His belt slips higher on my face. A gap forms at the bridge of my nose, allowing a sliver of light underneath, but the warm leather prevents me from lifting my lashes enough to make anything out.
Bile sours the back of my throat. His hard shoulder digs into my stomach. Fatigue lurks underneath my adrenaline, promising a catastrophic drop once my hypervigilance fades.
My senses heighten as he maneuvers through the new space on silent feet, his smooth stride so predatory my urge to flee intensifies. Even without my sight, the sense of being in an enclosed space with him fills me with fresh terror. I clench my fists in his shirt and breathe as best as I can with his shoulder digging into my stomach.
I jerk as a screeching noise fills my ears. As I recognize the sound of shower curtain hooks sliding along the metal rod, he shrugs me off his shoulder. My heart leaps into my throat as I fall, but he catches me and spins me around in midair before dropping me the last few inches into the tub. I hiss at the jarring impact and curse when frigid water rains down on me where I sit.
The dried blood on my hands and face turns tacky before slowly sloughing off under the onslaught. I lift my bound wrists to wipe my face, but Ermanno’s massive fingers close around my hands, forcing them into fists, and push them down to my lap.
“Answer my questions and I’ll adjust the temperature,” he says just loud enough for me to hear him over the rush of the shower.
I turn my head and spit to clear my mouth of the water and grime running down my face.
He grabs my shoulder and pushes me lower into the tub so the spray lands directly on my head and shoulders. I fight the panic rising in my chest and breathe through my nose as much as possible.
When he yanks me higher, I sputter and manage one full breath before he pushes me under again.
As time stretches into infinity, my mind clings to the warmth of his hands on me even though I know he’s the puppeteer behind my misery.
He drags me to a sitting position. I shiver as the cold water sucks the heat from my body.
“What are you doing in New York City?” he asks.
I clench my teeth together and turn my head away from him.
He shoves me under again. I grind my knuckles together in his fist, using the pain and friction to ground me. With an impatient growl, he pulls me up again.
My nostrils burn and my teeth ache from the icy water as I try to clear my airway.
“Why are you pretending to work at that clinic?” he asks.
I spit before clamping my teeth together. The warm glob trails down my chin but turns cold by the time it reaches my throat.
“Who are you working with?” he snarls.
My nerves jangle from the barely leashed fury in his voice. He shifts his grip from my shoulder to my nape and squeezes.
A part of me relaxes. It makes no sense, but his tight grip slips under my defenses and quenches the constant ache of loneliness within me.
“You won’t win with silence, Julieta. C’mon, lie to me like you used to,” he murmurs.
I shake my head. My shivering worsens as ice infects my bones.
“Did you just tell me no? Are you refusing to answer me?”
It doesn’t matter what he does to me; I’ll wield my silence like a weapon. Any other response will put my sister in danger.
He gives a disgusted scoff before shoving me under the downpour and pulling his hands away.
For a horrible moment, my heart seizes in my chest and the black hole swirling behind my sternum threatens to swallow me whole, but his frigid voice reaches through my panic and stops me from descending into madness.
“It’s okay, bugiarda. You can stay here until you’re ready to talk.”
I can’t hear his footsteps over the shower, but when a door closes a few feet away, I realize he left me bound and blindfolded in the freezing water all alone. My numb fingers refuse to pull the belt away from my eyes no matter how hard I try to make them work.
A deeper, darker cold seeps into my veins and transports me into the past. My mother’s lifeless eyes stare up at me as water overflows the kitchen sink and pours down the cabinets to join the pool of blood underneath us.
Nothing will ever be warm again. We’ll stay trapped in the icy red river together, except she’s not here anymore. My mother is gone.
Everyone is gone. I ruined everything when I opened the front door. No one will ever forgive me.
My sister pulled away. My brother blamed me. My father never spoke to me again. My stepfamily destroyed what remained between me and those who were supposed to love me unconditionally.
And now my tormentor abandoned me to die in the frozen hell of loneliness.
