Page 61

CHARLOTTE

Song, F E R A L, Bad Omens

T he soft drizzle of the melted chocolate dripping from the fountain in front of me only reminds me of the consequences of losing.

Like everything else here, it’s extravagant. A fountain, which settles on a pool of chocolate, could probably fit six people. I wonder what the purpose of this room is for?

It smells delicious, a dark chocolate, and yet, I don’t have an appetite. Fear of death usually takes that away.

The chair scrapes along the floor, and he turns the back towards me and straddles it.

I don’t react as he tilts his head, his gaze roaming over my body.

Our silence hangs heavy in the air.

When his eyes meet mine, it’s a blade through the heart.

There is only one man that walks this earth who I could never destroy.

The man who altered my life with one night. He was the light to my darkness, a memory that's kept me from being six feet under.

Except, as I stare into his striking blue eyes now, the light has gone out.

It’s funny, this man has every right to kill me. In fact, he’s glaring at me as if he wants to do just that.

Yet, being in the same room as him is the most relaxed I’ve been in five years.

I suppose if anyone is going to end my life, I want it to be the man whose memory has kept me alive.

He’s become another monster in my life, wanting to drag me back to hell with him.

But that’s exactly where I want to be. He owns my heart, mind, and soul.

They say once you enter the game of decadence, you don’t come back out.

What if I don’t want to? What if I am willing to sell the remains of my soul to this devil.

He clears his throat and I look away.

“Eyes on me,” he commands. Without thinking, I do.

As he smirks, my stomach flips.

“Cat got your tongue, heartbreaker?” He pulls out his flip knife and runs the blade along his fingers.

“Jimmy?” I whisper.

He chuckles. It’s deep and menacing.

“Ebony? Brittany? Who are you today?” His tone lowers.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I bite down on my tongue until it stings.

Until I work out what the hell is going on here, he isn’t getting a thing out of me.

Is he The Master?

I’m assuming so. It all clicks into place. The link to Enzo. This is even worse than I first thought.

“You know, I could just cut that tongue out of your pretty little mouth if it’s not going to be of use to me.”

My heart hammers as I look at the knife and smack my lips closed tight.

I’m seriously fucked.

I tug on my restraints as he leans in, running the cold blade along my throat.

“Come on, heartbreaker. Give it up. Who are you?” he whispers in my ear.

“No one,” I reply.

He pulls back and frowns.

“Oh, come on. You’re important to me.” He grins.

My heart races.

“You, sweetheart, are the answer to a lot of my questions. So you have some importance. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out and regret it instantly.

He smiles, revealing his white teeth.

“Here we fucking go. She’s arrived.” He stands and pushes his chair out of the way as he steps in front of me, towering over me.

Gripping me by the chin, he tips my head up to him.

“This can go two ways. I’m sure you’re well established with this lifestyle. Hard way or the easy one?” He clasps me tighter, his gaze not faltering.

“The hard way doesn’t involve my dick this time either. By hard, I mean painful.” He winks and releases me.

“Who are you?” I ask.

Confusion flashes across his face. “Who am I?” He points at his chest.

“Your master. Declan Quinn.”

I nod slowly.

“Didn’t think you looked like a ‘Jimmy’.” I hide my hurt.

Maybe nothing about that night was real. We’re both two fucking liars.

“You’re a bloody good actress, heartbreaker. You set me up for murder, I assume? Which poor guy did you kill in the end? The one you drugged or beat up? Jimmy was just your next victim.”

I shake my head.

“No. That’s not true,” I whisper.

He paces the room, shaking his head, before turning to me and pointing.

“No. I’m not falling for your bullshit again. None of it was real,” he shouts.

He rubs his chest, almost like he’s in pain, yet a darkness flashes across his eyes, and I shudder.

It seems he doesn’t know what to do with me. That only tells me one thing.

I have a chance to get through to him. If I can get him to see the Charlotte from that night.

Perhaps he will believe me.

But right now, he looks furious.

This is my last resort, my last chance to save my daughter.

“Easy way,” I say.

He stops in his tracks; he’s gripping the knife so tight in his fist, blood starts to drip onto the floor.

“You’re bleeding,” I stutter.

He glances down and raises his eyebrow at the drops on the white flooring.

“You can’t feel pain when you’re numb,” he whispers, almost to himself.

“I know. Survival mode creates monsters.”

“Is that what you are? Hmm?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“I do what I have to do.”

He shakes his head in disappointment.

“We all have a choice in life, heartbreaker. You chose to leave that knife in my suite. You chose to betray me. Use me. And now you’re back? To finish the job?” He pauses for breath, his face reddening.

“Not this time. I won’t let you get under my skin again. I won’t let you.”

“It’s not what you?—“

He lunges forward and grabs my throat, his warm blood now on my skin as he squeezes.

“I’m not the same man I was back then. You helped create this version, and now that’s going to bite you in the ass, heartbreaker. And not in the good way, either.”

He keeps squeezing tighter, my lungs start to burn.

“Because of you, while my father was sacrificing himself, I was trying to get out of fucking Italy, away from the cops. I couldn’t save him. You. Did. That.”

Tears burn in my eyes. The guilt swallows me whole. How can he forgive me for that? I had no idea. I was saving myself, and the consequences, it turns out, are horrifying.

“C-Charlotte,” I manage to choke out.

I heave for air as he releases me.

“Charlotte. That suits you better. Last name?” He rubs his thumb along my jaw.

He’s right, he has changed. I can’t work him out.

“Kovalyov. But Novikov is my true surname.”

He huffs.

“Russian. You don’t sound it?”

“I moved to the States as a kid.”

I know he’s going to search this name up. I’m a ghost thanks to Drago. I’m a ghost in that house and to the rest of the world, and so is my little girl. We don’t exist.

But that family name holds weight, especially in the mafia.

He steps away from me, and I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not.

“Good girl.” He says with venom and throws his knife down onto the ground before opening the door.

My mouth drops open, and my body gives me away.

He’s seen the flush spreading up my chest.