“Because he shot at you,” Victor growls. The tops of his cheekbones flush as bright as my lips. “He almost killed you. You could’ve died.”
“I thought. . .” I thought a lot of things. “I thought you were going to. . .” I don’t know what to say, so I stop talking.
Victor turns me to face him. He’s a beautiful, brutal force of nature. A blizzard. An oncoming iceberg. I don’t understand him, but he’s always been honest about who he is. “I told you to trust me, and I’d give you everything. I had to prove it to you. This is my proof.”
I gape at him, my jaw hanging toward the floor. So I ask again, “Why?”
“You know why. You’re it for me.” His touch on my cheek is gentle, but I startle. “I don’t know what love is. I do know I would slaughter every man and woman on Earth and serve their heads to you on a platter on the chance it would make you smile.”
Mass murder. How romantic. “That’s not. . . don’t do that.” I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he doesn’t want to destroy me.
He pushes closer, crowding me against the sink, and presses something into my hand. A knife. I automatically settle it into the proper grip.
“Don’t you understand?” He takes my hand and brings the knife up to his own throat. “I’d let you cut my own heart out if you wanted.”
His hand falls away, and for a moment, I keep the blade against his pretty, pale skin.
I could do it. I could kill him.
He speaks again, and I have to lessen the pressure against his throat so I don’t cut him. “I had to prove I’m worthy of you before you’d trust me. Love me.”
I have to stop myself from saying, “I don’t love you.” Because Victor has taught me not to lie. Not to him. Not to myself.
My hand flexes, and I press the knife too hard. A thin cut appears, and blood streams down. I set down the knife and cover the wound, trying to stem the flood. “Oh. Oh no. . .”
He captures my hand, not noticing or caring about the cut. “Lucrezia. My love. Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll make it happen. The gang out there”—he tips his head out the door—“is yours to command. Or I’ll kill them all.” He says it with such ease I flinch. He cups my cheek, blood still streaming down the hollow of his throat. It’s a shallow cut, but it’s bleeding so much. If Victor’s aware of it, he doesn’t care.
He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I’d kill everyone in the world if you wanted.” He sounds so happy, it’s disturbing. “Say the word. Cut my throat right now, and I’d be happy because it’s you, Lula. It will always be you.”
My breath is rattling in and out of me. My throat was lined with poisoned knives, but they’re gone now. My chest still aches, like nothing will soothe it, but. . .
I push up to tiptoe, pulling his head down so I can reach his lips. He grips the lapels of the coat I’m wearing, drawing me up so his mouth can dominate mine.
We kiss until I’m surging against him; the ache in me spreads through my core to my limbs.
He takes my shoulders and pushes us slightly apart, keeping a bare millimeter between us. “Death or belonging to me. Those are your options.”
“Your death or mine?” I raise my head to murmur against his lips.
“I don’t want to live in this world alone. Without you, Lula, I might as well be dead.”
I draw back. The nick at his throat really is making a mess. I curse and find a paper towel to clean it up. He holds still and lets me, watching me with a tenderness that makes me ache.
Fates preserve us. There might be a small part of me that loves him. And that is enough.
But first things first.
I straighten and toss the bloody paper towel into the trash. Then I pick up the knife, testing its weight in my palm. “Where’s Stephanos?”
“Hiding like the rat he is. Do you want me to take you to him?”
“Yes.”
He smiles and takes my hand. The one without the knife. “Then let’s go.”
16
Lula