It doesn’t matter if Ermanno returns or not. I’ll always remain cold and alone.
It’s what I deserve after all the horrible things I’ve caused throughout my life. No matter what I do, I’ll never erase the pain I’ve caused my sister. Before we even left the womb, I stole from her. She always suffers because of me. If I die protecting her, I might earn the right to ask for her forgiveness, but I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t grant it.
The water turns off. Silence echoes in my mind.
I can’t move. Curled up on my side in the fetal position, the sides of the tub press against my back and knees. Too cold to shiver, I lie like a chunk of ice in the never-ending darkness of my nightmares.
Merciless hands pull the belt away from my eyes. I blink at the white porcelain in front of my face. Thick fingers pinch my jaw and turn my head.
Piercing grey eyes spear into my soul.
A broken sound leaks from my chest as I try to gather the shattered pieces of my mind.
The world spins. Black dots dance in my vision. My soaked clothes cling to my frozen flesh. Adrenaline snaps my senses into the present when Ermanno wraps his massive hands around my shoulders. I push at his arms with my bound hands. His annoyed growl sparks the first hint of warmth into my veins.
Scorching hot arms lift me from the tub and press me against an even hotter chest in a cradle hold. I lean into him even as Ermanno’s disgusted eyes flick over me, my mind needing a moment to shove my nightmares back into their proper compartments. My entire body shakes from the cold as water drips from my drenched frame and patters onto the floor.
I blink and lift a hand to his chest. Intending to push him away, I glare at my wayward hand as my trembling fingers curl around his collar and cling to him. He’s alive. Warm. Larger than life.
His fury thaws the frozen wasteland within me so quickly I reel with shock and confusion. He stomps into a kitchen and drops me in front of the stove. My legs buckle, but he catches me by the hair and shoves me against the counter.
I grunt as my stomach hits the edge. He splays his massive hand over my back and bends me forward, trapping my bound hands against my sternum as he pins me down with terrifying ease. Before I can force my frozen legs to kick back at him, he presses his hips against my ass, and even though he isn’t aroused, alarm spears through me at his overwhelming size. With the toes of my shoes barely reaching the ground and his shin trapping my cuffed ankles to the cabinet, all my efforts result in a pathetic wriggle.
His body is the only warmth left in the world and despite his cruel treatment of me, my soul rejoices over his touch.
I banish the ridiculous sentiment when he reaches for the stove controls. The burner closest to my face clicks several times before he turns the knob far enough to light it. Blue flames fill my vision. I cringe, but the heat doesn’t reach me.
He weaves his fingers into my hair and pins the side of my face onto the counter before he lifts my shirt and gathers it at my nape, baring my back, and skims his hand over my sports bra. Realizing there is no clasp, he snarls and reaches for the knife set above my head.
His hips shift against my ass as he pulls the butcher knife out of the block. Terror tightens my throat.
My flesh stings from the cold, so all I feel is pressure when he slips the knife under my bra and slices the material apart. He trails the unforgiving edge of the knife down my spine.
“All this smooth flesh,” he murmurs.
My stomach drops and core clenches at the appreciation in his tone, but bile sours the back of my throat. I made peace with the scars on my stomach and thigh long ago, since they represent my efforts to save my sister, but the thought of him marking me fills me with terror.
“You’ve been too busy stabbing others in the back to know how it feels, haven’t you?”
My nerves jangle as he lifts the knife away from my back. He twists his hand in my hair and gives my head a little shake, ensuring I watch as he lowers the blade to the burner.
“I need answers, Julieta,” he demands.
I clamp my teeth together as I stare at the flames dancing over the metal.
“We don’t have to do this. Tell me why you’re in New York and who you’re scheming with, and I’ll put the knife away,” he says.
His faux concern awakens my anger.
I harden my eyes and glare at him over my shoulder.
He tilts his head and studies my face with his steel-grey eyes before tightening his fist in my hair. My scalp stings, but I refuse to wince.
