Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3)

by Veronica Lancet

  He bursts out laughing at my words, and his ridicule is making me want to prove him wrong. He must think that every woman falls at his feet just because he's good looking? I may not have much, but at least I have my pride, and I won't let him win.

  "Need I remind you that you can't swim? I think you already proved that when you almost drowned," he's holding on to his abdomen as he continues to laugh.

  My hands clench into fists, and I do a quick scan of my surroundings. Before I lose my courage, I dash to the side of the boat and take one lifeline. I place it around my body and turning back to him; I do the only thing I can think of.

  I stick out my tongue at him, one finger pulling at my eye in an you'll see type of expression.

  Then, without looking back to see his response, I throw myself into the sea. This time, the lifeline keeps me afloat, and I move my hands and feet, waddling through the water. I'm happy when I see I'm gaining some distance, only to have a beam of light shine over me. I stop, turning back towards the boat. Squinting my eyes, I see the insufferable devil still laughing as he's pointing the light at me.

  "Are you done yet? Or do you need more time?" He yells, the sound diffused by the waves crashing into the boat.

  I'm already freezing, but I won't let him get away with his malefic plan.

  "I won't be your whore!" I shout at him, turning to push myself forward again.

  I know I'm not likely to reach the shore — ever. But I'd rather perish by my own free will than be subjugated to the devil's wiles. Just like Daphne spurned Apollo to keep her virtue, preferring to shed her mortal skin and forever be turned into a tree, so would I prefer to become one with the sea, my conscience clean, my soul at peace.

  With that thought, I try to forget the clattering of my teeth or the way my limbs are becoming enveloped in numbness. No, I just keep on going.

  "Damn it all, little tigress. You're crazy, aren't you?" A strong hand grabs onto the lifeline, pulling me back.

  "Let. Me. Go!" I try to make out the words, my mouth unable to cooperate.

  "Easy, I won't do anything to you." He continues as he drags the lifeline — and me — with him towards the boat.

  I think I pass the point of no return, because I don't even realize when he pulls me up and on the deck, leaving me on the floor, a wet shivering mess close to hypothermia.

  He comes back, though, and he places a blanket around my shoulders, holding it tight so I can borrow its heat.

  "I won't be your whore." I feel the need to repeat.

  "Do you really think I would ever fuck you?" He tilts his head to the side, giving me a skeptical look. "Have you looked into a mirror recently? Sorry, little tigress, but my tastes run to women..." he pauses, looking me up and down, "not children." I can't even muster a reply, because who am I kidding? I know what I look like. Still, somehow his jibe hurts.

  With one last look at me, he turns his back to leave.

  "Then why? Why did you ask me?" I finally find my voice again.

  "Why?" He half turns, a smile on his face. "It was a test. I wanted to see how you'd react."

  I frown at his answer.

  "And?"

  "You passed." His last words are barely audible.

  Chapter Four

  GOING BACK INSIDE THE room, I turn the heating to the maximum and I quickly change my clothes. Then, taking a seat on a chair, I wait.

  Allegra.

  I smile to myself. She's small, but she sure packs a punch. I'd been convinced she was a boy until the moment I'd seen her nipples peeking through her shirt.

  Damn!

  She's a complication I don't need.

  I've never been on great terms with the Marchesi. And considering their reputation within our circles — greedy bastards with loose morals — it's no wonder I'd thought she was the same.

  From the moment I'd found out she was related to those lunatics, I'd made it my mission to push her, find out just how far she can take it. I'd seen the way she'd first looked at me, even when I'd thought her a boy. The invitation had been there, in the way her pupils had dilated or how her mouth had parted in wonder.

  I might be branded a narcissist, even though I'm anything but. Yet every single woman of my acquaintance has reacted the same way, so I've learned to recognize the cues.

  Little Allegra had wanted me, and when I realized it, I'd snapped. I'd been callous to her, and maybe a little too cruel, but in my mind she was just a second away from doing what everyone's always done — throw herself at me.

