“Sing me a song, bella.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Something touched me. Cold fingers running through my hair, the same way they had from ages eight to twelve.
Terror crawled up my spine.
I flew out my door and banged on the one right across from it. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but I also didn’t want to die. And I was sure I would if I had to be alone in this darkness any longer.
The door opened.
A candle glowed from somewhere inside, casting his form in shadow. His presence, however, was like a light in the dark.
“I’m going to die,” I choked out, not able to drag a deep enough breath into my lungs.
“Never, malyshka.” It was soft and vehement. “Come here.”
It wasn’t until I was pressed against his warm body that I realized how badly I was shaking. It was like grabbing onto a life raft before almost drowning in the sea. He made a rough noise and picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and rested my face against his neck, struggling for every breath.
“Slowly, Gianna.”
He ran a hand through my hair, down my back, and the simple act was so soothing, soon, I inhaled a steady breath. Relief hit me so strongly it brought on a wave of fresh tears. I didn’t know how long it took, but when my breathing evened out and my heart rate slowed, I was straddling Christian on his couch, my arms around his shoulders, my chest pressed to his. The panic attack had sucked the energy from me, left me feeling lethargic.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
A candle flickered on the coffee table.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Everything,” I whispered, trailing my finger across the starched collar of his dress shirt.
“You’re not afraid of me.” We were so close his cheek brushed my tear-streaked one when he rasped, “And, baby, I’m worse than the dark.”
Maybe that was why I felt safe from it now.
He was so warm and solid, and he smelled so irresistible, I couldn’t stop myself from dragging my face down his neck and making a soft noise of approval. Maybe I was courting the devil, though no one had ever warned me the devil would feel so good.
Tension rolled through him. His fingers laced through my hair at the small of my back, his voice hoarse. “Tell me who hurt you, Gianna.”
I didn’t even blink that he knew. Of course, he did. Give the man two sticks and tell him to make a boat with them, and he could.
I couldn’t deny him an answer. Not now, without an ounce of fight in me. With my body against his, and his smell everywhere. Not in the dark, with his arms around me and his voice in my ear.
“A family friend,” I said.
“Is he still alive?”
“No. He died when I was fourteen. Natural causes, unfortunately—no torture involved.” My fingers played with the ends of his hair above his collar.
“Shame,” he said softly, but a hint of vehemence showed through. “Tell me what he did to you, malyshka.”
I swallowed. I’d never told anyone but Sydney and my therapist. Talking about it felt like reliving it, but now, there wasn’t a possibility of the memories coming back to haunt me. Not with this man nearby. They wouldn’t dare.
“He came to my room when my papà had company. He wanted to play games with me . . . wanted me to sing for him. He touched me. My face, my hair, my . . . everywhere. But only after the lights were off. I don’t think he liked to see what he was doing. Guilty conscience, I suppose.”
His posture remained unmoved but something dark rumbled beneath the surface. “Did your father know?”
“He told me my papà knew, but . . . I don’t know. Papà never let on that he did, though I’ve always wondered.”
“Why?”
I lifted a shoulder. “His favorite name for me growing up was Whore, even though I was a virgin until I got married. My mamma had an affair before I was born, and we’ll just say, I became the target of his rage. He always claimed I wasn’t his. Maybe I’m not.” My words were quiet, wistful. “When he found out my fear of the dark, he didn’t hesitate to use it against me. And here I am now, the healthiest, most put-together woman you’ll ever meet.”
He wasn’t amused at my sarcasm. “Look at me, Gianna.”
I did.
“We have a saying in Russia. S volkámi zhit’, po-vólch’i vyt’. Say it.”
I butchered it. A corner of his lips lifted, but he walked me through it until it sounded somewhat intelligible.
“It means, to live with wolves, you have to howl like a wolf.”
Is that what you did? I wanted to ask, but somehow knew it wouldn’t be well received.
“You’ve got to learn how to howl, malyshka. To tell your demons to fuck off. We all know you have it in you; you tell me to enough. And unlike your demons”—his voice darkened—“I can actually bite you.”
I shivered. “I think you just wanted me to speak your heathen language.”
He didn’t agree, but the thumb he ran across a tear-track on my cheek said more than words ever could. “Worst Russian I’ve ever heard.”
I feigned a frown. “Bummer. I was hoping not to be mistaken for a tourist when I visit Moscow next summer.”
He didn’t believe me. “You’re not going to Moscow.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t get warm enough to laze around by the pool—at least, not for a little Italian girl.”
“Hmm,” I replied. “Why do you kiss me?”
His gaze dropped to my lips, his jaw ticking in thought. “I wanted to know what you tasted like.”
We both knew he hadn’t answered the question. He’d known what I tasted like three years ago, if that had been the only goal.
“What do I taste like?”
His eyes drifted back up to mine. They were so deep and serious they held me captive. His next two words tugged at my heart, even though I didn’t know the meaning.
“Kak moya.”
The lights flicked back on.
