Page 41 of Venomous Throne

“I want houses painted, yards cleaned up, and make sure everyone has a chance at work,” I added, folding the linen beside my plate. “I’ll pay in donated meals to the single families, but if there is an adult capable of working, let’s give them a hand up, okay?”

“Absolutely!” The priest slung back his drink. “And, signora?”

“Yes?”

“I, too, shall light a candle for those walking in sin, but I think there is a difference between taking the hard path to success, rather than shying from the work on the basis of a moral high ground.”

That was the priest’s philosophical way of telling me that he supported my mission, no matter how questionable the actions, as long as our people benefited and the community thrived.

It was good to have an ally.

Looking back outside as the waiter took my card for the bill, I noticed the figure was gone, his place abandoned. I sighed. I liked knowing Jaxon was around, even if it did count as stalking me. It was reassuring knowing he was there. In this twisted underworld, full of chaos and desperate acts, that was the one rock on which I felt I could rely.

If only he let me….

Chapter 17 – Jaxon

Ididn’t mean to become a sentinel of her dreams, yet here I stood, transfixed. A part of the shadows, unable to fold completely into their dark embrace. The silver light painted her olive skin, giving it a rich glow. Rumpled sheets froze in soft waves around her slumbering form. Time stood still, the only tell that it passed was her repeated breathing. The gentle rise and fall of her chest beat out the seconds as moonbeams caught in her eyelashes, casting spider-leg shadows over her cheeks.

She’d fallen asleep with a book splayed across her stomach, pages fluttering with each breath like a wounded bird. I dared not move to close it, to mark her place. Any disruption might shatter this moment, might wake her to the reality of my presence, my intrusion.

I shouldn’t be here.

I said the same thing every night.

It didn’t work. Because the moment the clock struck midnight, I was back, creeping across her lawn, nudging my way inside, taking my watch against the nightmares.

But now it was time to leave.

The floor creaked beneath my weight as I shifted. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. But she only sighed, turning her face toward the window, towardme. Her deep brown eyes remained closed.

I wandered downstairs, the plate with toast crumbs and brown avocado in my hand.

The water from the sink was warm, and the bubbles quickly cleaned the plate. How she didn’t notice, didn’t raise the alarm every morning, was comical.

If I was actively in her life, I would have scolded her—gently—for not catching the small detail.

But I was a ghost, haunting her in the dark, because I just couldn’t stay away.

My work in Chicago was almost done. The contract would be canceled tomorrow, and then I would leave.

“This is goodbye,” I whispered.

A gust outside seemed to laugh at the idea.

No matter nature’s taunt, I couldn’t give in to the pull. My lifestyle wasn’t conducive to a relationship. There was nothing to offer this woman except pain and misery. It didn’t matter that I felt something for her, something that most normal people accepted as a gift from fate. Logic dictated that I cut all ties and leave.

As I dried my hands, a soft cry floated down from upstairs.

My body went instantly on alert. The gun was in my hand a moment later as I scanned the main floor for a threat. Not seeing one, I hurried upstairs. Only years of practice guided my feet to avoid the creaks in the staircase.

Another sound, this time a rich, throaty moan, came from her room.

I rushed to the doorframe, weapon raised, blood ringing in my ear.

Isabella was alone.

That beautiful body was arched along the planes of the bed. Her satin camisole shifted up her stomach, exposing one pert tit to the moonlight.