  So I'd set out to prove to myself that she was just like the others; that she only needed a little nudging before she was willing to spread her legs for me — not that I would have ever taken her up on the offer.

  And so I'd pushed, backed her into a corner and dangled in front of her what she wanted the most — transport back to the port. I'd been so sure she was going to drop her innocent act and fall to her knees before me, begging for my cock.

  But she hadn't.

  She'd been... unpredictable. From the very beginning I'd thought myself in control, but she turned the game around and handed me a move I never saw coming.

  She'd rather die than become my whore.

  Idiotic, but admirable.

  She'd proved me wrong. And that gave me pause.

  She passed the test.

  I'm interrupted from my musings as a shriveled Allegra tentatively opens the door, a moan escaping her lips as she steps inside the heated room.

  Why is this suddenly erotic?

  I shake my head, furious at myself for even thinking that.

  "Here." I hand her a pair of pants and a new shirt so she can change. She eyes them suspiciously, but takes them.

  "Turn around." She motions me with her hand, and my amusement perks up again.

  "Is there anything to see?" I arch an eyebrow. "I thought we established I don't do children." I say, more to provoke her than anything.

  I've seen those sharp claws of hers, and maybe I'm a little masochistic, but I want her to scratch me again.

  She blushes, the red spreading down her neck. She lowers her head, her eyes fixed on the floor, and next thing I know the blanket is off her shoulders.

  My eyes widen as she takes her tattered shirt off, throwing it to the ground, before moving to remove her pants.

  I can't help it. My eyes are rooted to her body, a mix of anger and curiosity boiling inside of me.

  She seems unbothered as she puts on the dry clothes. Me, on the other hand, I'm very bothered.

  Because I'd lied.

  She doesn't look like a child. She's a woman with a woman's body. One that was very much naked a moment before. I swallow hard, beat at my own game. Again.

  Minx!

  "Thank you for the clothes," she says, keeping a distance from me as she sits down on another chair.

  "I'd rather not have your death on my conscience," I add casually.

  "You didn't seem that concerned a moment before," she replies drily.

  "Bah, it's the past. I've changed since then," I look intently at her, waiting for her next retort.

  "Sure," she narrows her eyes at me, "like a leopard changes his spots."

  "Let's say my spots have been genetically modified." I lean forward, the desire to rattle her up increasing by the second.

  She scoffs, pushing her dainty nose in the air, raising her chin in a challenging gesture. I take a moment to actually study her. She is small, and a little too slender.

  Her black hair flows down her back, wet strands clamped together from the saltiness of the sea water. Her dark eyebrows are nicely formed, giving her a gentle look. Her eyes are a chocolate brown, accented by thick eyelashes. They slant upwards in a catlike fashion. The rest of her face is just like her — small and delicate. She looks young and innocent, and for the first time, she might actually be those things.

  "What's your name, anyway?" She suddenly asks.

  "Why?" I wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. "Did you suddenly change your mind abo
ut..." I don't get to finish as she throws her wet shirt at me. I catch it right before it hits my face.

  "Don't even try to finish that," she points her finger at me trying to seem threatening.

  Yes, show me those little claws.

  "Enzo. Enzo Agosti." I stand up and do a small bow. "At your service."

  Allegra snorts, a little frown marring her forehead.

  "Is that you remembering to be a gentleman?"

  "I'm never not a gentleman," I retort. How dare she impugn on my gentlemanly behavior when I'm always nothing short of gracious!

  She narrows her eyes at me. "So gentlemen cut women's clothes with a switchblade nowadays?" She pauses before amending. "My bad, children, not women." I can spot the corner of her mouth slightly pulling up. The minx thinks she got me.

  Not this time.

  "What can I say?" I shrug, looking entirely innocent. "I'm a gentleman in the streets and a beast in the sheets." I wink at her, but she just rolls her eyes, the joke missing its mark.

