“Now you know exactly whose name she’s going to be moaning every night.”
While the functioning part of my brain got pissed that he would even say that—because, no, I would not be moaning his name every night—the sex-hazed part liked his possession. Maybe it was just because he’d made me come. Twice. Or maybe I just so badly wanted someone to care about me.
“You don’t look at her; you don’t think her fucking name.”
Silence greeted him, of course. Mine and Matteo’s.
Gio turned to face me. “I know he did something to you, Emilia.” I stilled, and Gio took something from his pocket and handed it to me. A knife. “I find blood quite gratifying for a debt.” He stepped aside and swept a hand toward Matteo’s bound form.
“Gio, I can’t—”
“You can, if you want to.” Just like that. If I wanted to.
I stared at the blade in my hand, then at Matteo Romano, a man who featured as the monster in so many of my nightmares and was now helpless. A man who thought nothing of beating my sister over and over again, who had terrified me, now couldn’t raise a hand. I gripped the blade, something in me rising up to answer the call of vengeance I didn’t even know I needed until that exact moment.
As I approached him, I pictured my sister’s tear-stained face as she begged me not to confront Matteo about her black eye that first time because I was only sixteen and it would get me punished. I remembered the way he’d talk to my parents like they were all one big happy family, while my sister lingered behind him, a shadow in her own home. And lastly, I pictured her face in that coffin, how peaceful she had looked in death while the last year of her life had been nothing but brutality.
Matteo had the audacity to glare at me as I stopped in front of him.
“You know, I hate you for what you did to her.” I ran my finger over the tip of the blade, the fear I usually felt around him absent. Because he was restrained or because I had a bigger, badder monster at my back. One that was on my side…if I wanted him. If I’d let him.
“You’re pathetic. A poor excuse of a man, even by my uncle’s low standards.” With each passing second, my rage grew, memories that I tried not to think of, that were too painful, now flipping through my mind like a Rolodex. I wanted him dead, but first, he needed to suffer. I didn’t want him to look pretty or peaceful in a coffin like she had but as scarred and vile as he really was. My heart thrashed in my chest as I lifted a trembling hand, and he fought his restraints as I pressed the tip of the knife to his temple.
“Careful. You might lose an eye.”
A strange sense of calm came over me as I dragged the knife down his cheek. Slowly, so slowly. Blood welled and poured, and the sight of it was like a burning shot of whiskey settling in my stomach or the first sweet mouthful of the most exquisite dessert. Gratifying. Right. Pure satisfaction. His cries were muffled by the gag, but I relished in them. I channeled every inch of pain and suffering and rage into the piece of metal in my hand. He deserved this. Pain and humiliation, to feel weak and powerless. The blood poured over his skin, covering the knife and my hand, soaking into the collar of his shirt. I wanted more. The little demon on my shoulder screamed for it, demanded that it wasn’t enough. I moved the blade to his throat, and he stilled, nostrils flaring with rapid breaths. His eyes met mine, burning with fury and something else—fear. Matteo Romano was scared.
“I can see your fear, Matteo. And I’m going to delight in it just as much as you did hers.”
He’d made her live in fear, and no one helped her. No one. Not even me. Tears stung my eyes, and I pressed the knife harder against his throat, hand trembling, blood rising beneath the steel. Gio’s arm wrapped around my waist, warm breath washing over my neck.
“Stop, piccola,” he breathed into my ear.
“He deserves to die.” My voice cracked, and I realized tears were tracking down my cheeks.
“But you don’t deserve to kill him.”
I twisted my head toward Gio, and his free hand stroked over my jaw.
“Death stains you, princess. Even the men who deserve it.”
I met his gaze that was so open, so honest, like he’d give me anything I asked for. As if he saw the question in my eyes, he turned me to face him, pulling me away from Matteo.
He brought his lips to my ear. “I made your uncle a promise. For now. If you really want to kill him, I won’t stop you. But I promise you, I will kill this man for you when this is over. And a vow to you is not one I would ever break.” He pulled back and lifted my hand, brushing his lips over my blood-stained knuckles before he plucked the knife from them. “Okay?”