Her blue eyes seemed unreal in the lights of the club. The darkness of her makeup only made them more spellbinding. Her lips were a heavenly pink, and if her mouth ever told me no, denied me, she would send me to the 7th circle.
I refused to make excuses for my behavior, for the claim I had on her. We both knew she belonged to me, and God help me, I belonged to her.
She should have known, though, that not everything in my world is just. Often, we have to fight for what we want. We’re pitted against death to measure how much we want whatever is being denied to us.
My arm wrapped around her, and she gasped when I pulled her into my body. I leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “This is the reality of the Faustifamiglia—” I made sure to enunciate the word “—that you adore so much, ah?”
She shoved against me, and when I allowed her some space, her eyes burned deep into mine. I felt the fires of hell in the deepest part of me. A part that had always been protected.
Naomi and the two other women came close. Naomi encouraged Ava to dance with them. She backed away from me, her eyes still on mine.
“It is what it is, right,Capitano?”
She started moving her body to the slow, sensual rhythm of the music. A server passed and handed me a glass of whiskey, but my eyes never left her. The poor excuse for a dress, unless she wore it for me only, was catching the light, making her spark in the darkness.
This club was filled with men of my blood. Those small sparks were going to attract their attention, and once they did, they were going to be drawn to that face, that body…
Her dangerous curves. Her small waist. Her tettas. Her legs. They were so well defined and sculpted, the lights highlighted each muscle as she moved.
Herculo…
I took a drink of whiskey, holding it in my mouth, letting the burn linger.
…deserved to be molded and preserved.
Ava Girardi was a fucking masterpiece.
I craved to have her tear me to shreds. To put all that she felt on me so I could feel her deep inside of my bones.
I wanted her to fucking mark me below the skin.
Whenever I moved, there she would be, with me.
I ached to ruin her too—for any other man that even dared to look at mine.
There was a madness inside of me for her, and I could not control it.
She had a dangerous obsession.
So did I.
Her.
Keeping my eyes on her, I took a seat on a plush velvet seat and set my whiskey between my legs. Three men stood in front of me, watching her. I took another drink of whiskey and flung the rest on one of their backs. I refused to raise my fucking voice.
He turned around, ready to clash horns.
I used my first two fingers and made a simple move motion with them.
He hit the two men next to him, said something in a rushed, whispered tone, and the three of them moved.
My glass of whiskey was replaced before I could even miss it.
Ava was still moving her body.
A man was approaching from behind.
Our eyes met, and the lion’s eyes on my signet ring caught the overhead lights and sparked as brightly as her dress.
