As I pass the three brothers, I can’t help my gaze cutting to the left. It lands instantly on Il Diavolo. He’s sitting almost lazily on his chair, his knees apart, jacket unbuttoned, one finger tapping against his mouth. There’s no smile on those full lips but he looks almost… amused.
Before I can linger too long, I snap my focus back to Vivienne who’s waiting at the doors.
The closer I get to her, the more panicked I feel, because she isn’t looking back at me with her usual unguarded disdain. The look on her face is filled with something else.
It doesn’t shift even as she guides me into an elevator andtakes me to the eighteenth floor. She steers me to a small room first and tells me to drink some water and sign some papers. I don’t really know what I’m signing—all the words are blurring into one.
It isn’t until I’ve followed her down the hall, reached a door and watched her curled fist rap three times, that I can put a label on that look.
It’s retribution.
There’s no time to think about the implications of that when a deep, unfamiliar voice murmurs the words, “Come in.”
I freeze, waiting for Vivienne to do as instructed, when she pans to me with a triumphant look in her eye.
“He means you,” she says, stepping back.
My whole arm shakes as I reach out to wrap my fingers around the doorknob.
I’m too petrified to worry about Vivienne’s reaction—it’s obvious she’s never warmed to me. I’m too focused on the widening gap of the door and the room it’s slowly revealing on the opposite side.
Dark, red, decadent, haunting.
Velvet. So much velvet.
As my eyes become accustomed to the low lighting, they settle on a person seated on a wing backed chair in the far corner of the room.
The first thing I notice is the mask. Matt black leather, contoured to look like it’s a genuine part of his face.
Broad shoulders that move softly with each authoritative breath.
Full lips that haven’t smiled at me once.
It can’t be.
Il Diavolo?
My heart stops. I spin around only to see the door close, and hear the firm click as it seals my fate.
Holding my breath, I slowly return my focus to the man who brought me here—the one I’m trying to escape.
He’s watching me, one hand curled around a lowball of amber, the other softly rubbing his jaw.
I didn’t think I could be any more terrified. Why is he here? Have I done something wrong? Has he seen through my intent and wants to put me in my place?
Then he opens his mouth and says my full name. Long, low and carnal.
And somewhere inside my heart, a little crack appears. I don’t know where it began, I don’t know where it ends, but I have a crazy-weird feeling that repaying my uncle’s debt isn’t the only reason I’m here.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fiero
If I could bottlethis feeling, I would. Then I’d get high on it every fucking night. Finally, I’ve got her exactly where I want her.
Vulnerable, confused, scared.
And my dick is so hard I’m not sure I could stand if I wanted to.
