by Bella J
“Who are you to tell me about appropriate behavior?”
His expression hardened, and his jaw ticked, a sign I had struck a nerve by speaking a truth he refused to confess. The rage between us thickened the air, hate sharpening its nails against the tension that was on the verge of snapping. The sight of him had me grasping at every drop of control I had. It was the one good lesson my father had taught me—never lose control of your emotions. If you did, you lost control of the situation. And losing control of the situation was as lethal as exposing one’s weakness.
I inhaled deeply, making a conscious effort to allow air to settle in my lungs. “Leave. Now.”
“Does she know?”
My eyes narrowed.
“Does. She. Know?” He spat out his words and accentuated every fucking letter as if pounding nails into my skull.
My mouth dried, and I licked my lips while crossing my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know that piece of shit bodyguard of yours got his hands on a copy.”
I widened my stance, the skin on the back of my neck tingling with warning. By the look in his eyes, I knew there was no use trying to deny it. Shame on me for thinking my father wouldn’t have the means to find out something as vital as the existence of a second will and the inclusion of a tiny clause that had the power to change the playing field.
My father lifted a brow, creases forming on his forehead. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“We are done here.” I turned my back on him and walked toward the yacht.
“A word of advice, son,” he called after me. “One should never start a marriage with lies. It festers, and in the end, it poisons everyone.”
I paused and glowered at him over my shoulder. “You’re right. And we all know in the end…it kills.”
I boarded the Empress and ordered the crew to get us out of the marina as soon as possible. I needed to put a fuck-load of distance between Mila and my father—not to mention Raphael. Fucker could not be trusted with her.
Aunt Elena came strolling toward me while I poured myself a drink. “What did your father want?”
“He just wanted to make sure I had enough motivation to want to ruin him by being a dick.” I grabbed a wine glass and poured her some chardonnay.
She nodded her appreciation and took a sip. “Do you think he’ll come after her?”
“I’d be underestimating him if I thought otherwise.”
“Well, I’m glad you managed to find her. I just popped into her room to check on her, and she’s still sleeping.”
I slipped my suit jacket down my arms and tossed it over the counter. “She’s exhausted.” I started rolling up my sleeves. “We just need to get the fuck out of here so I can make sure no one gets near her again.”
Elena gave me a knowing look, her brown eyes focused as if she was trying to see right through me. “You care for her.”
I glanced at her. “I care for the situation, and right now it’s in all of our best interests to keep her isolated.”
Elena leaned over the countertop and pinned me with her stare. “What’s going on, Marcello? What are you hiding?”
I emptied my glass and sucked air through my teeth, avoiding Elena’s intrusive gaze. I didn’t care much for her tarot card readings and self-proclaimed connection to the spirit world, but she had a sixth sense when it came to me. Like now, the way she looked at me, it was like she saw the tail of my secret and it was only a matter of time until she caught it.
With a huff, I grabbed the bourbon bottle and my glass. “I’ll be out on the deck enjoying my drink in peace.” My leather shoes thumped as I stomped from the bar and out on the wooden deck. Dusk was fading into black, the salty breeze cooling Roma from the grueling heat it had endured. As I sat down on the recliner, I leaned back and let out a deep sigh as if it was possible to breathe out the pressure of the last twelve hours, which felt more like twelve days.
The sound of the yacht’s engines filled the night sky. It was soothing to hear it run, the water splashing against the sides of the vessel. Watching the distance between us and the marina widen, some of the day’s tension slithered out of my shoulders.
I had her back. After hours of not having her in my sight, on the brink of losing my shit, I had her back. Right where I wanted her. Where I controlled her.
Where I could keep the truth from her—at least until I’d made my final decision.
6
Mila
The last thing I recalled was a vivid memory of Saint carrying me, his arms tightly wound around my body while my head rested on his chest. Despite him being such a cold-hearted asshole, the way he held me felt warm and comforting.
After that, everything just went dark until I opened my eyes and stared at the rays of sunlight shining through the cabin window. For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Not even my thoughts stirred any noise. It was calm. Serene. Tranquil.
I stretched to wake my muscles, the blanket soft and comfortable. And as I settled again, that feeling of someone watching me slithered across my skin.
I sat up, only to find Saint sitting in a chair across from the bed, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, staring at me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve.
“How long have you been sitting there?”
He shifted. “Not long.”
I glanced at his shirt and pants. It was the same clothes he wore yesterday. A half-bottle of bourbon and an empty glass stood on the side table next to him with dried liquid stains on the floor.
I looked into his eyes. “Liar.”
“Not many people have the balls to call me a liar to my face.”
“We’ve established I don’t have balls.”
He smirked. “You sure about that?”
Invitation gleamed in his eyes. He wanted me to provoke him, to challenge him. To give him the opportunity he was waiting for—an opportunity to make me surrender yet again. But I chose to ignore it even though I couldn’t shake the sexual tension that trickled all over my skin as he watched me with wicked intent.
