His mother dancing in the hall of the old villa, back when it was filled with color and life. She’d spun as if she was made of light and laughter and her dress spun out with her, making her look magical.
His father had watched her, a look of sheer delight on his face, before he’d tumbled her down into his arms and kissed her, thoroughly.
Jovi hadn’t thought about that moment nearly forever. He hadn’t allowed himself to remember that they’d beenhappy.
When he thought about his parents—and he tried his best not to think of them at all, and when he did, only as the traitor and the casualties of the traitor’s betrayal—he thought about the end. About what their deaths had made his life. About what his father’s desire for escape or justice or whatever he’d told himself he was doing had truly cost.
What he’d had to do to prove himself to his uncle ever since.
And who he’d become.
He’d found himself standing there in the center of that open living area with the light pouring in, not still at all. Not practicing to be an ice sculpture, the way he normally did, and without effort. But today he’d found himself unable to keep his edginess at bay.
Because all he could think about was Rux.
Thetasteof her. How was he meant to do his duty when the taste of her haunted him the way it did?
In his head, he heard long-ago laughter. His sisters’ high-pitched voices. He saw himself, just a little boy, walking in the gardens and then looking up—and in the memory, it seemed as if he’d looked up at least seven stories—to take his father’s hand—
He had forgotten thathehad been happy, too.
And that suggested that he was not anything like happy now.
She had broken something in him, he’d told himself, roughly. That was clear. Rux had somehow found a weak spot in him that he would have sworn did not, could not exist. All over the world, people spoke of him in hushed, fearful tones, and for good reason. Every single one of them would have sworn up and down that there was no way into him. That there was no weakness and no access.
That Giovanbattista D’Amato was an impermeable block of ice and stone, a nightmare made flesh.
He did not know what to do with the discovery that he was as mortal and fallible as anyone else. What was next? Would he lose his head completely? Would he challenge his uncle? Betray his family?
It was unthinkable. This was allunthinkable.
He had repeated that word again and again until he’d decided that the fury growing within him was just that. Temper. Outrage.
He told himself that was a good thing. He told himself he wasrelieved.
Jovi had never experienced temper before, but in this case, it was clearly warranted.
And that was why he’d stormed downstairs, determined that he would put an end to this. She might not be afraid of him, but she would be. He would see to it.
But then, instead, he’d seenher.
Her dark gray eyes had found his and something about that had made that sharp, impossible pain in his chest worsen. He’d walked toward her and with every step, he’d realized that what he wanted to call temper was something else.
Something hotter. Something far more molten and dangerous.
And the next thing he knew, he’d brought her upstairs, out of that room that was more properly a cell, and into this flat.
Then he’d really blown it all to shit and pulled her into his arms.
Jovi supposed that somewhere, deep inside, he had the notion that he could treat her like every other woman he’d ever had, summarily discarded, and never thought of again.
Surely he could do the same with Rux.
Even though she made his heartpound, each jarring thump another indication of how ruined he was. Kissing her had changed him—meltedhim in ways he did not wish to look at more closely—but he was certain he could fix that.
He had to fix it.
So he took her in his arms and got his mouth on her once more. And then everything seemed to burn even brighter.