  "More like a psycho with a knife in the sheets." She states, deadpan, and I realize she does not know what sheets stand for.

  I laugh. Even more when her nose scrunches up in confusion.

  When was the last time I laughed like this?

  "Don't worry," she finally speaks, a determined look on her face, "I promise to give as good as I get." She asserts confidently.

  "Really? What if I like it hard?" I parry, enjoying her cluelessness at what we're actually discussing.

  "I can give you harder." She raises her chin a notch, and I once again note that quiet pride of hers... no, it's more than that. It's dignity, and she carries it like a champ.

  "I see." I reply solemnly. "I also enjoy having an audience." I throw that out there, curious to see what she'll counter it with.

  "Of course." She readily agrees. "An audience is necessary to witness when you lose," she once again confirms that she's talking about something else entirely.

  My poker face threatens to break, laughter bubbling up inside of me.

  "And you will lose," she continues, and I can see she's becoming more comfortable with me. Good.

  "Will I? I never lose, little tigress. Never." I half-lie, because I'm strong enough to admit I've already lost to her–not to her face, of course.

  "You will next time. You won't take me by surprise again." She folds her hands across her chest, the picture of indignation.

  "Oh no, next time you'll know when I come."

  A smile plays at her lips. "Maybe next time I'll come first."

  The moment I hear her words, a groan escapes me. Am I taking this too far? It's certainly too enjoyable to end now.

  "Oh you will, little tigress. You'll definitely come first." My voice breaks as I reply, and I can no longer contain my amusement.

  "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about something else?" She stands up, hands on her hips, her eyes shooting daggers at me. "You're mocking me, aren't you?"

  "Of course not," I clear my thoughts, schooling my features "I was talking about fighting." I lie.

  "Weird," She adds thoughtfully. "I was sure we were talking about that coitus, since you know, you seemed terribly obsessed with it."

  My face drops. My mouth hangs open in shock. Not because she just called sex coitus, even though that is funny in itself. But because I've been played.

  Again.

  "How..." I trail off, and her smile grows wider. She struts to the table, gloating from head to toe. She picks up the book she'd had earlier with her and she throws it at me.

  "Very educational. You might learn a thing or two." She has the gall to wink at me, and I'm just staring at her dumbfounded.

  Looking down, the naked guy on the cover is peering back, his smug expression quietly making fun of me.

  Enzo Agosti. International art trafficker. Feared mafioso.

  Ended by a little girl.

  TIRED OF WATCHING HER huddled into a corner and staring out the window — thereby ignoring me — I call out to her.

  "I'll drop you off at the port and you can take the next ferry back to Sicily." She turns her head slightly to look at me and she gives me a curt nod.

  Where is the little tigress from before? Somehow my conscience feels the need to suddenly appear as I continue.

  "It shouldn't be too hard. I'll leave you some money for a ticket. The ferries run pretty regularly."

  She nods again, her expression bored.

  "Thank you," she says, and she turns her head to look out the window again.

  For a second, I'm pissed at her blatantly ignoring me, but then I worry that something might be wrong.

  I stand up, and in two strides I'm next to her. I lift my arm and touch her forehead with the back of my hand, checking her temperature.

  She flinches and moves back, the gesture taking her by surprise. She raises her eyes to look at me, her brows furrowing in confusion.

  "No one said you could touch me," she grits her teeth, the tone of her voice a mix of annoyance and defiance.

  "Are you ill?" I rotate my hand to grab her by her wrist, bringing her closer so I can feel the temperature of her skin.

  "Let me go," she tries to push me off, but I'm not deterred. Gliding my hand across her forehead, I note she doesn't have a fever.

  "Easy, little savage. I just wanted to make sure you won't die on me."

  She fixes her eyes on me, and I'm shocked at the amount of disdain I see in them. It seems that my little tigress hasn't forgiven me for manhandling her — not that I apologized for it.

  Maybe I should apologize? I stop to think for a second. I've never apologized to anyone before, and she certainly won't be the first. I mentally scoff at that. My casual cordiality is all she's getting.