It should have broken the moment, but now, I could see the intensity in his eyes I hadn’t been able to in the dark. A possessive heat sizzling in blue flame.
We stared at each other.
My heart raced. My blood burned.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop.
Leaning in, I brought my mouth to his, pausing close enough to taste his breath. I was shaking in anticipation yet he remained still as I took a sweet pull on his lips. He didn’t kiss me back, but heat still pulsed and spread through me like fire, tightening in my breasts before descending to my toes.
He licked his lips, drawing a lazy gaze from my mouth to my eyes, as though he’d found the kiss slightly bothersome to his person. It should have been discouraging, but I was too far in to stop now.
I drew my tongue across his top lip and then nipped at the bottom. A low groan rumbled up his throat. The sound hummed between my legs, making me clutch both of my hands in his hair.
And then I licked his lips like an ice cream cone. It had no finesse, just pure, unadulterated want.
He made a noise of anger, grabbed the back of my neck, parted my lips with his, and slipped his tongue inside.
Lust exploded behind my eyes, blurring my vision.
“Is this what you wanted, malyshka?” His tone was heated, coated in a rough accent.
God, yes.
I could only nod.
He leaned back into the couch like he was settling in for the kiss. I went with him, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, mouth pressed to his. The man really didn’t kiss—I felt it in the lazy, blasé manner his lips moved against mine. But when he was all in on a kiss, it was the deep kind I had to pull back from to take a breath.
My pulse thrummed between my legs as he tasted my mouth, sucked on my tongue, and nipped me when I kissed him softer and sweeter than he liked. He could have it his way. Kissing had always got me so hot I’d do anything after a while, and just kissin
g Christian was better than sex with anyone else.
My hips rolled, mocking every thrust and glide of our tongues. I moaned, pressing tighter against him, running my nails down his biceps. I’d never admit it to the man, but I was obsessed with his arms.
My breathing grew ragged as my breasts rubbed against his chest every time I swayed into a kiss. Hot pressure built inside me as I grinded against his erection. The lust inside me was burning out of control, growing more frantic with every press of our lips.
He let out a rough breath and pulled away from me, his voice harsh. “Enough, Gianna. You have to stop.”
“Why?” I nibbled at his jawline and down his neck. He grabbed my wrist before my hand could reach his belt.
“Because another moment of this, and I’m not going to be able to.”
I looked at him, confused. “But I don’t want you to.”
He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “This wasn’t what this was about, Gianna.”
I blinked, and then the heat inside me dimmed and went cold. The man’s hands weren’t even on me—hadn’t been on me the entire time I’d practically mauled him. It seemed like I was always touching him. What’s wrong with me? He’d listened to my sob story and I’d reacted like a clingy virgin falling for her first lover. Humiliation settled inside me.
And then I remembered Aleksandra. The man had a girlfriend and I was throwing myself at him. No wonder he wanted me to stop.
I swallowed. “I must have lost my head there, Officer. I’m sure, with that face, things like this happen to you all the time.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“No?” My voice was hesitant.
“No,” he snapped.
Oh.
I climbed off him, got to my feet, and headed to leave.
“Gianna, wait.”
His door lay wide open, and I walked through it into the hall.
“Gianna.” The word was harsh and vehement. Christian Allister was not happy. But there was something else in his voice. Something soft and nauseating. Something that sounded suspiciously like pity. The day I stuck around to see that on his face was the day I’d willingly roll around in my own self-loathing.
I slammed my door behind me.
MY SECOND HUSBAND’S FUNERAL CAME on a mid-September day.
Sunlight splayed through the trees onto the cemetery floor, silhouetting each shade of black. Black hearts, black suits, black dresses. Polished shoes and Glocks. The Cosa Nostra had come to pay their respects in a sea of black.
A light breeze tousled the mantilla veil around my face. As gruesome as it seemed, this was a day I’d been waiting for since the moment I’d been married. I thought I would feel different. Free. But now that it was here, I felt nothing. Numbness had spread through my body, filling every vessel and vein.
Elena squeezed my hand before drifting with Ace and the rest of the crowd toward the line of shiny cars.
“You ready to go?” Lorenzo asked.
“I’ll find another ride home. I have something I need to do.”
“All right. But stay out of trouble.”
Slipping my hands into my dress pockets, I headed through the cemetery. The headstone was small and simple. It was the first time I’d ever visited it. The first time I’d had the will.
Sydney Brown, it read. Beloved Daughter and Friend.
I stared at the word friend for the longest time, searching for the right words.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry you ever met me, that I ever introduced you to this world. To Antonio.” My voice cracked, and I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
I’d forgiven her a long time ago, but the guilt I felt for dragging her into my twisted life was still a heavy weight in my chest.
My gaze caught on movement to my side.
The procession had left but Christian remained. He stood by his car, hands in his pockets and his gaze on me. It was thoughtful and warm enough to touch my skin like a ray of sun.
