Page 52 of His Eternal Claim

I hate the interesting part, though. I flick ash over the balcony and study him properly.

Massimo is young, my age. Maybe a little younger. But still as dangerous.

Still rich.

Still powerful enough that half of Italy will bend the knee without realizing they are kneeling. He’s a charmer. He can talk anyone into any deal. Except for what he just told me.

And worst of all, he knows it.

“I’ll give you Italy’s throne.”

I stare at him and speak. “I already have it.”

“No.” He looks down at the city. “You have fear.”

When his gaze meets mine again, I see a fire that matches my own.

“Fear is lurid.” A pause. “Power…” His mouth flattens. “…is silent. It’s inevitable.”

I hate when people sound intelligent. Makes murder feel less satisfying.

“What do you want?”

“Help me find someone.”

“The woman who ran?”

He nods. “The woman I was supposed to marry.”

I bark a laugh. Maybe I am concussed. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Massimo’s expression doesn’t change. “Because you need the underworld.”

I say nothing.

So he continues. “Even if you kill Vane Davenport…” A pause. “…your Father…” Another. “…or even Ricci…” He shrugs. “Bloodshed won’t give you what you want.”

Smoke curls from my lips. “And what makes you think…” My voice drops. “…you know what I want?”

“Because I know what it feels like.” His eyes darken. “To watch the woman you love…” He looks toward the horizon. “…walk away.”

“Love?” I spit the word like poison.

I crush the cigarette against the stone railing. Watch the embers die.

“She’ll be mine either way,” I say after a while. Because there’s no lie in that. Selene will be mine. I’ve shot my Father for her, so it will be a bare minimum if I burn those who mean her harm.

Massimo’s eyes shift to me.

He still thinks we are talking about the same thing. I turn and walk to the door, feeling every inch of me on fire, ’cause, fuck, he’s right and I hate to let him know that.

If he thinks what I have for Selene is obsession or possession of some kind, or probably a sickness carved into my ribs by a pretty mouth and soft fucking eyes, it’s not.

It’s worse.

By the time I reach the door, the familiar rot is already spreading beneath my skin. It’s similar to whenever she isn’t near me.

Dangerously violent and pathetically terminal. My Dolcezza.