Page 13 of Intrigue
Let me go. Let me go before I do something irreversible, before I tear apart the life I’ve tried so hard to build. Let me go before I prove that I was never meant for the quiet, renewed kind of love Cassian gives me.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. And maybe, just maybe—I don’t want him to.
He leans forward to kiss my neck but uses some teeth too, biting down just shy of breaking skin. As he grazes my neck, I shiver in his arms and do the worst thing imaginable: moan, loud and broken, a sound that rips me apart.
“Goodness gracious,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my skin, voice thick with lust. “I’d give anything to hear you moan my name like that again. Fuck. I want to taste you, lick that sweet, wet cunt till you’re screaming, till you’re begging me to ruin you.”
I try to push him off me again, but I can’t. I’m a trembling mess in his arms, weak and wanting. His body is all ripped muscles and hardness, and when my palms flatten against his chest, my first instinct is to undress him and kiss his body, to drag my tongue over every inch, to mark him as he’s marked me.
Wait, no! I can’t.
“I’m fucking engaged.”
He lets me go then, stepping from me with a shake of his head, eyes blazing with hunger. “You will never get over me. This isn’t over, Selene. Trust me. Soon I’ll have you. Enjoy painter boy while he’s still alive.”
I watch him walk away, and this time, I don’t follow him, too wrecked to move. My legs are jelly after he leaves, so I have to find a bench to sit and calm my nerves, my pulse pounding, my panties soaked through with shame and need.
That’s when Cassian comes to find me. He kneels down in front of me and clasps my wrists in his hands like they’re the most delicate thing, gentle where Sandro was brutal.
“You’re tense and flush. Did something happen?”
I can’t exactly tell him about Alessandro and what he’s just done to me, how he’s turned me into a quivering, hateful wreck, so I settle for a breathless fib, my voice shaking.
“I just had a headache, so I stepped outside for a breather. It’s nothing. I’m fine, I promise.”
A lie.
Because the real headache just walked away with my soul in his hands.
Chapter 5
Alessandro
I sign the lease in bold, clear letters, watching Cassian’s name vanish beneath mine. The agent’s pen scratches impatiently.
“Make it quick,” I tell him. “He either answers to my terms or he is out by month’s end. Remember, I am to remain anonymous.”
He nods, takes the documents, and scurries away. I linger outside Cassian’s gallery, savoring the sharp twist of satisfaction. Selene’s little world, the tidy, safe life she’s built away from me, is crumbling at the edges, and she doesn’t even know it.
The street’s lamps glint above, painting dark shadows across old stone walls. I walk toward the alley, the wind snapping at my coat. Two of my men hold Raffaele pinned against the bricks, his shirt torn, skin already bruised and bleeding. He sees me and smiles, bloody teeth bared.
“Evening, Vescovi.”
“You’re moving product in Marconi territory.” My voice is quiet, cold enough to bite.
He shrugs, smug despite the blood dripping from his split lip. “Business is business. You’d do the same.”
I step forward, knuckles cracking audibly, and drive my fist into his ribs. He gasps sharply, coughing violently as his knees buckle. I grip his hair and pull his head up to meet my stare.
“You didn’t just move product, Raffaele,” I hiss into his face. “You stole our shipment from the docks worth two million euros. You nearly got my men killed, and you think you’ll walk away breathing?”
He struggles, his breath ragged, yet still manages a cocky grin. “Had to pay some debts. Nothing personal, Sandro.”
“Everything’s personal with me.” I release his hair roughly, turning to one of my men and nodding. Immediately, a blade flashes in the dim alley. Raffaele’s arrogant smirk falters as he sees it. I take the knife myself, pressing the cold, sharp edge against his throat, hard enough to break skin. Blood wells, sliding warm over steel.
“You begged me for a chance once, and I gave it to you. Now, you’ve used it up.” My voice is deadly calm. “This blade belonged to Marco Silvestri, you remember him, don’t you? He died because you screwed us. The Silvestri family wants your head, and right now, I’m inclined to give it to them.”
Fear finally sparks in his eyes, replacing arrogance with a cold understanding of his situation. “Wait—Sandro—”