“I’m hungry for blood.” I struggle to free my wrists, wriggling, tugging, hating not only the hold he has on my arms, but the one he has on my heart. “You’re going to regret what you’ve done.”
“No, I won’t. Because what I did brought us together.”
His confidence sparks insanity. I thrash, scream, attempt to kick at his thighs.
“Enough.” He stands, dragging my arms above my head. “Want me to prove how much you want me?” He swings me sideways, stretching me across the sofa.
I buck and twist and struggle, fighting and fighting while he climbs on top of me.
“No,” I scream. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
I stop breathing, stop moving as the heavy weight of him sinks against my hips, my hands trapped above my head, his eyes never leaving mine.
I hate this.
I hate him.
But he’s right. I want him, too.
I need him. Crave him. Can’t stop my nerves tingling from the lust-drunk memories of what it means for our bodies to be joined.
And his dick—oh, God—is erect, hard and adamant against my pubic bone, sending me into a world of tingles.
I despise him. I love him. I loathe him. I’m lost.
He leans in, attempting to kiss me, my mouth watering in response.
“Don’t.” I turn my face away, not willing to capitulate. I’m stronger than this.
“Amore mio,” he murmurs against my cheek. “You’re all that matters to me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the pained cry that demands to be heard.
He nuzzles my jaw, my neck, his lips leaving gentle kisses along my carotid. “I will earn your trust.”
“Impossible,” I whisper. “I’ll never believe a word you say.”
The kisses stop. The nuzzling, too.
“We will see.” He rests his forehead against my shoulder, a defeated sigh brushing my ear. “But for now, you need to stay with me.”
“No.”
“Think of Stella. Think of what they’ll do to her.”
My fragile pulse becomes frantic. “She’s safe.”
Nobody knows where she is. Who she is. Stella was enrolled in boarding school under a different surname, her tuition paid from an account that has no correlation to my family.
“Are you willing to stake her life on that? Because I’m not.” He shifts on top of me, pulling back until I meet his gaze. “You don’t know enough about my past. Or what I mean to Emmanuel. I may be estranged, but that bastard will always consider me his successor. I’m his golden child. Your presence in my life won’t be ignored.”
“Which means I should get as far away from you as possible.”
“Distance won’t matter. He’ll find you. He won’t stop looking—not when his hatred for you will be more than what he holds for your brother. You infiltrated his family. You targeted a son who wasn’t involved.”
Goddamnit.
What have I done?
What has he done?
“This is your fault.” I wiggle beneath him, only endeavoring to tease my pussy against his shaft. “You did this.”
“So let me fix it.”
“How?”
The front door opens with a whoosh of air, footsteps following straight after.
I scramble, reigniting my fight to get this bastard off me. Unwilling to be seen as a victim. Especially a sexual one.
“Get off.” I buck. “Now.”
Matthew growls and releases my wrists, removing his weight from my body. “Have breakfast, amore mio. We leave for Denver in ten minutes.”
32
Matthew
Her eyes flash in fear at the mention of Denver. But she doesn’t protest. Instead, she sits up, straightening to her full height to accept her fate.
She doesn’t argue about leaving her suitcase in the penthouse.
Doesn’t fight getting on the jet.
She comes of her own volition, taking the lone seat on the far side of the aisle while I sit across the polished compact table from Bishop, scrutinizing her.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” He taps his fingers against the arm of his chair. “I’m assuming you have a plan.”
“I do.”
He raises a brow, waiting for clarification while I attempt to figure out why Layla came so willingly. Why didn’t I have to drag her alongside me, kicking and screaming?
“Well?” Bishop asks. “Do you mind telling me what it is, seeing as though I’m following you into the lion’s den?”
“Emmanuel is no lion.” I return my attention to the only friend I’ve had in ten years. The only man I’ve trusted apart from my uncle. “He’s a fucking hyena. An opportunistic scavenger and a coward. But the strategy is simple. I’m going to talk to him and get him to leave Layla and her daughter out of the war with her brother.”
He raises a brow. “Talk to him?”
“Yes. Talk.” I grind my teeth, hating the vow that keeps Emmanuel alive. “I won’t betray Lorenzo.”
“Do you plan on taking her with you?”
“Yes.” I can’t do this any other way. The man who spawned me won’t have her killed if I’m standing in the line of fire.
At least, he never would’ve in the past.
Emmanuel Costa has, and probably always will, see me as the one rightfully meant to take over the family business even though I walked away.
There’s a reason that fucker hasn’t retired despite the money piled in his bank, and I’m sure it has everything to do with him still wanting me at the helm.
Problem is, it’s risky to assume he hasn’t changed.
I don’t know him anymore.
Before today, I’d tried to kid myself about the lengths he would go to for success. For power. I’d prayed for the sake of my siblings that the rumors of blood on their hands hadn’t been true. But today, Remy alerted me to a callousness I’d been oblivious to. One Layla had painstakingly survived and her family kept hidden.
Emmanuel is more inhuman than I wanted to believe. More sick and twisted.
That’s where I get it from.
But as long as I stand between her and his vengeance, she’ll survive.
She has to.
Bishop clears his throat, subtly regaining my attention. “You’re going to take her right to your father’s door?”
The description punctures my chest, wielding a vicious blow.
I slam my fist against the table and glare. “He’s not my father.”
Layla startles in my periphery, her fear punching me with guilt.
“Biology disagrees,” she snips under her breath, settling back into her haughty posture of hostility, bratty even in the face of what’s to come.
“My apologies.” Bishop lowers his voice, the deep rumble of the jet giving us a modicum of privacy from her prying ears. “Are you sure you want to drag her into the heart of this? You’re not worried they’ll slit her throat in front of you?”
“Remy and Salvatore wouldn’t dare. And Emmanuel is supposed to be laid flat from complications of a bullet wound.”
“That part could be a trap. Nobody has heard a word about his injury.”