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“It’s you or her, Chiara.”
“You don’t want Viviana.”
“She doesn’t want to kill me.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“I can wait.”
“You really want to get killed, don’t you? That’s what you want?”
He kisses me again, and I give in to the momentary madness, raking my fingernails over his chest.
“You, completely. That’s what I want.”
“Never.”
“Then, I’ll say yes.”
He drops me, and I fall to my knees, while he stares at me from above. The hunger blazing in his eyes has me shooting to my feet.
“I would rather suck a sword than your dick.”
With that, I turn around and rush down the stairs, my skin ablaze with heat. Small groups are scattered around the spacious living room, and all eyes snap to me. I feel my cheeks heat. That bastard. I can’t shake the feeling everyone knows something happened. Thankfully, the moment he struts down the stairs, the attention is dragged to him, as if no one can help being drawn to him, to his magnetic pull, that oozing power—testosterone and pheromones on speed.
Fuck you, biology, you created the perfect predator.
I huddle in a corner, behind a potted plant, and caress my temples. I see him shake hands with my father and dread courses through me. This gives me the perfect chance. I would be free, and he would have to wait a few more years before my sister is ready. Viviana is between my mother and his, and a sigh parts my lips. She would really be a better fit.
Marco approaches. “I am disappointed.” He follows my line of vision.
“And I don’t care.”
Before I turn to seek out another quiet place, he adds, “It’s better like this. He needs someone like her as a wife and not a crazy bitch like you.”
I push him against the wall, and the idiot smiles. “Don’t like the truth, huh?” He baited me, and I just showed him I care.
Dario comes around the corner. “You need some help hiding the body?”
He smiles at me as if he would genuinely help me.
“Next time.”
“Traitor,” his cousin mumbles.
Dario grins playfully. “Come on. Let’s get you something to drink.”
I follow him inside the spacious kitchen, propping my hip against the dark marbled island.
“This must be a lot to take in.” He drags a hand through his black hair while I study him.
“You sound like you understand.”
He shrugs, pouring two glasses of wine and offering me one. “I think my brother was born like this. Me, on the other hand . . .”
I nod, feeling like I found a kindred spirit in this world, and whisper, “Have a fucking conscience, where he has none. Was he dropped on his head, repeatedly?”
Dario bursts into laughter, and wine sputters from his mouth. I snatch some napkins that lie on the countertop and try to wipe the drops from his white shirt. I feel Cato’s presence at my back, a frenzy of tingles bouncing on my skin.
