the time I had put a bandage over it, the door to my bedroom was opened. I looked up to see Nazario enter. “You could’ve knocked. I—”
“Why did you cut yourself?”
“It was an accid—”
“And you’re a fucking liar, Viviana.” I just stared at him as he towered in the doorway with his arms crossed. I finally broke eye contact with him, and shrugged.
“I don’t know why you even act like you care because we both know you don’t..." I stopped mid-sentence at his growl. He turned, and I thought he might leave, but instead he closed the door all the way. A shiver raced through me, but I squared my shoulders. I had backed down to him one too many times recently, and I was honestly sick of it. I watched as he moved closer, and that’s when I saw it.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of what he had in one hand. The blade should’ve terrified me, but in the right hands... in his hands, it more excited me than anything else. He advanced closer and I wanted to instinctively take a step back, but I stood rooted in place. Seconds later, he started to circle around me.
“I don’t like being lied to, Viviana. In fact, I’ve killed for a lot less.”
