One side of his mouth quirks up before he moves with purpose. In the next second, he pins me to the floor, his knees on either side of my hips, caging me beneath him. His hands close around my wrists, locking them above my head in a firm grip.
My chest rises and falls in ragged bursts, my breathing erratic. I could scream, but I know what that would mean. It’d be the end of Tony. Because even if he’s clearly not in his right mind, I seriously doubt that excuse would fly with the Wife-Killer.
I have to stay calm. I have to find a way out of this quietly. It’s the only way.
His eyes rake over my bare breasts—hungry, shameless. Heat floods my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the humiliation.
I can hear his breathing, heavy and uneven, feel the warmth of it ghosting over my skin as he leans in closer. The stench of alcohol clings to me, turning my stomach and making it harder to think.
“You look so much like her. Italy’s most beautiful girl, the Sun Princess. Looking at her warms you… and fucking hurts.”
I feel his hand moving down, sliding from my shoulder to my chest. This time, his hand rests fully on my left breast, his fingers closing over it firmly.
I flinch, trying to pull back, to create space, but his grip anchors me in place. Pain radiates through me, and a stifled whimper escapes my lips.
“Please,” I plead quietly, my voice breaking. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
His stare burns through me, anger back in full force. And he’s terrifying.
“Let you go? So you can be his? That fucking cousin of mine?”
He’s talking to me. Then to himself, back and forth. Lost in his own head. His hand trails slowly down, the touch lingering with a strange longing as it reaches my belly. His finger traces small circles around my birthmark, his touch softer this time, almost thoughtful.
“She was mine before she was even fucking born.” Voice thick with old hate. “When my father was alive, she was promised to me. Antonio Bruni’s fiancée. The future capo of the Bruni family.”
His fingers curl into a fist against my stomach, his voice going sour, twisted with something darker.
“But my bastard uncle used my father’s murder to his advantage. He took his position, his title, his wealth, and even his wife, my mother. He took everything that was mine and put it all into his bastard son’s hands. The son of a worthless slave.”
He reaches out, bracing his palm on my cheek. “Did you know that?”
I shake my head, a flicker of pity stirs somewhere deep inside me, but it’s buried beneath the overwhelming need to get out of this room. I try to draw away, but he moves with me.
Like a lion refusing to release its prey, he matches my every move, holding firm. He grabs my wrists and pins them in place.
“Perfect, you look just like her. I can pretend it’s her under me. Taking back what that bastard Carlo stole.”
His hand glides lower, brushing against the thin lace of my underwear. My entire body stiffens, every hair standing on end.
What’s he doing? Oh God, is he going to make me more miserable than I already am?
Panic claws at my throat. His weight pins me. I can’t move, can’t scream. Not if I want him alive. If anyone walks into this room, Tony will die.
I won’t let that happen.
No matter the cost, I won’t be the reason Tony’s life ends.
My voice is barely audible as I choke out, “Please… don’t.”
For a split second, his entire body goes rigid. His eyes narrow on mine, sharp and glassy, before he suddenly lets go and staggers back. He drops down beside me, fists tangling in his hair as he mutters something under his breath.
I sit there, covering my breasts with my arms, about to reach for my dress when he speaks again. This time, I hear every word.
“I have to kill him. I can’t let him claim her. I can’t give him that.”
He gets up unsteadily and heads toward the room he came from.
Oh God. What is he planning to do?Is he going after Carlo?
