His eyes are distant, unfocused at least for a moment. “You want me to bed you?”
I feel my stomach do a flip but shake my head because that’s the only right answer.
“Didn’t think so. Go upstairs now then. The door across from mine with the lock on the outside, you’ll sleep there tonight.”
I look at him, confused. “Why haven’t you put me in a cell with my brother?”
“I should. I would if I were smart.”
He moves to the kitchen door, opens it. But when I stand there, he returns to me, comes so close I feel his chest against my chest and my back presses to the wall. He puts one arm up on the wall between me and the door. He’s so close I can feel his breath on me, feel his heat on me.
“You need to go. Now. If you stay, I’ll do more than kiss you.”
I swallow.
“You have exactly three seconds to decide.”
He gestures to the door with a nod of his head and I don’t wait. I slip underneath his arm and scurry upstairs.
13
Cristiano
I let her go. Let her slip away. I don’t know how I have the self-control to do it.
That night, I don’t even trust myself to sleep in my own bed. Not with her in the room across from mine.
There’s something about Scarlett. It’s true what I said. There’s an emptiness inside me. A hunger I need to fill. I want to fill it with her.
In the morning I take a shower in the bathroom in my office. I jerk off but it doesn’t take the edge off. I want her. I need her.
Fuck.
I sit behind my desk and am running my hand through my hair trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me when Lenore knocks then opens the door to my office.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks me, setting the tray down and arranging a pot of espresso, a cup and a plate of food I won’t touch. She glances at the photos strewn across my desk, careful to set the things down around them. She doesn’t comment on any of it.
“I’ll sleep tonight.”
“Dante just got in. He’s having a shower and will be down soon.”
I nod. I have to remember Dante can take care of himself. He has a hard time being in the house. Harder than me. I know that. I understand it.
“Is Scarlett down yet?”
She shakes her head. “Go get her. Bring her in here.”
“You could be less heavy-handed with her. You scare the girl.”
I look up from the desk. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing.”
“Cristiano—”
“Get me the girl, Lenore.”
She looks like she has more to say but purses her lips, nods and leaves.
Scarlett asked me last night why I haven’t put her in a cell, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is about her. I’m not sure what happened last night. How things went so off the rails. Maybe it was meeting with the families. Seeing them all again like that. Maybe it was the killing after. That couple. It didn’t feel right. Maybe because they were old. I don’t fucking know. All I know is it didn’t feel right.
I take out the ledger from the bottom drawer. The ones who aren’t tattooed on my chest I keep track of here. I write down their names, write down the dates next to them.
Before closing it, I leaf through the pages and read some of them out loud. It’s a ritual of mine. Every time I add a name, I read from the list those that felt like the couple from last night did. A remembrance of sorts. Not that they deserve it. They had a hand in my family’s massacre, no matter how small.
I gave my uncle the instruction years ago. I wanted anyone who had anything at all to do with their murders, no matter what role they played. He has obliged me. He does good work. Thorough work.
But maybe the ones that don’t feel right are a mistake. He’s not infallible.
There’s a knock on the door and I close the ledger, expecting Scarlett.
Lenore enters with another tray carrying a second coffee cup and more food. “Scarlett will be down in a few minutes. I assume she’ll eat with you.”
“I wasn’t inviting her in for breakfast.”
“Well, the girl needs to eat and if she’s in your house, you’re the host.”
“She’s not exactly a guest. Take those away.”
Lenore stops, looks up at me, eyes narrowed, jaw set. And I have a flash of memory. It’s that look. The one she used when she was angry with any of us. My smile must confuse her at least momentarily before I school my features and tell her again to take Scarlett’s cup and plate away.
“You listen to me, young man. Scarlett is your guest. Period. You will feed her. And you will treat her with respect.”
I snort.
“If your father were here—”
“He’s not here!” I snap and instantly regret it. “Fuck.” I shift my gaze away then turn back to her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I know how you miss them, but I’m worried about Scarlett, Cristiano.”
“Why?”
“She had the window wide open when I went up there.”
My heartbeat doubles at this, remembering our conversation two nights ago. “What was she doing?”
“I don’t know. She said she was just taking in the sea air but I’m not sure. You just take care with her. They hurt her too, remember. They killed her parents too and God knows what else they’ve done to her or her brother.”
It takes all I have to keep myself behind my desk.
“I don’t interfere often, but this needed to be said,” she adds on.
“Fine. You’ve said it. You can leave the things. I’ll make sure she eats. When I’m finished with her, have Alec take her down to see her brother. Jacob De La Cruz will be by in about an hour. I don’t want her to see him here.”
She nods without questioning me and I wonder again just how much Lenore truly knows.
14
Scarlett
I walk downstairs unattended and find Alec waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“This way,” he says.
I follow him through a corridor I’ve not yet explored to the last door. Alec knocks and opens it on Cristiano’s command. He stands aside and I walk in to find Cristiano freshly showered, although looking like he hasn’t slept, wearing a different suit than he had on yesterday. The other man is there, too, on the couch. He’s sipping from a cup of coffee. Cerberus, who was lying on a bed in the corner, lopes toward me. I get the feeling I’m disturbing his morning nap.
Leaning down, I pat him.
Cristiano stands up and looks me over, then dismisses Alec. He rubs a hand over his clean-shaven face like it feels foreign to him. Maybe it is because I’d assumed the five-o’clock shadow was permanent. Actually, I hadn’t realized I’d filed away so many details about his appearance and it annoys me a little that I did.
The memory of what happened last night is making my cheeks burn. Making more than that burn.
I touched myself last night. I hated myself for it, for thinking of him, for feeling his hand on me there. For remembering the feel of it. For coming at the thought of it, of him, his mouth on mine, eyes on mine, hands on me.