Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I must pass out because when I open my eyes again, I’m in his powerful arms and my head is bouncing against his chest. He’s carrying me up the stairs. I look up at him. His face is stern, serious, and he doesn’t look at me as he takes me up yet another flight. I let my eyes close. I don’t open them again, even when I feel him lay me on a bed.
It smells like him. I’m in his bed and he’s taking off my dress and I just lie there and let him. I’m going in and out of sleep, but it’s not just sleep, the pull is more powerful than that. He’s gone one minute but back the next. He’s cleaning me and the water is warm and he’s gentle.
I protest, I try to, but he tells me to shush. When he’s done, he pulls the blankets up over me and leans down close to my ear. I don’t know if he thinks I can hear him or not when he says what he says. It’s the smallest whisper. But I do hear it. And I wish I didn’t.
“To answer your question, no, I don’t think I can break you, Emilia. I think you’re already broken.”
6
Giovanni
She’s sleeping so deeply, she barely stirs when, two hours later, I climb into bed. She’s lying on her side with her back to me. I push the blanket down to her waist. I look at her back, I study it, feel the texture of scar tissue beneath my fingers. Count the lines. Twenty-one. Her back was nearly opened. It was in some places. It speaks of violence and hate, and it’s strange to see it on her. On her skin. She must take pains to hide it. And the strange, sick thing is, I find it beautiful. I find her more beautiful for it. Stronger. Even if I do want to kill the bastard who did it.
I think about her taking it. I wonder if she offered herself for it or had to be held down. Maybe she was knocked out beforehand. A mercy. But no, I don’t think so. What would be the point? This was a lesson or maybe a warning. Or both. Something she could hide but would never forget.
Whatever it was, it’s part of her now.
And what I said about her already being broken, this is part of that breaking.
She’s afraid of her brother. I want to know why. I get the feeling she’s more afraid of him than of me. That makes me even more curious, and I have a feeling the scars on her back have something to do with that fear. I want to know about their relationship. I want to know about her father’s murder. That was four years ago. She claims not to have seen Alessandro in that long, and I believe her. I can find him on my own, but it’ll take longer. I have a feeling when she contacts him, he’ll come. And as much as she doesn’t want that, I want the opposite. Because I want to see them together with my own eyes. I won’t let him hurt her. I won’t let him lay a finger on her. But I do need them in a room together.
I wrap my arm around her middle and pull her into me. I told her she reminded me Angelica. It’s not that, though. She’s nothing like Angelica. Angelica gave the illusion of being naive, but she was selfish. Manipulative even, at least until the end. Emilia is not those things. She is simply broken. But having her in my arms, it’s bringing up old memories. Stirring the dust of the past. I have to remember this, remember to keep them separate.
Emilia mumbles something and turns, but her eyes are still closed and she’s still asleep, even as she burrows into me, tucking her arms between us and her head into the crook of my arm. I lie still watching her, and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing.
As well as she sleeps that night, I don’t. Just when I nod off, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I roll onto my back to check the screen. It’s Hugo Drake, Killian Black’s man. And he’s got one of Alessandro Estrella’s boys.
I glance at Emilia, who is on her back, her face turned slightly toward me and more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. She’s so soft when she’s like this. So different than when she’s awake and so tightly wound. Her cheeks are flushed and her long lashes sweep downward, so long they almost cast a shadow all their own. Her lips are swollen and slightly parted. I need to stop looking at them because I’m going to want to do things if I don’t and this is important. I quietly get out of bed and, so as not to wake her, use the shower in one of the guest rooms. Before heading out, I leave instructions she’s not to leave the house until I return.