Who was I kidding? Of course, Ciro Mancini could insult me. He could do anything he damn well pleased. He was The Son. He was Luca Benetti’s right-hand man. What in the hell was I thinking coming here?
The chance to answer was lost when the door to my rental swung open and large, powerful hands hauled me from the car. I went to scream, but my mouth was immediately covered by one of those same hands, while the other kept my upper arm captive.
I looked up in terror and pain as Ciro Mancini’s face bore down on me. His large body held me trapped against the side of the car, and I realized in dismay that, being only a block or so away from his home, there wasn’t probably anyone around who would risk helping me.
We were in his domain.
“Scream and I will strangle the life out of you, I swear to God,” he promised, rage dripping from every word.
I didn’t care if I was being a coward. Frankie’s sensibilities weren’t here to make me brave, and I already knew I crossed a line tonight. I didn’t want to provoke him any more than I already had. Plus, my body was on fire from the impact. I nodded my assent, my body quaking in legit fear of this man.
Ciro removed his hand from my mouth, but it wasn’t a reprieve. His hand found its way under my jaw and around my neck. “Why are you sitting on the side of the street?” he asked, shocking me. I wasn’t expecting that question, and I wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to know.
“I…I…uh…” I stammered like a fool and that only proved to enrage him further.
“If you’re stuttering like an idiot to buy yourself some time to come up with a lie, I’d advise against it,” he warned. “Right now, I’d welcome any reason, big or small, to kill you.”
“I’m...m…sc…scared!” I admitted, fear blocking out the pain in my ribs.
Ciro scoffed with an awful laugh. “Am I supposed to really believe that?” he taunted. “I can still feel your handprint on my face, Robbie.” He leaned in closer and that’s when I knew I was losing my mind.
Ciro Mancini was pressed up against me with his hand wrapped around my throat, ready to strangle me, and my body trembling took on a whole other meaning.
A shameful one.
I shook my head, refusing to believe I could be turned on by this man in this moment, or at all, really. There was no denying he was power, violence, and all male, and it seemed my penchant for horrible men has survived beyond Randy, because I was feeling things I shouldn’t be with Ciro Mancini pressed against me.
Ever.
“Wh…what do you wa…want?”
“Answer my question,” he answered. “What were you doing parked on the side of the street?”
Honesty was my only hope here. “Th…the adrenaline w…was wearing off,” I admitted. “I…needed to…get myself together.”
And then the worst possible thing that could happen, happened.
Ciro Mancini’s eyes dropped to my lips.
“Let me go,” I whispered in complete horror and shame.
His hand tightened around my neck, and I was sure he was going to kill me. “I’m trying,” he bit out. “But you insisting on remaining friends with my sister makes that kind of hard, don’t you think?”
My voice was hoarse with pressure, but I knew it would do no good to beg him for mercy. The Son didn’t grant mercy. I’m not sure he even knew the meaning of the word. “What do you want fr…from me?”
I thought he was going to say he wanted me to stay away from Frankie, but I was wrong. “I want you to suffer,” he answered. “I want you to fucking suffer.”
Guilt became my champion again and pushed my fear aside. I looked Ciro right into those tawny eyes of his and said, “I already am. I suffer every day for what I let happened to Frankie. So, if that’s all you want, you got your wish.”
The corner of his lip curled as his eyes racked down my body and back up again. “Oh, baby,” he cooed, “there’s suffering and then there’s suffering. And I don’t think you’re suffering quite enough to satisfy me.”
“Wh…what would satisfy you?”
Too late.
The double entendre was out before I could pull it back. With the way my body was reacting to the lunatic, I should have chosen my words differently. The man already basically called me a whore, I didn’t need to sound like I was begging for it. Suddenly, my unexpected attraction to him felt more than wrong.
It felt humiliating.
That humiliation jumped tenfold when Ciro’s hand slowly ran down my bare neck and further until it actually covered my left breast. It felt like my skin was being scorched through the fabric and I could swear my lungs stopped working.
His beautiful, beautiful face reflected nothing but disdain as he said, “What are you offering?”
Mortification gave me the power of a thousand men and the courage of the fiercest of warriors. I pushed at his chest with every ounce of guilt, pain, humiliation, and sorrow that’s been tearing me apart these past few weeks, and miraculously, he gave way. Oh, not because I was actually strong enough to move him, but because he decided to give me some space.
“I am not a whore,” I seethed, beyond all rationale. “Hate me for what happened to your sister. I deserve that. But you don’t know me. You don’t know me enough to…I’m not a whore.” Shame caused my voice to break and that just infuriated me more. Three times I’ve been in this man’s presence and, each time, he’s reduced me to a pathetic coward.
I wasn’t.
I was a lot of things, and I might be pathetic, but
