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The way he says it—so cool and confident, as if he doesn't doubt himself at all, sends a shiver through me.
What does he know that I don't?
Half an hour later, I find out.
Coda pulls up outside of a small mansion on the opposite side of the city from Brio's and parks. I stare up at the dark stone facade, trembling. Brio's mansion was designed with beauty in mind. Not this one.
The dark stone is weathered and rough, giving it a sinister appearance. Curtains are pulled shut over the tall windows as if to keep the outside world at bay, but lights flicker within, casting eerie shadows on the marble steps leading up to the entrance. It's quiet and old, as enigmatic as the man who carried me out of Brio's.
"Welcome home, principessa," he murmurs, sliding from the SUV with me still in his arms.
The way the words slip from his lips like a promise sends a shiver through me.
"This isn't my home, Mattia," I say, hating the way my voice shakes.
"It is for now."
I glower at him…only to get sidetracked by the stately, older man standing in the shadows of the entrance, his hands shoved in his pockets.
"It's not too late to change your mind," Coda mutters, climbing from the SUV.
Mattia grunts in response before striding straight toward the man waiting on the steps.
"I can walk."
"Good to know." He tightens his grip on me before his voice hardens. "Abernathy, I hope you weren't waiting long."
"Just arrived, Agostino," the older man says, his gaze drifting over me before he glances back at Mattia, wary. "Passero said this was urgent."
"Yes. The wedding can't wait."
I go rigid in Mattia's arms, my heart slamming against my ribcage. He can't be serious.
"I'm not marrying you," I hiss at him.
He flicks a look down at me, his steely eyes unfathomable. "My bride finds herself in need of urgent protection. If she doesn't take my name, she might not survive."
My soul quivers in terror as I stare up at him, our gazes tangled in a silent battle of wills.
Is he threatening to kill me if I don't marry him? Would he do it? Is he really capable of that kind of cruelty?
I don't know. I think he's a complicated man capable of incredible cruelty if pushed into it. But I don't think he'd hurt me. I'm not sure what makes me so certain. Call it instinct or intuition or pure madness, perhaps. But I see the truth lingering deep in his eyes. I feel it deep in my stomach. He wouldn't hurt me.
He…likes me.
The anger I've been clinging to since he drugged me begins to slip away. For the first time all night, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be his—what it'd feel like to have his lips on mine and his hands on my body. To feel his weight on top of me. To be his in every sense of the word.
Desire bubbles up hard and fast, sweeping through me like a hurricane. It strikes like lightning deep in my core, melting resistance, turning me weak and needy.
I've never asked for anything, and I've never wanted anyone, but I want this man. God help me, but I do.
"Cara mia," he breathes, his thumb brushing along my lower lip as if he senses exactly how I feel. As if he feels the same way.
I whimper, trembling against him, caught in some painful tangle of emotions I don't know how to explain. I've never dated. I've never known what it's like to be touched by a man or even kissed by one. My whole life has been spent in the shadows of this man's world, not part of it, but not separate either.
Now, I'm in the thick of it, and it's nothing like I imagined it would be. In his arms, it doesn't feel dark and violent and overwhelming. I feel…painfully alive for the first time ever. It hurts and doesn't hurt enough.
What's happening to me?