  Just then I hear a growly sound, like something is reverberating in the air. I frown, worried it might be another engine approaching. But one look at Allegra tells me that's not the case. Her eyes widen and she pushes at me to take a step back.

  "You're hungry." I state, and she does a poor attempt at denying.

  "You're hungry," I repeat, and without waiting for her protest, I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen.

  "No, I'm not," she repeats, but she's not even looking me in the eye. Why did I think she was a good actress before? Because she clearly can't lie to save her life.

  "Sit!" I push her shoulders down into a chair and I turn to look at the groceries I'd bought.

  "Are you so bossy with everyone?" She mutters under her breath, and I don't think she cares if I hear her or not, because as I turn to her she just shrugs.

  "Yes. And usually people obey me too."

  "Or what? You stab them with your knife?" She asks, and even though I'm with my back to her now, I bet she's rolling her eyes at me.

  "No. I reserve that for disobedient little girls. The others just meet the end of my gun." I say casually and return to my task. I quickly assemble a plate with some cheese, ham, salami and fresh bread, and I place it in front of her.

  She's skeptical as she narrows her eyes on the food, but there's also a glint of want in her gaze. Another low noise resounds in the small room, and I try my best to stifle a smile.

  She's starving, even if she doesn't want to admit it.

  "You didn't put any poison on this, did you?" She picks up a piece of ham and brings it to her nose, sniffing it.

  "You know, there are odorless poisons out there too."

  "Wow, thanks, that makes me trust you even more."

  "Why would you not? I saved you from your death." I smirk at her.

  "Probably so you could kill me later," she murmurs, but she reluctantly bites into the ham. The moment she takes her first mouthful, her eyes squeeze shut, and she releases a low moan in her throat.

  I try very hard not to stare, but I'm obviously failing as I follow the movements of her cheeks as she chews and the bobbing of her throat as she swallows.

  I swallow hard in turn.

  "You want some?" She thrusts t
he bread in my face, but I can see the way it's trembling, slowly retreating as if she regrets her sudden outburst.

  Greedy little tigress.

  "I'm good." I say and lean back, continuing to watch her. Her eyes crinkle around the corners, satisfaction written all over her face.

  "It's all for you." I add for good measure and I'm regaled with another look of complete happiness as she dives into the food once more, stuffing her face with everything on the table.

  She's eating like she's been starved for years.

  I pause, the thought sobering me. My eyes rove down her body, and I remember how she'd felt beneath me, the way she'd barely had any meat on her bones. I'd noticed even then that she was unnaturally small.

  "How old are you?" I suddenly ask, dreading the answer.

  "Almost eighteen," she answers immediately, her mouth full of food. She's just so happy to be eating that all animosity seems to be put aside — for now.

  I'm shocked. I quickly school my features so she doesn't realize it, but she's not paying attention to me, anyway. She only has eyes for her food.

  Hell, I'm pretty sure eighteen-year-olds aren't this small, or this skinny.

  "I haven't had cheese in so long," she lets out a moan as she takes a bite of the gorgonzola.

  "Why?"

  "Not allowed," she replies before her eyes widen at her slip.

  "Not allowed? What do you mean?" I shouldn't care. It's none of my business after all what happened to her or what will happen once she's off my hands. But somehow I can't help it.

  "It makes you fat." Allegra just shrugs, as if it's the most normal thing.

  "And you don't want to be fat?" I'd seen the socialites in New York follow all sorts of diets to make their waists smaller. It had even become a competition, who could boast the smallest waist. Somehow, Scarlett O'Hara's fictional seventeen inch waist had become the golden standard. I'd never been able to understand that fascination with such extremes. Yet, seeing the way Allegra's eating, with such gusto, I don't think she'd be one to watch her diet so minutely.

  "Not me," she sighs, a defeated outtake of breath that makes her eyes slope downwards in such a miserable look, "my future husband."