I jerk up again, softer this time, the pulses of my orgasm ripping through my limbs a second time.
When the tremors quieten, I drop my hand to the bed, panting with the exertion.
As clarity comes back to my brain, the question arises.
Why would Il Diavolo want to pleasureme?
I’m working at Velvet to pay off my uncle’s debt. It should have taken me a year at least, but he’s shortened that to one month, so long as I fulfil sexual obligations during that time.
Up until last night, he’d only ever stared at me with a hateful scowl, but when he pressed his forehead to mine, there was no hate. No hate at all. He was completely and utterly invested in my pleasure.
And then he kissed me.
I haven’t kissed many men in my life but I’ve kissed enough to know when someone’s heart is in it or not, and his wasall in.
Until he sprang away from me like I’d given him an electric shock.
It was the look on his face that confused me the most. Though I couldn’t clearly see his eyes, I could tell they were widened, as though he was shocked at what he’d done andsurprised at how it had felt. Then a wave of anger rolled over him, growling out of his mouth like a warning.
That one instruction.Leave. It sounded off. In that one word I caught a glimpse of Il Diavolo—the one the city is afraid of.
I barely dressed myself before I swung open the door and ran for my life.
None of it makes any sense, and now I’m terrified to go back there. Which Diavolo will be waiting for me? The one that stroked his lips across mine like they were what he’d wanted to taste his whole life, or the one I could tell was seconds away from cutting off my air supply and reveling in every second of my slow death?
I shake off the visual and climb out of bed. I could think about it all damn day, but I doubt I’ll come close to understanding Il Diavolo and what he wants.
My phone buzzes, reminding me that Shane’s coming to town. She’s taken a rare personal day to come see me, so the last thing I want is to be late.
Dad is sitting at the kitchen table reading a paper when I rush in showered, dressed and feeling somewhat more alive than I seem to feel most mornings now.
“Have you eaten, Dad?”
He nods to an empty plate on the side. “Gayle baked some sourdough. Tastes real good—you should try it.”
“I will do,” I reply, smiling.
He seems good today. That usually bodes well. I’ve found that his state in a morning is pretty typical of how he’s going to be the rest of the day. I don’t need to set timers around the apartment in case he tries to cook something and burns the place down. If it wasn’t looking like a good day, I’d be nervous about leaving him.
“What are your plans today, Fi?”
“I’m going to meet a friend for lunch. You?”
“Not much. Callum said he’d visit later.”
A shudder rolls down my spine. I know he’s been in theapartment in the evenings, as I had specified. I’ve noticed the unwashed mugs, the discarded betting slips, and the dirt on the carpet where he hasn’t removed his shoes. But the idea of him visiting other times too makes my stomach turn.
“I didn’t realize you guys were close again.”
“Yeah,” he replies, a little absently, as he scans the ads. “Can’t remember when it happened, really. He went quiet after he had the accident—for some time. But lately… he’s been coming around more. It’s nice.”
I hold a breath in. “Does he ever talk to you about the, um… the accident? How it happened?”
He squints like he’s trying to recall. “No. I asked him once but he said he couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to talk about it.”
A silent sigh of relief rolls through me. As much as I don’t regret hurting my uncle in self-defense, I don’t want my father to know what he did to me. It would break his heart, and I don’t know what it would do to his state of mind if he found out now.
“He’s always getting into scrapes though. He probably owed someone some money.”