I tremble as he lifts the butcher knife out of the fire. Fear sweat gathers on my chilled temple.
I choke on my scream as a line of white-hot agony spears across my lower back. Black dots swim in my vision, but closing my eyes means falling into darkness again, so I train my attention on the dancing blue flames above the burner. I sink my nails into my palms, desperate for a sliver of control, and heave breath through my nostrils as the torn fabric of my bra bunches underneath me.
He lifts the blade and presses it an inch higher on my back.
Vomit climbs up my throat, but I swallow it along with my scream.
He twists the knife and presses the flat of the blade along the underside of my shoulder blade.
I curse my body’s natural reaction as tears drip across the bridge of my nose and puddle under my temple.
When he finally lifts the knife, I clench my teeth and wait for the deep, burning sensation of blisters forming on my back, but the blinding agony dulls to a weak pulsing.
I shift my gaze to his. The lazy tilt of his lips relays his amusement.
Humiliation spears through me as I realize he’s enjoying my plight.
“Fuck you, you sick fucker. Get off me,” I snarl.
I buck and fight as my emotions break through my defenses. Even though I’d die to protect my sister, his demeaning smirk reaches through the void swirling in my chest and crushes the broken little girl trapped in loneliness.
He pulls my head back, forcing my face toward the backsplash, and uses the sharp edge of the warm blade to trace the throbbing lines left behind.
Hot metal. Cold flesh. He knew it wouldn’t burn me.
“Vaffanculo!” I hiss and shove against the counter, preferring he stab me rather than humiliate me.
The knife clatters to the floor. The stove clicks off. Thick fingers draw designs around my aggravated skin. I struggle harder as he pinches and scratches the slightly raised, sensitive flesh.
“You’re not Julieta, are you, gattina?” he murmurs.
Terror steals my voice, and for a moment, I can’t move, but when the weight of his words settles into my psyche, I fight so hard my knees bang against the cabinets and the cuffs break the skin of my wrists.
“Let me go!” I shriek.
He leans over me and wraps his hand around my throat from behind. His drenched shirt brushes against my back before he settles his weight onto me. I struggle to breathe as he flattens me to the counter, stealing the oxygen from my lungs.
“Which Giordano twin are you?” he whispers in my ear.
I stop fighting and suck down a few stilted breaths before sneering through gritted teeth.
“Have you gotten stupider since the last time I saw you, or were you always this dumb?”
His chuckle vibrates through my entire body.
“Julieta would have squawked the second I turned on the stove. Did she rope you into doing her dirty work, gattina?”
“I’m not a kitten, and people change, testa di cazzo.”
I should back down. Simper. Cry. Beg him not to follow through on whatever promise he made to Julieta when he sent her rushing back to San Jose so many years ago.
But I can’t. I can’t act pathetic when his body squishes mine so deliciously against the counter. I can’t pretend to cower underneath him when he threatens to decimate the very core of my being. I can’t whimper and bat my eyelashes when all I want to do is melt into his touch.
“You’re right, people do change, but not this much,” he rumbles.
I scoff and say, “It’s been almost twenty years. I’m not the—”
He moves so fast my exhausted brain struggles to react, flipping me onto my back and wedging his hips between my knees as he pins me down by my throat.
I sink my nails into his wrist and shiver as he runs lascivious eyes down my front.
With my shirt gathered under my armpits and my bra sliced down the back, the material barely covers my breasts. My nipples pebble from the cold, wet material and his hungry gaze.
With an amused quirk of his brow, he traces the scars on my stomach with his callused fingertips.
I release his wrist to shove his hand away, but he swats my bound arms aside and grabs my breast.
“Where’s your tattoo then, Julieta?”
My brain trips over itself as lightning arcs from my breast to my core. His big, hot palm and long, possessive fingers send molten lava through my veins.
“I-I got it removed,” I stutter.
Embarrassment heats my face as my breathy voice echoes in my ears.