It’d been only sheer luck I hadn’t seen him since the night I went to his apartment. I’d bared my deepest, darkest secret with him, naively believed it meant something, and been turned down, hard. The cutting ache of rejection still burned whenever I thought of him. And, to my bemusement, that happened to be more frequently every day.
He watched me as I walked over to him.
“Did someone blackmail you to take me home?” I asked.
“Can’t I do something nice for someone?”
“For me?” I raised a brow, forcing amusement. “Please.”
His jaw ticked. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. When it came back up to me, it was so heavy and humorless it pinned me to my spot.
“I had every intention of coming back for you three years ago, Gianna.”
My small smile fell. Shock rocked me at my center. He could sometimes be so blunt when least expected, it stole my breath.
“I was in Moscow those two weeks. But if I had known, I would’ve stopped it. Your marriage.” He looked around the cemetery, at the tent where my husband’s casket lay. “All of this.”
My lungs felt tight. “It wasn’t your responsibility to save me.”
His gaze was steady. “Nonetheless, I would have.”
“Savior complex?” I joked to lighten the mood.
“No.” It was a harsh word.
My throat burned, making my voice bitter. “Why are you telling me this?” Why are you making me feel this way?
“You hate me for that night.”
“I don’t—” I cut myself off. Because there was a part of me that resented him for acting like he’d cared and then disappearing, leaving me tied to another unwanted marriage. It wasn’t rational—none of it had been his fault—but, still, the feeling was there.
We stared at each other as that awareness settled between us.
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I told him. “It’s not like it matters anymore.” Right?
He shook his head, letting out a disdainful noise through his teeth.
My heart beat hard against my ribcage.
His eyes lifted to mine, and they were filled with fire: violence, confliction, and a flash of possession. “Ask me why I kiss you.”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
I shook my head.
Because I was suddenly terrified of the answer.
With his handsome, aristocratic face, he looked like a pissed-off prince who was darkly amused to be denied what he wanted. “I thought you were braver than this, Gianna.”
I wasn’t. I’m not.
“Remember that the next time you offer me your body, malyshka,” he bit out. “Because next time, I’ll take it. Regardless if there are still tears on your face. Fuck, I won’t care if you cry the whole way through it.”
I swallowed.
He’d once insinuated I was breakable, like a flimsy piece of glass. And that truth was suddenly loud in my ears. I needed to keep my distance from this man; nothing good could come from this chemistry between us. It was explosive and addictive but forged in hate and mistrust. He had always won, and I knew, if I explored this attraction further, he would be the victor in the end.
My silence was my forfeit.
He shook his head. “Get in the car, Gianna.”
He took me home, and we didn’t say another word to each other on the way.
“I think it’s too small,” I groaned.
“What do you expect, eating all that junk lately?” Magdalena chastised, yanking on the laces of my dress. “There are chocolate stains on all of your clothes.”
“I can’t help it if I eat my feelings.”
“If you aren’t careful, querida, you’ll look like a busted can of biscuits by Christmas.”
“Everyone should put on a little weight for the winter,” I countered, turning to look at myself in the mirror. My dress was a slim-fitting sheath style, with a lace bustier and a corset that tied up at
the back. It was beautiful, but maybe not that practical.
I placed a hand on my stomach. “I can’t really breathe that well.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Now, let me put the finishing touches on your hair. Then, you need to leave. Roberto is coming over.”
I was going to complain about this being my apartment but couldn’t get all the air in to do so. Consequently, when I could speak, what came out was, “Hide the chocolate, Magdalena.”
It was Ace’s club’s fiftieth anniversary, and the place was easily overcapacity. But that was probably the lesser of the illegal activities taking place tonight.
“Really, Val?” I sighed. “My husband’s funeral was two days ago.”
“Oh, come on. You have to jump back into the saddle sometime! Let’s be honest, how long has it been since you’ve been laid?”
I ignored that question and eyed the blind date she’d brought along. Handsome, dark hair, lean build, a couple of inches taller than me in heels. He was exactly my type—or, at least, what I would have preferred not long ago. Though, now, I couldn’t help but feel like everything was wrong with him.
Frustration ran through me. I’d been abstinent for so long it felt like I was a virgin again. And now that I was finally free to do as I wished, I couldn’t find any interest in men. Well, besides one. Christian had reintroduced me to sex, and it only made sense I was feeling a little attached to him because of it.
“At least give him a try, Gianna. He’s been anxious to meet you.”
The truth was, I needed touch and sex and affection. I lived for it. And I didn’t believe I could stand to be without it anymore. Maybe if I forced some interest in this blind date of mine, it would eventually become genuine.
“Fine. Do introduce us, Val.”
“See, I knew this was exactly what you needed.” She grabbed my arm, and we walked toward a table where her husband Ricardo and my date were talking. “By the way, loving the dress. Very classy steampunk. Can you breathe?”
“Not at all.”
She chuckled as we reached the table.
“Van, this is Gianna. Gianna, this is Van.” She shoved me toward him like I was a nervous teenager meeting a boy at a dance. I rolled my eyes but stepped forward and offered my hand.
The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2) Page 19