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The House of Diamanti.

Not me.

Something dark and twisted inside of me refused to accept that I had done any of this for personal reasons. Refused to admit how essential she had become to my happiness, to my very life.

This was business.

A game.

Revenge.

Not love.

CHAPTER 33

SABRINA

"Iwill never marry you."

He crushed the fabric of my dress in his fist as he yanked it up, the expensive material bunching around my waist, exposing the length of my thighs to the cool air. "Power isn't given, Sabrina. It's seized."

When I tried to shove my dress back down, he captured my wrists and stretched them over my head, the tendons in his forearms rippling beneath his tanned skin.

I struggled against the force of his grip, his fingers like iron manacles, pressing hard enough to feel the rapid flutter of my heartbeat beneath his thumbs.

"What are you going to do? Drag me by my hair down the aisle? I'll scream 'no' so loudly it will echo off the church walls," I threatened, my voice raw with defiance.

With a smirk he reached under my dress. His hand skimmed the top of my thigh, the rough pad of his thumb leaving a trail of goose bumps across my sensitive skin.

"You think my brother is a monsignor at the Vatican because he found God? Power comes in multiple forms."

His implied threat hit its mark.

Another reminder that the Diamantis ruled Italy, their influence seeping into every crack of society, every sacred institution.

Not even God could save me now.

“Why are you doing this? Your mother says you don't even need me anymore. She has a different plan."

He stilled.

The only sound in the ballroom was our harsh, mingled breathing.

He leaned forward, the hard ridge of his erection pressing into my stomach. "Listen very carefully, babygirl…"

He pushed his hand between my legs. The tips of his fingers slipped my silk panties aside, the fabric damp against his knuckles as he forced it from its place.

I stiffened and inhaled sharply, my muscles clenching in anticipation.

His fingertip teased my clit, circling the swollen bud with just enough pressure to make my knees buckle, before he thrust two fingers into my already wet core, the intrusion both violation and relief.

The fact that I was turned on by him overpowering and threatening me was something I'd have to unpack in therapy—probably for the rest of my life.

My body's betrayal was perhaps the cruelest part of his conquest, my flesh surrendering even as my mind rebelled, nerve endings firing with pleasure that disgusted and thrilled me in equal measure.

He twisted his fingers inside of me. "This has nothing to do with my mother or your father. This is about you and me." He couldn’t resist twisting the knife.

I clenched my thighs in an effort to shift my hips and dislodge his hand, but to no avail. "There is no you and me."