“Where are the burn marks?”
“Laser treatment doesn’t leave marks any anymore.”
He hums a noncommittal note and kneads my breast before leaning down and nuzzling my temple.
I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. He’s too close. Too big. Too hard.
“True. They don’t,” he murmurs.
Yearning fills my soul when he brushes his lips over my temple. Need morphs my core into a lake of magma as he flexes his fingers around my throat and pinches my nipple.
“Especially when you never had a tattoo in the first place,” he whispers against my flesh.
I gasp. He dips his head and licks the shell of my ear.
“So, which Giordano twin are you? Loretta? Livia? Which one thought their stepsister might have had a tattoo?” he asks.
My brain takes an embarrassing amount of time to process his words as he kneads my breast, tightens his grip around my throat, and curls his tongue into my ear.
“Coglione! You tricked me. Fanculo!” I hiss and buck.
His low groan arrows straight to my center. He thrusts his hips and grinds his half-hard yet terrifyingly massive cock against my sex. A breathy whimper escapes my throat, but I muffle it with my clenched teeth as he thrusts again and highlights the slippery warmth filling my panties.
“I’ve asked you twice now, gattina. Will you lie to me a third time?” he murmurs as he tilts my chin up with his hand around my throat and trails his lips along my jawline.
“And I told you I’m not a kitten,” I snarl. “Get off me.”
“But you hiss, spit, and scratch like one. I bet I could tame you with a few sweet words and have you purring from a few strokes of my fingers,” he chuckles.
His demeaning tone is too much, and I lash out the only way I can.
I bite his cheek.
He snarls, wraps both hands around my throat, and squeezes. Darkness rises from my compressed jugular and everything fades to black.
I wake with a jolt as he grabs my shoulders and lifts me off the counter. My pulse pounds in my head. The world spins.
Pain spears through my abdomen as Ermanno tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sluggish and weak, I dig my elbows into his back and kick my bound legs, but he cups his hand around the back of my thigh and squeezes. His fingers brush against my sex and his thumb digs into the globe of my ass.
“Bite me again, gattina, and see just how far I’m willing to go,” he growls.
Dizziness and nausea steal the fight from my limbs. I clamp my teeth together and swallow the excess saliva flooding my mouth as he stalks through the apartment to a dimly lit bedroom.
Pain lances up my tailbone as he drops me onto a wooden chair and grabs my wrists. Before I can kick his shins, he steps on the cuffs around my ankles and pins my heels to the front bar connecting the chair legs together. With annoying ease, he reaches over to the side table and pulls a coil of rope out of the drawer.
After binding my wrist cuffs to the arm of the chair, he loops the rope underneath the seat, over my lap, around the far leg, and between my ankles. In less than a minute, he ties me to the chair with no room to wiggle free. I test the bindings on my ankles and growl in frustration when I can’t lower my heels to the ground.
Without his warmth pressed against me, my drenched clothes suck the heat from my body, but at least the hem of my shirt falls down and covers my breasts and stomach.
He drags the chair across the floor—with me still in it—and squats beside me to work underneath for a few seconds. Metal clinks against metal as he lifts a chain off the ground and connects it to the underside of my chair. I swallow as I realize he rigged the bolts and chains long ago.
My teeth chatter from the cold as my wet hair drips down my nape.
When he lifts his head and aims bottomless grey eyes at me, my stomach drops and I realize the seriousness of my predicament for the first time.
He may not have scarred my flesh, but he tore through my defenses and left marks on my soul. With his unrelenting dominance and rough hands, he gave my body just enough of his touch to form an addiction.
I hate him. I want him.
I can’t have him.
Protecting my twin is the only thing that matters.
Silence didn’t work. Neither did lying.
And now I’m at the mercy of the most handsome and lethal consigliere in New York City.
Except I know he doesn’t have an ounce of compassion in him. He’ll never believe my sister and I have nothing to do with Julieta or the Russian mobsters.
I’m fucked.
