Page 6 of Carlo (Sindicate Towers #9)

“ S he’ll be fine.” My husband’s words coil around me like a snake.

Slithering along my skin with a forked tongue.

Lies. How can she be alright when I’m falling apart?

A mom from her school had reached out and suggested Cate spend the weekend with her friend.

I was going to say no. Absolutely not. Curse my luck; Caterina came in behind me and heard the offer.

Her brown eyes begged me with all the hope and demand of a six-year-old determined to get her way.

She rarely asks for anything. Her therapist said it would be good for her.

Carlo swore to protect her every minute.

Carlo. I whirled on my new husband, my heavy diamond ring in its platinum band catching the light as I spin around.

These changes, the ones rocking our lives like a raft thrust into the ocean, were because of him and our families.

Now he’s making promises he can’t keep. Safety is not something you can guarantee—or trust. It’s something you hope for before you realize it’s never more than a gossamer illusion.

I hiss at his words, wishing they were physically here so that I could rip them to shreds.

Since they’re not, I’m okay with using him as a substitute. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. She’s with my men. They know to keep an eye on her. To watch her like she’s one of their own.”

I glared at him. “And if she gets scared in the middle of the night? She sometimes has night terrors, you know?”

“She’s with her friend. If there’s a problem, Jeanine knows how to contact us. For God’s sake, we had the woman vetted more closely than a presidential candidate. And my guys, who are better than the Secret Service, are parked outside. You need to calm down. Have a drink.”

The amber liquid in his glass sloshes as he waves it at me. “I don’t drink, and I don’t like men who do.”

Carlo responds by lifting his glass. Slowly taking one long swallow.

I stomp my foot in a move so childish Caterina would laugh.

The man frustrates me on every level. From his ceaseless watching of Caterina and me to the dreams he haunts while I sleep.

Dreams that have me kicking the covers off and twisting my legs around each other for relief.

Relief I refuse to give myself. Because no way am I rubbing myself off to thoughts of him.

I meet his smirk every morning. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has a camera in my room.

How else could he know the effect he has on me?

After Ben, no man caught my interest, much less my attraction.

Because if ever there was a man to douse a virgin’s curious fire, it was Ben Verrazano.

Yet, somehow, Carlo Falcone lights a wick that runs straight through the center of my body to the core between my thighs.

Lighting up dark and dusty places, empty, unused places.

His dark-as-night eyes burn when they watch me.

The blaze kindling my guts, adding to the fire he ignites.

How can I continue to resist him? Why do I want to?

A needy voice questions. I ignore it. That voice betrayed me once.

It convinced me that the attention Ben lavished on me before we married was a portent of smooth sailing and not a shit storm.

I recognize my clingy narrator. It’s the same one that urged me to be smarter, prettier, meeker .

Anything, everything to make a father who barely noticed me care.

Nothing worked. I gave him the gift of my soul, and he sold it to Ben.

Once again, I let him. Only this time, he bargained with something even more valuable, my daughter’s safety.

I agreed because I’d do anything to keep us safe, keep her safe.

Because I accept it will take a devil to stop the evil coming after us.

I turn my back on him and resume my vigil at the balcony window. If I had wings, I would slide open the glass doors, swoop down, and snatch my daughter into my arms. Take us both somewhere safe.

“Instead of worrying about her, I would pay more attention to the elephant in the room.” Carlo’s low rumble is behind me, closer than I expected.

I fold my arms across my chest and face him.

“Which one? We have so many, it’s like a damn circus.

” He arches his brow. “Do you mean the one where you and my brother almost killed each other? Maybe we should examine the elephant where that blonde woman delivered her well wishes and ran her hands up your chest. Claiming you for everyone to see, right in front of me.”

“She’s not the one wearing my ring.”

“Great way to avoid the question.”

“Was there a question? I didn’t hear it. If you’re asking about Cynda, just ask. We’ll get along fine as long as we’re straight with each other. That’s all I expect.”

“All?” My laugh grates as it whips out. “So you didn’t send my daughter away so you could rape me tonight?”

A beat. Two beats. Nothing moves. How can it? Anger fills the space behind my words. I break first. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he snarls. “Don’t fucking apologize for giving me your honesty.

I prefer it over any lies you will tell.

In fact, I insist on your honesty. Just like I insist we consummate this marriage.

” He set his glass down. Finally. “But rape is such a nasty word. Filled with violence and refusal.” He stalks closer, and although he’s shown none of the violent tendencies that Ben couldn’t conceal.

I retreat until my back presses against the glass wall separating us from a perilous fall.

His long finger draws a line across my neck as if he’s slicing it.

Before resting his index finger on the raging pulse of my jugular vein.

“If we’re honest, we’d admit that you won’t refuse.

” He removes his finger and steps away. A huge gasp of air expands my lungs.