I put my feet on the ground and sat on the side of the bed. “Will you ever give me answers?”
“To which questions?”
“All of them.”
He moved his arm down and swirled a finger around the rim of the empty glass.
I frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” He placed a finger against his lips as he studied me. It reminded me of the first time I saw him, thinking of how perfect his lips were. Saint was beyond attractive. He was like a flame in the darkness—burning with wrath and fury, refusing to be contained as it ravaged everyone and everything around it. And me? I was the moth, the creature seduced by its beauty, hypnotized by its glowing embers and flying right to the heart of the fire only to be burned to ash.
“One,” he said simply.
I stared at him in question.
“You can ask me one question every day. Any question, and I’ll answer it.”
“Why only one?”
He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “If we have too many options, we get overwhelmed and blindly make hasty decisions. Limit those options, and we are forced to pick wisely.” He leaned back in his seat. “Be sure to ask the question with an answer you’ll be able to live with if tomorrow never comes.”
“No pressure.” I pulled my fingers through my unruly curls, my mind suddenly blank now that I had the opportunity to find pieces to the puzzle that would hopefully give me a clearer picture of who Saint really was. What fueled him? What made him hate his father so much that he allowed it to dictate his every move, his every decision?
I looked his way, his eyes focused solely on me. “What did he do that made you hate him so much?”
Saint’s expression turned from stone to shades of amusement, as if he knew this would be my first question. As if I had fallen into his trap just like he knew I would.
He got up from his seat and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “He lied.”
“About what?”
Saint held up his index finger. “Only one question.”
“But that was hardly an answer.” I jumped to my feet. “Surely I deserve a better answer than that.”
“Ask a better question next time,” he replied before turning and walking toward the door. “You should eat. I’ll arrange for some breakfast to be served out on the deck.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Saint spun around, shooting a hardened glare my way. “Do not act like a petulant child. I warned you to pick wisely. You asked a stupid question, and I gave you the answer it deserved.”
“You gave me the option to pick the question I wanted to ask. It’s not up to you to decide whether it’s stupid or not. This might be some fucking twisted game to you, but I assure you to me it’s not.”
“Is that what you think?” His scowl darkened into a threatening glare. “You think this is some game to me? That I’m merely playing?” He stalked forward, and I instinctively stepped back. “For more than a decade, I’ve been planning all of this—Torres Shipping, my father, your brother…you—and you think I’m just, what? Fucking around?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Mila? Huh? What the fuck are you saying?”
“I wasn’t referring to your dad or this goddamn vendetta you have against him. I was talking about me. About us. About what the fuck is happening between us.”
He continued forward, forcing me to retreat until my back hit the wall. “And what makes you think anything is happening between us?”
This time, I stepped toward him rather than away, meeting his pointed glare and intimidating stance. “You know as well as I do that lines have blurred, and it’s fucking with your head because now you no longer know which side of the line you’re standing on.”
His top lip lifted in a snarl as if he wanted to tear me apart, but I held my head high and refused to allow him to intimidate me any further.
“You’re giving me whiplash, Saint. It’s like you’re two different people. One who doesn’t care about anything other than this war you’ve got going on with your dad.” I approached him with another short step, keeping my eyes focused on his. “Then there’s this other man who seems to want to care about something other than revenge. A man who wants to protect rather than ruin.”
“Are you sure that’s not just what you want to see?” He leaned his head down and reached to touch my chin. “Is that not the ideal of every woman wanting a man who would trade the darkness for light? A man who would change for love?”
“Who said anything about love?”
His grip on my chin tightened abruptly. His liquid gaze slipped down to my mouth, and he bit his lower lip as if he was ravenous to taste me. I wanted him to taste me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to take whatever it was he wanted from me.
“Do you want to kiss me, Saint?” I challenged as we both teetered at the edge.
He licked his lips.
“Do you want to taste me?” I pushed myself up on my toes and brought my lips inches from his, my heart pounding against my chest. “Do you want to punish me again? Leave me unsatisfied?”
“Don’t.” His top lip curled with warning, yet his eyes darkened with hunger as if I tempted him. Seduced him. Made him want to lose control.
I lifted my chin, and I felt his warm breath against my lips, his grip still firm around my jaw. “You changed. I can see it.”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, something has.” My pulse raced, and my thighs clenched. The way he looked at me, as if he was staring at his own undoing, made me want to push him even further. I wanted him to fall. I wanted him to lose control because I was about to, and I didn’t want to break alone. I needed to know if what was happening between us was real, or if I merely lived in some fucked-up fantasy where Stockholm Syndrome met desperation.
“I can assure you it’s not me,” he bit out, jaw ticking and nostrils flaring. Others would see anger in the lines of his face. But I saw wild, untamed desire. Something he tried to fight with his every breath.
