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I growl, my body dying for release. “Stop denying me.”
“Give me what I want.” The color in his eyes has blown out, pupils expanding against the predatory haunt consuming me.
“What more could you want?” I yell. “You have my heart. I’m begging you to take my body. What else do you fucking want?” I screech, my whole body shaking.
“Your soul, Bianca.” He places a palm gently over my neck, closing it around my throat. “I want the truth, so I own your fucking soul.”
“You have the truth,” I whisper.
“You lie.”
He’s so close now. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that I can see the way his pupils dilate with lust.
“I don’t.”
He takes a final step, gluing our bodies together.
“Look me in the eye”—he brushes a lock of hair from my face with his free hand—“and tell me you let my brother touch you.” He squeezes my neck. “Look me in the eye and tell me you let him fuck you.”
“I—” My heart stops in my chest.
“You can’t.” He smiles, enjoying the way my pulse races against his palm. “You're a liar.”
I inhale heavily through my nose. “You can’t know that.” I lick the dryness in my lips, panic settling into my bones.
His gaze falls to my lips, tracking the way my tongue wets them. The thick line of his throat moves.
“I fucking know it.”
“The only way you could know for sure is if you were there.”
He lifts his eyes, our secrets laid bare, and I suck in a sharp breath.
fourteen
VINCENT
(Before)
The walls of Enzo’s office close in as we sit in silence, entranced by the footage playing out before us. My vision blurs, and my jaw aches with the force it wires itself shut. Every nerve ending in my body pulses with the need to inflict pain, and I’m torn between my relief at being right and my rage for the same reason. Carnage rushes my sight; fantasies of bruised skin, blood-filled eyes, and the self-inflicted scratches ripped into one’s neck in a pathetic attempt at self-preservation vibrate my insides in longing.
Leo smiles at the camera, his hands held above his head in surrender. His nefarious grin taunts the officers surrounding him. He lacks self-control, the basic human instinct of protection lost to his need to provoke anyone who stands against him.
Enzo flinches beside me when the FBI agent patting Leo down kicks him in the back of the knees, watching him fall to the concrete floor. His grin dissipates, lost to a snarl of contempt. They cuff him unnecessarily, the smug smile on the agent's face growing as he lifts the duffel bags Leo had entered the building with onto the singular table sitting in the warehouse.
“Fuck, I wish I was in that fucking room to watch that smile die,” Enzo murmurs, the malicious intent in his words dripping in threat.
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m too consumed with my appetite for pain. My hands itch with an urgency to slit open the delicate skin of a neck and watch it bleed with retribution.
Not just any neck, though.
Robert Ferrari.
Consigliere.
Traitor.
Brother.
