Bloodied Hands (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 1)

"Shhh, sweetheart," Lino comforted me, and I didn't miss the fact that it wasn't Matteo. He knew there was no forgiving this.

Especially not after our conversation the day before.

With a slow glide, the needle pressed in, dropped the microchip under my skin, and pulled back. A hand pressed something to the entry point, no doubt to stop the bleeding until the doctor taped a bandage to it. When the sound of latex gloves being removed from his hands caught my attention, the pressure at my legs and shoulders finally relented.

I didn't move.

"Get out," Matteo barked, and I heard footsteps as they all hurried to do just that. When the door closed, Matteo finally turned all that intensity on me again. "Angel," he whispered. His hands wrapped around me, pulling and rearranging me until I sat on the table. I still didn't look at him, seething behind my tears. He reached out a hand to cup my cheek, wincing when I flinched back from him.

"Don't touch me," I hissed.

"Ivory—"

"I'll never forgive you," I whispered, finally looking at him. I had to wonder why it had been necessary—why he'd needed to break whatever good we'd had in our fucked-up history.

"You don't have a choice," he murmured back, icy eyes staring into mine.

"That seems to be a common theme with you," I huffed a laugh. Guilt flashed across his features momentarily, before he wiped all expressions from his face. "You were right. I never should have come here. I was happier without you."

I stood, forcing my way around him. He didn't move, didn't follow.

But his roar of rage echoed behind me as I escaped. Glass shattered, and it sounded like something flipped. I emerged into the kitchen, snatching up my laptop and ignoring Donatello's apologies. I couldn't even meet his eyes as I fled the room.

I hurried to one of the guest rooms upstairs, locking myself in and collapsing onto the bed.

I couldn't even go home.

Twenty-Four

Ivory

Our interactions with each other had been fleeting for two days. I worked in the kitchen. He worked in his office. We ate dinner in silence. He went back to working while Donatello and I cleaned up.

Then I ran to the spare bedroom and locked myself in. Somehow, I woke up in his arms in his bed the following morning both days. How he maneuvered me there without waking me, I'll probably never know. As soon as I woke up, he wordlessly stood from the bed and got ready before burying himself in his office again.

I stood in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients set out in front of me and preparing myself for the experiment I was about to undertake when Matteo's yell echoed through the house.

"I don't fucking care what you do with it! Just get it out of here!"

I hesitated. His office was officially on my no-no list of places to go, but there was something so broken in his voice as he shouted, that my feet moved on their own accord. I rounded the corner, passing people who stared at me in horror.

My eyes landed on the doll as soon as I walked in the room.

The size of a child's doll, she almost looked like she could actually be a child's plaything.

If you only looked at her face.

And ignored the lace teddy that adorned her body.

My eyes darted to the scrap of red lace sitting next to her, an identical, life size match of what she wore.

"Ivory," Matteo whispered. "Go back to the kitchen, Angel."

I only spared him a moment's glance before it drew my eyes back down to the doll. Her sea-green eyes were vacant and empty, surrounded by ivory skin and perfectly layered chestnut hair. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, and it didn't take a genius to figure out exactly who she was supposed to look like.

Me.

"What is that?"