I rested my palms on his chest, and I could feel his heart race against my palm. “You can try to deny it as much as you want, but I’m not the girl you kidnapped in New York anymore. At least not to you.”
He leveled me with his pointed stare—a mixture of a threatening glare and a heady gaze. He didn’t respond, his silence a deafening noise fueling the sexually laden air that crackled with anticipation. The pull between us tightened, the tension stretched so damn thin it was about to snap at any second. My body felt it. My bones were possessed by it. By him.
A whimper slipped through my parted lips when he leaned down, his mouth barely touching mine. Our heated breaths collided, and chills of anticipation spread down my spine and slammed against the apex of my thighs—my core tightening as my body desired to be consumed by him.
He reached out with his other hand and fisted the curls on the back of my head, tightening and pulling, causing me to crane my neck. Our lips touched, but it wasn’t nearly enough to be called a kiss. Yet it drew more whimpers from my mouth and demanded complete surrender from my body.
With a subtle sway, he brushed his bottom lip against mine—a single breath the only thing that kept him from kissing me. “Do not toy with me, Mila.” His voice was a low growl, a rush of heated air. “If you’re right, and I’m not sure which side of the line I’m on, I’d caution you not to provoke me.” His thumb dragged along my lip. “There is nothing more dangerous than a beast who finds itself on unfamiliar territory.”
I studied him as his threat hung in the air like thick smoke ready to suffocate. “You mean a vulnerable beast.” It wasn’t a question, and the way his eyes went from blue to black showed he didn’t take it as such.
The grip he had on my chin tightened some more, his lips pulled in a snarl as a war raged in the depths of his eyes. His jaw ticked, and the vein in his neck pulsed with rage. He was barely hanging on to his self-control, and warning prickled my scalp, yet I refused to cower away. It was time I challenged him, made him confront whatever the fuck this was between us.
Abruptly, he let go of my face, my skin burning from the bite of his grasp.
“I’m only going to say this once,” he started, his expression hard as if carved from granite. “I will never stop this war against my father until I’ve spilled every drop of his blood. And I sure as fuck won’t change for any goddamn woman.”
Saint turned his back on me and stomped out of the room. I wanted to chase after him. I wanted to yell and scream all the things I still wanted to say—issues that still needed to be addressed. But maybe I had pushed him far enough for now. The last time I went too far, I felt the wrath of his belt and the cruelty of his seduction that hurt far worse than the bite of leather.
He didn’t close the door behind him. I gently eased it shut and leaned against the door, my fingertips tapping against the dark wood. No matter how cruel he was to me, how much he intimidated and threatened me, for some inexplicable reason I felt safer here than I did with Raphael.
Why? Why would I rather be here with a man who had caused me nothing but pain and suffering above being with my own family? It didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
7
Saint
It was midday, and I was told Mila hadn’t left her room. She hadn’t eaten her breakfast, nor did she order lunch. The last goddamn thing I needed was for this woman to go on a fucking hunger strike. Not that I had an appetite. I was stuck in my office going through protection details with James.
“I still think taking her back to New York is the safer option here.” James tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. “You know as well as I do that here in Roma your father has all the means he needs to get his hands on her.”
I brushed my fingers across the five o’clock shadow on m
y jaw. “I know. But in New York she’ll feel more confident to run from me.”
“She ran from you here in Rome, so I don’t think the location has anything to do with it.”
“True.” I tilted my head back and let out a sigh of frustration. “This was not the way it was supposed to go. I was supposed to marry her, get my hands on her shares, and screw my father over. But everything is so fucked up right now.”
“Because of her, or because of you?”
I looked at him with warning. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“Let’s be frank. She’s not at all the kind of woman you thought she’d be. Or rather, the woman you counted on she’d be.” James lifted his chin. “She’s fucking with your head. She complicated everything, didn’t she?”
Normally, I wouldn’t have taken kindly to James’s comment. But I was too fucking exhausted to pretend what he just said was a bucket of bullshit. James was right. Mila fucked with my head. Somewhere, somehow, she became more than the woman I had studied on paper from the reports James had gathered on her. She was more than the girl mentioned in an anonymous letter. Mila was the girl promised to me. My birthright. The girl who had been born to be mine. The blood in her veins made me her king, yet I never desired to have a queen. All I wanted was to right the wrongs my father had done. Expose his lies and ruin his life as he had destroyed mine. That was what I wanted. That was what I had craved for years. Just that. Nothing else.
I got up from my seat and walked to stand in front of the window. The ocean was beautiful today. Calm. Serene. Not even a ripple stirred on the leveled sea, the sunrays reflecting on its mirrored appearance. It was the exact opposite of whatever the fuck I was feeling that had my mind reeling and emotions torpedoing. It was utter chaos inside my head, a mayhem of thoughts that conflicted with everything I was trying to achieve.