I threw my glass of whiskey against the fireplace. It shattered against the stone and the brown liquid splashed against the back. I limped over to it and stared down at the mess I’d made.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you,” she said.
I turned and stared as she stood up. Her chest was heaving up and down as she took deep breaths. Her face was animated at least, and she reached back to undo her hair, letting the rest of it fall down around her back.
“I don’t give a damn what you want,” I said. “You’re in this now, girl. And if you want to survive it, you’d better give yourself to me.”
She glared at me for a full five seconds. Silence hung between us. My body ached and I didn’t know why I was pushing her so hard. Maybe it was my anger, or maybe it was just my raging desire for her, my impatience to taste her, have her, control her, make her all mine.
“No,” she said. “You don’t get to… you don’t get to do whatever you want with me.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed and stared at her beautiful face as it twisted in a new mask of rage. I knew that look, I saw it on her the day after her father died by my gun. I liked that look on her, and I wanted to see more of it. I wanted to push her, piss her off, get her so angry that the only way she could bring herself back down was to ride my cock rough and fast.
“I think I do,” I said. “I saved your life. You’d be dead without me.”
“I’d be back home without you,” she spat. “I’m only here because of you.”
“You’re here because of your piece of shit father. I know you don’t get that yet, but I’m protecting you. I’m saving your life. Vlas would’ve hunted you down by now and cut your fucking throat just to make himself feel better. Get it through your head, Aida. Your life is mine and now I want the rest of you.”
I turned to her, body tense, muscles tight. She gaped at me, lips hanging open. I could see her pretty tongue and I wanted it in my mouth, or maybe rolling around the tip of my cock.
“Go to hell,” she said and turned away.
She took a step toward the kitchen but I moved fast. I walked up to her and grabbed her arm. I didn’t care that it hurt, that it tugged at the stitches. I grabbed her hard and pulled her against me. She turned, eyes wide, as I grabbed her hair rough and pressed my lips against hers.
She moaned into that kiss. Fuck, she moaned, and I could taste that moan on my lips. My tongue slid against hers as I lingered there, gripping her hair, pulling her hair. She was mine, all mine, gorgeous little fucking Aida. I bit her lower lip and she took a sharp breath, her eyes fierce as I released her.
She took a step back, breathing hard. “Asshole,” she whispered, and turned away again.
I let her go that time. She stormed out and disappeared down the back hallway.
I let out a grunt as my exhaustion hit me again. I lowered myself onto the couch and checked to make sure my stitches hadn’t ripped. Once I was satisfied that nothing was bleeding, I called for Steven.
He came into the room and lingered behind the couch. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“Call up my soldiers,” I ordered. “And send a message to Don Leone. We’re going to war.”
He was silent for only a moment. “Yes, sir,” he said.
I heard his footsteps retreat back out of the room as I stared at the stone fireplace and the broken glass glistening in the afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window.8AidaFor three days, I woke up alone in a strange bed with sweat pouring down my skin. I kicked off the sheets and stared at the ceiling, going over the same dream in my mind, letting it loop through my brain over and over again. In that dream, Dante stood over me, a wicked smile on his face. He offered me a hand, but as soon as I reached for him, he got further and further away. A pool of blood tried to suck me down into a crack in the pavement. He reached for me, but he kept missing, and soon the world was flooded with black.
Then I’d wake up. Three nights, three mornings, the same dream each time.
On that third morning, I got out of bed and took a shower right away. I let the water drip off my skin. I watched it slide down the off-white drain. The shower head was old, dripped all over, and had terrible water pressure, but it was better than nothing. I let it rinse over me, cleaning the sweat from my body, clearing the dream from my mind. By the time I got out, the room was covered in steam. I wrapped a towel around myself, an old, thin, scratchy light blue thing with bleach stains, and stepped out into the hall.