I head for the door, but a figure appears there as if conjured from thin air to stop me.
Watching her is like being torn in half. My body reacts as any man’s would, my cock stiffening, blood pumping, while the beast in my skull stirs with the anger only she arouses.
Fabio, the bastard, went out of his way to portray the sweet heiress image the Stepanovs have projected to the world. The frothy yellow dress he gave her swallows her curves, bathing her in false innocence. My little principessa.
I almost prefer Liv’s dress on her. At least then she embodied exactly what she is—a thief, stealing from me whatever she can take. Grief, rage, Vincenzo, my sanity. She’ll claw it all away.
Dressed like this, she’s untouchable, holding her head high, gazing past me like I don’t fucking exist—and to someone like her, I normally wouldn’t. But she wasn’t always Willow Stepanova.
The walls of this house alone prove that. Every decrepit, rotting inch is an anchor to the past, giving me an advantage I wouldn’t have anywhere else. We leave, and it’s easier for her to ignore me and play the role of a mafiya princess, above it all.
To forget.
Here, we’re both in hell, burning amid the flames.
“We’re staying,” I say, looking straight at her. “We’ll fill the place with marital bliss.”
“Jesus, Donatello,” Fabio exclaims. This place is hell for him too.
But he doesn’t have to dance toe to toe with a ghost from his past every day. He doesn’t have to breathe her in every fucking second, knowing that she alone is proof of what he truly is at his core.
A monster.
Usually, she looks at me like I am one—until now. Her gaze flits over me for a heartbeat that lasts an eternity. Like she’s hunting for something beneath the outer shell she loathes. She sported the same look earlier when she came from the kitchen.
A memory rises up—her as a little girl, trying to pretend she didn’t have a water gun hidden behind her back. That was her favorite plan of attack—to lure me in close and then strike with the advantage.
We’re well past the stage of water guns. Considering that I have her knife, what the hell is her weapon now?
“Right…” Clearing his throat, Fabio chooses that second to brush her arm, guiding her toward the door. “Well, we’ll be off. In the meantime?” His eyes beg me to play along. Be a good boy. Heed his plan.
“I’ll stay out of trouble,” I snap, turning my back to them. “Which reminds me, I have some errands of my own for you.”
Fabio hesitates for a second before replying. “Such as?”
“Let’s say that I’ve found a new lease on life—” I have to laugh at how it sounds. “Anyway, I want to go over my life insurance policy. The one you had notarized for me. You still have it?” I run my hand across the surface of my desk to disguise the hitch in my voice. Not that Fabio would ever miss a damn thing.
“The one we drew up years ago?”
I nod. Over seven years ago, to be exact.
“Is there anything, in particular, you want to change?”
“No,” I lie. “That a problem?”
“Of course not. In fact, I’m glad you mentioned paperwork. I’ll leave some files here for you to look over. I’m especially interested in the waterfront property listings, and I’m curious to get your perspective.”
Knowing him, there’s more to it than that. First, a mysterious overseas business. Now local property listings.
“And?”
“And, I’m curious if you get the same suspicion I do,” he says. “Finding the answer might be a little like searching for a needle in a haystack, but it’s not like you don’t have the time. And, you can feed your paranoia regarding Mischa. While you’re at it, see if you can spot a pattern.”
“Fine.”
When he finally leaves, property listings aren’t at the forefront of my mind. A pair of limpid eyes are, and I tear into the hall, heading for the stairs without fully understanding why. Then it hits me—she saw something. Information worthy of coloring those dark fucking irises with an emotion in addition to the pity or hatred I’m used to seeing there.
A weapon?
Those clothes, Fabio said. I didn’t realize you gave her…
Gave her what, exactly? I reach her room, but the second I grip the doorknob, a fiery sensation explodes beneath my ribcage, so unexpected I grunt. Is this withdrawal? Or guilt?
Or both.
Gradually, the pain subsides, but I’m paralyzed. The past has me by the balls, but it’s my own damn fault for inviting this particular bit of nostalgia. How many times did I pass by this door, knowing Safiya was safe beyond it? How many times did I reassure her that I was here and would always protect her?
Too damn many—and yet every single time turned out to be a lie.
Get a grip. I fight to get my breathing under control, gulping at the thickened air. There’s too much dust in here. I’m suffocating. Before I know it, I’m racing downstairs, finding myself in the kitchen, aiming for the yard. More memories live in this room, though, and I don’t even make it to the door.
Olivia. Fabio rarely even mentions her, his own sister murdered in cold blood. Murdered in this very house.
In an ideal world, we would have never met. Born to a wealthy family, Olivia Botelli had been destined for a life far better than the one she got. I’ll never understand why she chose me.
“You were my fairy tale prince,” she murmured every time I asked. “Come to save me from a boring life. I’d always pictured he’d be blond, but you’re decent enough.”
Decent enough to marry, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t protect her.
Of all the places to die, it had to be
