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“Payment, actually.” I affect relaxation, like I actually believe this is a simple tête-à-tête and won’t turn into attempted assault or worse.
“How much?” Marcus relaxes, too, like he thinks me as daft as I pretend to be.
“More than you could afford.”
“Money isn’t a problem for an Accardi.” The implication that it would be a problem for a Gallo hangs heavy between us.
“I wouldn’t take payment in money.” I clear the knife of its sheath. “But flesh would be commensurate.”
Marcus grins, and it almost feels genuine. Like he’s having fun trading barbs. His face isn’t lined in aggression, playing the part of the alpha male with access to too many guns and not enough empathy. For once, he looks like a person rather than a caricature. He’s almost handsome. It’s more disconcerting than if he were to break out in choreographed song and dance.
I take a chance, hoping for an honest answer. “Why do you want to marry me, Marcus?”
His defenses don’t draw up immediately, and I think, for the first time, we’re speaking to each other rather than the masks we present to the world. “The same reason you don’t want to.”
“Which is?”
“The black hole inside of me demands it.”
I frown. “Demands you marry me?”
“No, power.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. How could Marcus see himself in me? We’re nothing alike.Nothing.
But a whisper rises inside me, directly out of darkness lined in gnashing teeth that is never satisfied, that voices my worst impulses. I try to deny, to argue logically against it. I would never use people or violence the way Marcus does. I would never force someone to marry me for the power it would bring me.
Except I would. I did.
Am I not using Tamayo as a veritable human shield? Am I not willing to endanger her entire family to keep myself safe? If things go wrong, if I cannot escape Marcus Accardi’s hand in marriage, I would murder him and start a war. I would convince Tamayo to marry me first. I would doanythingit took to secure myself a future untethered to the man before me,anythingtoattain power that does not depend on being tied to anyone else. Let alone a man.
Marcus sees that in me. Someone as hungry for power as himself. But we are different. He’s willing to act without conscience, never forced to function within the societal chains of feminine expectation. Empowered and sheltered and privileged, Marcus is the unchecked version of my own monster.
I don’t care what he sees. I won’t be his pawn. “Find another princess.”
“But none are quite as deserving to be queen.” He chuckles, and that sliver of authenticity disappears, tucked behind his black eyes and condescending tone.
This conversation is pointless. I pick up my skirt. “I must get back.”
“And I must feed the beast.”
My fists are clenched, one around the tulle of my dress, the other around the leather handle of my knife. Marcus holds my gaze, and I hold his, two mountain lions waiting to pounce. I breathe in a steady inhale. Marcus squares his shoulders. The black hole inside me is chomping at the bit, ready to be fed. I suppose his is, too.
The moment I exhale is the moment I draw my knife.
Too slowly.
Marcus snatches my wrist as it clears my pocket, his other hand grabbing my throat. His signature move at this point.
I smile despite his hold and wish I had blood in my teeth to show him just how much danger he’s in. “I told you I’d do worse the next time you touched me.”
He leans in, mouth so close to my cheek I can feel the heat of it. “What can a trapped kitten do against a lion?”
A lot, actually. I slam my knee into his groin at the same time I drop the knife to my open, waiting hand. Marcus is too busy feeling the pain pulsing from his vulnerable family jewels tonotice the switch. My smile widens as I catch the handle and rear back to finally gut Marcus like the pig he is.
A secondary door in the hallway bursts open.
Marcus’s cousin, Dan the Snake, who was recently bailed out of jail, saunters into the hall. His face is smooth as a baby’s ass, hiding the rotten core inside.