Page 65 of Hearts Held

Placing either hand on Brielle’s shoulders, I give her a warning as those emerald eyes peer into my soul, questioning me.

“Leave” is all I state. Then I turn to Biscuit and order, “Watch her,” and march away from the most beautiful woman I have ever seen to go deal with a fucking bellend.

For fuck’s sake.

Chapter 18: Giorgio

Sick Like Me, In This Moment

A flock of women saunter in front of me, holding my gaze and giggling under their hands. Surely they’ve heard ofme,or rather heard of the public version of me.

For only afewreally know what I am.

Some call it sadistic.

Others call it sociopathic.

I call it a hobby.

It brings me much joy to watch others writhe in pain.

To collect parts of their ears, fingers, nipples or toes as small trophies from the collection of souls I torture.

Their screams sing me to sleep.

Their cries excite me.

Unfortunately, I haven’t found a suitor to fully satisfy my needs yet.

None of the women at this partycallto my inner demon. I snake around the sea of bodies, glancing at the women who whisper among their friends, surely wanting to take me for a challenge. They know how wealthy my family is. For hell’s sake, we are Sabinis after all.

The Aftons provide this annual winter solstice party to keep the peace for business, when really they are scum beneath our feet. Our family has been rooted in arms and drug dealing for years, maybe centuries. I may not be in the trenches like my brother Michael, but I know enough to understand we are on the top of the food chain. They should be kissing our feet and shining our shoes for allowing them to do business with us.

Fucking Afton Adders.

I haven’t even seen a snake at this party.

Nowthatwould make things fun.

Have a snake pit in the middle of the ballroom, girls dancing around it as we feed people each hour to the pit.

That’s a brilliant idea to notate for future reference for my own private parties. Grabbing an hors d’oeuvre off one passing tray and a glass of scotch from another, I continue my prowl.

A beautiful woman approaches my side. Her hand snakes around my waist as I feel her head rest upon my shoulder.

“Ugh, can we get out of here already?”

Seraphina.

My dear whore who finds the best souls to torture.

She can help me prowl this party for my next victim. She has great taste.

I offer her the hors d’oeuvres with one hand as she shakes her head at the offering.

Before I can discuss a hunting plan, a yelp draws my attention from across the room.

Everett Afton has swung a petite woman with long curly hair over his shoulder. Her black-and-red beaded dress sways with the march of his demanding stature.