Page 8 of Brutal Crown

“Enough,” I say, my voice cutting across the room.

The small crowd that has gathered in the room freezes. The path clears as I step forward.

“Leave,” I say, “all of you.”

The staff scatter first. Even Zia Clara, muttering curses under her breath, slinks away.

Marco lingers just long enough to wink at Lia before strolling off.

Now it’s just the two of us.

The air between us tightens, thick and hot, buzzing with something I can’t name.

I walk toward her in slow, measured steps, like a predator nearing its prey.

I can see the tremor she tries to hide, the way she clenches her fists so hard her knuckles turn white, and the slight tremble of her lips as if she’s holding back every word burning on her tongue. And her eyes…

Memories of that night still linger in her brown eyes.

Still, she doesn’t bow or cower. She doesn’t look away, even though I know I’m probably the last person she wants to look at. That impresses me.

I stop a breath away, studying her.

The scent of her clings to the air. It’s citrusy, like soap, but it’s mixed with something else.

“You know,” I say quietly, “most people cry after Zia Clara slaps them.”

She lifts her chin, glaring at me with every ounce of pride she has left.

“I’m not most people.”

A slow, genuine smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“No,” I murmur. “You’re not.”

The silence stretches between us, crackling with something raw. I take another step toward her, and I catch the slight hitch in her breath.

“Did you miss me?” I ask in a low drawl.

She huffs before pinning me with a hard gaze. “I wish you would return to wherever you came from. My life is more peaceful without you in it.”

“Good,” I smirk, and because I can’t resist it, I raise a hand to touch the side of her face. “That proves you’ve been thinking about me.”

I’m the one who never stopped thinking about her ever since I first set my eyes on her.

Seeing her kneeling before the dead body of her traitor of a father that precious night unlocked something dark and twisted in me. She was breathtaking, even in her devastation. I knew killing her would be a waste.

I didn’t have a valid reason for wanting her alive. The excuse I gave my father was a stupid one. I only wanted her as my captive because there was something about her that fascinated me. Maybe I was bored, or maybe I just needed some excitement in my life.

Or maybe the other reason, the one you kept a secret all this time…

However, that swiftly turned into an obsession I couldn’t understand. Each day I woke up, there was an itch to see her in the morning before I left for work. And when I came back at night, the itch was still there, only to be soothed when I saw her before going to bed.

It terrified me.

And after that night, that moment of weakness, I knew I couldn’t live under the same roof as her. I had to leave.

My father had an ongoing project back home in Italy and needed someone to oversee it. I volunteered. And Marco, reckless and impulsive as he is, decided to go with me.