“What is this?” The question came out on a gravelly tone I’d never heard from him before.
Ice crystallized in my veins, a frigid bite that locked up my muscles. He traced the pattern again, and I felt Miguel’s knife slicing into my flesh.
“Miguel Armendariz,” he hissed. “You’re afraid of him. He did this to you.”
“Stefano…” His name hitched on a broken whine, a plea for release.
He eased his grip on my hair, instantly shifting his hold with the intent to comfort rather than restrain. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a firm embrace. He cradled the back of my head in his big hand and urged me to tuck my cheek against his shoulder. The first hit of his drugging scent loosened the tension around my chest, and I filled my lungs, greedy for more. I pressed myself impossibly closer, seeking refuge in the cage of his strong arms.
“Don’t be scared, kitten.” He attempted to command my fear away, soothing me with his hands even though his voice was rougher than usual. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I parted my lips and dragged in a shuddering breath, allowing myself to drown in him. Leaning on the strength of his protection allowed me the presence of mind to reclaim my own strength. With my face tucked against his chest, I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. I focused on the regulated rhythms, mirroring each inhale and exhale until my heart slowed to match his.
Once I managed to calm down from the debilitating surge of panic, Stefano moved us to a more comfortable location. Keeping me cradled in his arms, he stood from where we’d been crouched on the living room floor. In his rush to get the choking collar off my neck, he’d set me down on my knees as soon as we’d arrived in the penthouse.
Now, I was able to breathe and think more clearly, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere near ready to release me.
He carried me to the couch, arranging me on his lap before pouring a glass of mezcal for me. When he lifted the crystal to my lips, I accepted the spicy drink without protest. The unique, layered flavors bloomed on my tongue, the sensory indulgence further grounding me to the present.
He simply held me for several minutes, encouraging me to sip the delicious drink while he caressed my body with his calloused hands. The tactile sensations harnessed my full attention, tethering me to him and preventing me from being dragged back into dark memories.
By the time two fingers of mezcal had disappeared, I felt pleasantly warm and relaxed. His black eyes studied each of my features, assessing my emotional state. Whatever he saw must not have quite satisfied him, because his mouth took on a sour twist. He poured more mezcal into the empty glass, but this time, he tipped his head back and downed the precious liquid in one gulp.
“I don’t like that he hurt you,” he rasped around the alcoholic burn. His jaw ticked, and his nostrils flared. “I’m angry that he hurt you, kitten.”
“So am I,” I murmured. I loathed the fear that festered inside me, the crippling panic that could still rob me of my faculties, even though years had passed since I’d managed to escape Miguel.
“Why is he still alive?” Stefano seethed. “I assume you ended your relationship with him after he did this to you. Why would Pedro allow him to live after he treated you this way?”
My stomach turned, and I suppressed the impulse to gag. Stefano didn’t understand the true nature of my relationship with Miguel. Or his part in it. He was under the impression that I’d been with Miguel willingly, and that as my older brother, Pedro should have killed my former lover for insulting the Ronaldo family by mutilating me.
He didn’t understand that I was the one who had been granted clemency, not Miguel.
“Carmen.” He said my name firmly, commanding my focus. “I need all of the information that you can possibly give me so that I can eliminate Armendariz’s supporters swiftly and leave him exposed. I will kill him for you, kitten. The fastest way for me to accomplish that is to understand his position within your cartel. What leverage did he have over Pedro?”
I cut my gaze away. “He didn’t have any leverage over my brother. Other than his considerable resources and influence that benefitted the cartel, which were obviously helpful in propping up Pedro’s leadership.”
“No amount of resources could compensate for this insult to you.” His thumb brushed over the brand, and I shuddered.
“It wasn’t an insult,” I said bitterly. “It was a punishment. One that Pedro thought I thoroughly deserved.”
“Punishment?” The growled word ripped from his chest. “Nothing you could have possibly done would warrant this.”