I smirk.
“Bellanti, if you haven’t noticed by now, I love pain, especially the kind you create.”
So I ignore her and close the remaining distance.
The next second, a blade flies into my thigh. Another follows instantly, burying itself in the other.
Blood pours down, soaking into my jeans.
I only smirk as my little spitfire turns and runs, and seconds later she is already climbing into the helicopter.
“Stupid, really,” I mutter to no one, “to think a blade in my leg would stop me from coming after you.”
My eyes drop to the wound. “But at least she didn’t aim for the heart.”
A deranged smile spreads slowly over my face.
“As much as she says she wants me dead, I think she fucking loves me,” I murmur. “She simply doesn’t understand yet that what she is feeling is not hate.”
“It is, quite definitely, love.”
Chapter 17
Octavia
The helicopter touches down on UK soil just before dawn.
A black car waits, its engine already running. Adriano leans against it, a cigarette between his fingers, his expression locked into something cool and watchful as he lifts his chin in greeting when I step out.
I return the nod and keep moving.
My phone keeps vibrating in my pocket until it becomes impossible to ignore, and a familiar knot of unease lies heavy in my chest as my thoughts jump straight to my mother, my sister, to the sudden fear that something might have happened to them.
But when I finally pull the phone out, my jaw tightens.
Markev followed you.
Markev liked your post.
Markev commented on your post.
Fucking gorgeous.
Mine.
Mine.
MINE.
So now he is stalking my Instagram.
This is ridiculous.
The man has issues. That much is abundantly clear.
Another notification slides in, this one a message from an unknown number.
Naive of you to think a blade would stop me from following you. Even with one lodged in my heart, I would still come for you, if I chose to.
