‘Good,’ I snap, pushing those thoughts away. ‘Because even if you were the last man on earth I wouldn’t sleep with you. I’d rather sleep with a goat.’
‘Careful,gattina,’ he says, amused again. ‘I think you’re in danger of liking me just a little.’
He’s goading me and I know it. But I’m also aware that there’s a piece of me, way down deep inside, that is almost…enjoying this. Because for a long time I’ve struggled with who my father wanted me to be and who I actually am. At first all I wanted was to be his good, obedient girl. I wanted him to notice me, be proud of me, be glad that I hadn’t died along with Mama and Alessio.
But no matter how hard I tried to be good, he wasn’t proud and he wasn’t glad, and when he drank too much at night sometimes, he’d tell me that he wished I’d died instead of Alessio, because then he’d still have an heir.
It hurt. It hurt to know that nothing I did or would ever do, would be enough for him. And the worst part of all was the fact that he was my father and I still loved him.
But I don’t love Vincenzo Argenti or care about his feelings, and so there’s a bit of me that doesn’t want to keep the mask on. A bit of me that wants to argue and shout, and unleash myself on him. Cut the man of my nightmares down to size, because he is, after all, just a man, even if he is the head of the most powerful clan in Europe.
‘Oh sure,’ I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘Yes, of course I’m in danger of liking the man who killed my family.’ I grit my teeth as I hold his gaze, grasping on to my rage for courage. It’s a mistake to keep snapping at him, because who knows what he might do? Still, I can’t be more afraid than I am already and he said he wouldn’t kill me.
The Wolf’s brows twitch. ‘Your father isn’t dead.’
‘No, but my mother and brother are.’ My fingers curl in the silk of my gown, holding on tight as if I’m trying to stop myself from falling from a great height. ‘I heard the gunshots after you shut me in the closet. You shot them both—’
‘I did not shoot them,’ he interrupts with some patience. ‘They were both dead by the time I got downstairs.’
I blink. My father always told me that Vincenzo Argenti gunned them down in cold blood, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. But now he is saying hewasn’tthe one who killed them? ‘Why should I believe a single thing you say?’ I demand.
‘You shouldn’t. I don’t care whether you believe me or not, but the truth is that I didn’t kill your mother and brother, though I was ordered to.’ His lazy silver gaze becomes somehow even sharper. ‘I was ordered to kill you too.’
A small, cold shock goes through me, though I’m not sure why. I know he was there to kill me. I saw his eyes as he burst into my bedroom while I was playing with my doll. They were like ice, cold and dead. Even at five I knew I was in terrible danger, and I didn’t need to see the gun in his hand to know that. Except he didn’t shoot me. He shoved me into a closet and locked the door instead.
I’ve never wanted to know why he saved me. I was happy making him the monster, because it was easier to blame him than blame myself. But now, I’m almost compelled to ask, ‘Why didn’t you?’
He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze roving over me as if committing me to memory. It makes me uncomfortable, makes me want to shift in my seat, makes my skin feel tight. Makes me want to open the door and leap out onto the traffic, which is a bit overdramatic, even for me.
Then he says, ‘I suppose, since you’re going to be my wife, you deserve some kind of explanation.’
I open my mouth to tell him that as the man who allegedly killed my family, I don’t care what he thinks I deserve or otherwise, but he holds up a peremptory hand. And much to my irritation, I fall silent.
‘My father wanted revenge for the death of my mother. We had word the bomb that killed her was set by a Salvatore, and so he ordered the deaths of your family, and I was to carry it out.’ The words are cool and there’s a slight impatience to them, as if he’s annoyed at having to explain. ‘I shot your father, but that didn’t take, alas. He escaped, so I went upstairs to find the rest of your family, but I only found you in your little pink bedroom.’ His gaze is a steady burn of silver. ‘You were holding a doll in one hand and all I could see were your big green eyes staring up at me. You must understand,gattina,up until that point, I was my father’s man through and through. I burned for the revenge he wanted me to take and I was determined to get justice for my mother. But I saw you and… Well, let’s just say I discovered a line I didn’t know I had.’
I remember that night distinctly and the sight of his cold, dead eyes. ‘A…line?’ I ask.
‘Yes. I found I didn’t want to kill a child in revenge for my mother’s death.’ He’s sitting very still, eyeing me like a bird of prey sighting a mouse in the grass. ‘So, I shut you in the closet and locked the door so my men wouldn’t find you. Then I went downstairs to stop them from killing your mother and brother, only to find that they were already dead.’
Chapter Four
Vincenzo
THOSE GREEN EYESof hers are wide and I can see shock in them, which is interesting. I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to her, but I thought that since sheisgoing to be my wife, she should know that her mother and brother didn’t die by my hand. Clearly, her father has been feeding her all kinds of bullshit about what happened that night, so I’m happy to give her the truth. It’s tedious to explain oneself, yet there’s an unexpected pleasure to be had in upending her expectations about me.
I prefer people to be afraid, it makes them much more biddable, and over the years I’ve accepted that I’ll always be the villain of the piece. That’s the role I took on when I decided on my crusade, because the people I’m dealing with only understand one thing: violence.
But now I’m discovering that there’s satisfaction in seeing the shock in her eyes. Shock that I’mnotthe villain she was expecting, or rather, less of the villain than she was expecting—I’m certainly not ever going to be the hero.
‘Don’t tell me,’ I say, since she says nothing. ‘Your father has been busy laying the deaths of your mother and brother at my feet for years.’
Her hands grip the white silk of her gown as if she wants to tear the fabric apart and for a second the image of me tearing apart the white silk myself to lay her bare flickers in front of my eyes. A kick of unexpected heat goes through me and I’m shifting in my seat before I can stop myself.
What the fuck? It’s been years since I’ve experienced an unanticipated attraction, and I certainly don’t want to experience one for Caterina Salvatore. She’s pretty, yes, but she’s too young and I’m a man of sophisticated appetites. I have lovers who satisfy me, who don’t want more, so why I’m currently thinking about ripping her wedding gown off her, I have no idea.
Maybe I’ll organise a wedding night after all, but with one of my current mistresses. Annika likes it rough and she’s always ready for me.
‘You were there, though,’ Caterina says. Her voice has a trace of huskiness that I find more attractive than I care to admit. ‘And you shot him.’
