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He didn’t pull his hand away, just moved his thumb back and forth back and forth across my bare thigh. It felt rough. Good. Different. “Did he? I can’t seem to remember…” His thumb then swirled around my skin, creating goosebumps. “He also said… what was it? Not to kiss you? And I definitely,” he leaned in and whispered, “most definitely remember that he said not to fuck you. That was clear as day.” His mouth was so close it would take next to nothing for me to lean closer and press my lips against his. I had no clue how, under all the trauma, I still felt an attraction to anyone for anything, but something about him was magnetic, angry, and protective. “Still agree that rules are a good thing, sweetheart? Or should I go downstairs and re-negotiate?”
I couldn’t find my voice. His hands were so warm, his body so big, protective, like an anchor in a storm. I didn’t know my own ship needed rooting me in place, holding me captive.
Keeping me sane.
My lips parted as he leaned closer until he was almost brushing my lower lip with his top. “Are we in agreement then?”
“Agreement?” His hand slid up my thigh, it was slow, but he definitely wasn’t asking for permission. Then again, I wasn’t pushing him away as he cupped my hip with his palm. His fingers dug in like he wanted to keep me there, but not enough to scare me. For whatever reason, maybe because he’d killed my captor, Santino didn’t scare me. I didn’t think he would actually harm me because then my brother would have his head on a spike, and it felt nice to be touched in a way that wasn’t forced.
How was he so large and intimidating and yet so… whatever he was now? Predatory in a very controlling way that made me think he always had control of the situation and liked it that way and wanted you to like it that way too.
“About our new rule… you know, the whole punching thing.” He sniffed as if to remind me I had basically given him a bloody nose. He’d wiped it away, and in its place, all I could focus on was his mouth.
Full sensual lips I should definitely be overly cautious of; those were the type of lips that captured a woman’s mouth and sucked her soul from her body. They gave you both fever dreams and nightmares. The exact outline was sensual from the full bow down to the line of his bottom lip. They looked soft. In direct contrast to his rough interior, his exterior was all smooth lines and beautiful skin.
“No more punching.” I finally found my voice. “As long as you promise no more nightmares.”
His expression darkened. “You asking me to protect you all day, all night, and in your dreams?”
“Are you capable of that?” I clearly stumped him. It was worth a shot though, to ask him to save me from the darkness that crept up every time I closed my eyes.
“I’m capable,” he said simply and then moved away from me and went into his room. The door didn’t shut, though. Instead, he quickly came back with pillows and a blanket, which he threw onto the floor. A meow sounded. “The cat, however, stays in your bed.”
Bagel hissed again at him. He flipped the cat off and started to get the blankets adjusted on the floor.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Singing you a lullaby.” He said it so honestly that I didn’t know how to react.
And then he did exactly what he said he would.
He lay down on his back, hands behind his head.
And he started to sing in Italian.
I had no idea what he was saying.
But it calmed me, and it was beautiful. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard before. His voice was deep and hypnotic; it was solid and firm, just like him, and I could almost imagine him freaking his victims out by singing to them before slaughtering them. But for now, he was using his voice on me to calm me, to make me feel better.
Tears built behind my eyes. My throat started to burn again.
He was singing away the darkness. An assassin for the mafia was sleeping on my floor and singing against the demons, knowing full well the ones that he still kept close lingered in his own body.
Was that not what sacrifice was? Doing something for someone else knowing that if only someone would do it for you, you’d be okay, but choosing to use that gift to help others? Knowing that you would eventually die under the weight of it all?
He continued to sing. I crawled back under my covers and closed my eyes. My arm fell over the mattress just as I was about asleep, and it touched his. I jerked it away, embarrassed.
But he grabbed my fingertips and squeezed.
I squeezed back, my way of saying thank you, and drifted off to sleep, only to dream of a man singing and kissing my pinky finger as if he was making a promise to keep me safe.
His lips moved from my pinky to my next finger. He kissed every single knuckle that had fought against that evil captor.
And then he kissed my wrists. “Tears wash away the dirt, Katya. Let them burn all you want—but I’d prefer if you just let them fall.”
So I did.
I cried in my dream and clung to the man who’d kissed my pain away. When he gently pulled back, I looked into his green eyes.