Sucking in the oxygen, I’d denied them. “Since it’s our wedding night, I offer you two choices.

I can make love to you, or I can fuck you. You choose.”

I shove my fists into the pockets of my wedding dress. The long, white, sheath gown still hugs my curves and flows to the floor. “I’ll never make love to you.” I hiss.

“Good. That’s my preference as well.”

Carlo is on me in two steps. His eyes burn with a dark fire.

His fingers dig into my hips, and his lips crush mine.

I freeze in his grip. My hands fly up, and I push him back with fingers that had gripped the white shirt under his tuxedo.

Fingers that stole along his muscular chest even as I flexed them away. “What the hell are you doing?”

His dark eyes flash. “Taking what’s mine.”

I lick my lips. His spicy taste lingers. “You don’t have the right.”

He growls. “I have every right.” He leans forward and bites my bottom lip. Hard. Pain spikes, and my body shivers. But then his tongue traces the sting, and now my core is the one gasping. “And I’ll take it.”

He kisses me again. His mouth is hard, punishing.

He doesn’t care if I want it or not. He takes.

His arms snake behind my back, caging my wrists.

The clamp on my hands is a lightning strike.

My world dissolves into the night I married Ben.

The therapist said trauma is like that. One minute, everything is sunny and rosy, but in an instant, it snatches you into the dark pit of memory.

The hands restraining me, the smell of alcohol, the sting on my lip pushes me into a bleak cave. But this time, I come out fighting.

Swinging, snarling… raging. I swear, curse, and bite at him.

“No.” I protest, although my fractured mind can’t distinguish who I’m denying.

My punches make him hold me tighter. Squeezing my arms like tourniquets.

Another wedding night with bouquets of bruises.

No, hell no. This was supposed to be safe.

But it’s not. Danger. The voice in my head has gone shrill, shrieking danger .

A cloudy red haze swamps my vision, and when it clears.

I know who I’m fighting. It’s Ben. He’s here.

Taking, forcing, beating. I scream at him, and although my arms are straight-jacketed, I use my feet.

Stomping down with my high heels on his insteps.

Kneeing his crotch. Until he finally roars in a very un-Ben-like voice. “Enough.”

He yanks me harder to his chest. So flush that our rib cages join the fight, bumping into each other as we pant.

He forces my eyes to meet his before he growls.

“I. Am. Not. Him.” The force of his words whips me back into the present.

The room comes back into view. Carlo huffs with scratches on his face.

I flex my biceps, but he doesn’t release me.

His dark eyes narrow. Searching mine for a sanity I’m not sure he’ll find.

Then his lips slam down on mine again. Taking and claiming. Not leaving any room for doubt in my mind. “Say my name.” He demands.

“Carlo.” I whimper with ragged breaths.

“You’re with me. You’re mine now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” His eyes burrow into mine. Looking to free the part of my soul that Ben chained. “Remember that—”

“No,” I bark. Water leaks from my eyes and paints my cheeks.

“I don’t want to remember. I want to forget.

” My shoulders sag from the weight of all I carry.

I thought I was past the flashbacks. Thought the wiggle of desire meant I was finally slipping out of his grasp.

Ben Verrazano told me I’d never get away from him.

Life or death, it didn’t matter. He’d always have me.

I hate that it’s true. Hate that I broke like crystal in front of a man I’m not sure is friend or foe.

Hate that Ben can still break me. Fuck that.

I look at my husband, my new husband , and demand that he save me.

Because obviously, despite my best efforts, I can’t save myself.

I swallow the bitter pill of Ben down. “Carlo, make me forget.”

His eyes widen as he grips my meaning. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face.

His eyes fill with sympathy. I don’t want sympathy.

Sympathy is the sister of pity. Gentle is their father, and Mercy their mother.

And I want out of that family. My eyes well again.

“No,” I grab his face in my hands. Indecision clouds his features.

He wants to talk, to think, to counsel .

That’s not what I need, not anymore. Not when it never worked.

Now I need something else. Something that will shut Ben up forever.

I pull his face closer so there’s no mistaking my words.

“Fuck me. Fuck it all away.” I yank him down so that our foreheads touch.

My fingers tear at his clothes. “Fuck me like you own me. Make me yours.” I take a deep breath, then release my shattered pieces.

“If I’m yours, I can never be his again. ”

He stares at me. His face a mask. “If I fuck you, I will own you. I’ll have you in a way that no one else will. And you’ll have me.” His eyes narrow as he pulls away. “But not yet. I don’t do pity fucks. I don’t do rape . If we do this, you have to want it. Need it. Beg for it.”

“I don’t beg.”

“You will.” He scoops me into his arms as if he’s lifting me from drowning waters. Carrying me to the bedroom. While I cling to him like a life raft.