“Um, yes, just eating.” I tilt back to yell since I don’t think my voice will carry like his does.
He doesn’t reply, and I try to finish my plate so he doesn’t have to stand there anymore. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable.
And I do appreciate his help, even though I don’t enjoy his company anymore. After all these years, I’ve learned that solitude isn’t a punishment—it’s armour. It’s the only thing keeping me safe from the world that would otherwise devour me whole.
The Bratva will come for me soon enough. That’s inevitable. Davide mentioned that the Orlov heir, Nikolai, and his father, Viktor, might know about me. But for now, I have to hope that’s not true, because if they had pieced that together, they’d know I ended my life at sixteen.
There was probably a time when this proximity to Elijah would have made me delirious with excitement and the hope of something more. A true romantic, intoxicating love, the thing I always yearned for. But even though that’s out of the cards, I consider that maybe I can use this situation to my advantage. Elijah Romano may not have ever been in love with me, not the way I was with him. But the one thing I know for certain is that he’s always wanted to rip my clothes off. Maybe I can finally get him to snap now that we’re alone.
I finish the last bite deliberately, letting the clink of my fork against the plate punctuate the emptiness. And on cue, Elijah opens the door, ready to escort me to my room.
* * *
It’s one a.m., and I’m starting my first torture-focused session with Elijah. I can’t say I’m not intrigued by how he’ll treat me in comparison to my brother, so I’m actually quite excited to start my abuse.
Vincent escorts me into the basement, his eyes flicking over me with a mix of amusement and appraisal.
“What,” I say. Already knowing where this is going.
“You never showed this much skin for your training with Enzo.”
I grin and look down at my black sports bra and short sweat shorts. “Well, I’m using my assets to better enjoy my time around here, Vinny.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You are trouble, Bella, but Elijah is not stupid and won’t be manipulated as easily as some of the other men around here.”
I shrug my shoulders. “We’ll see.”
I enter the dim room and lock eyes with my trainer.
“Elijah.”
“Ace.”
I put my hands out in front of me and close my eyes, bracing for the sting he told me would come. First comes the cool bite of quick slits across my wrists and hands. Then the searing burn as the alcohol-soaked ropes tighten against raw skin.
When I open my eyes, he’s already moving me to the wall, pressing me back with a force that steals my breath. His grip is impersonal. His body isn’t.
He lifts my arms above my head, clicks them into the bar’s clasp, and steps closer than necessary. Close enough that I smell his cologne under the sting of alcohol, close enough to remember the boy who once whispered that we could sneak out for my birthday.
That boy doesn’t exist anymore.
Now he’s my executioner.
Still, I can’t help it. My gaze drags down the line of his jaw, to the muscle that ticks when he’s fighting emotion. His shoulders block out everything else in the basement gym, and for a brief second, I imagine it differently: What if this wasn’t training? What if he trusted me enough to let go, to give in?
His breath grazes my ear. “Stop looking at me like that, Ace.”
I bite down on a smile. I’ve never wanted to break him more.
He pulls back, his features stone. The tattoo winding his arm flexes as he adjusts the strap. He’s beautiful, in that brutal, untouchable way marble statues are. Untouchable—except he isn’t. Not really. Not to me.
I thrust my body forward when he tightens the clasp, forcing his chest to brush mine. A spark flashes through me when his eyes flick down, then snap away.
I know what I’m doing. I always have. Surrounded by men who would die for me, I learned early how to utilize that power, how to survive in a cage of protectors and predators. But Elijah? He’s different. He’s the one who used to protect me, laugh with me, almost feel like… mine. Now he’s cold, distant. Cruel, when he needs to be.
Maybe I hate him for that.
Maybe that’s why I still want him.
