Page 9

Chapter 9

Massimo

Each of my words are punctuated with a footfall, which makes Nova paler and paler as I stalk closer.

I am exactly what they say I am .

Well, not entirely. In the gruesome department, when I do get my hands dirty, yes. But in the rest of my rule, I'm not a monster. Not to those who know me, at least.

But the princess doesn't know me. I'll use my notoriety and reputation to get what I want from her—the truth of who and what she really is.

I'm losing patience with her antics and the walls she's trying to hide behind.

She's Silvestro Mancini's daughter.

Mancini's sons are just like him—spawns made in his image—and gaining their own reputation in our world.

Mancini himself was involved with the Czech mafia, who we have caught several times transporting women through our territory—women who had been heinously violated and had died from their injuries.

The Mancini family is a den of vipers, venomous and deadly.

And Nova may be the worst one—with her innocent looks, feigned demureness, and false meekness. How many has she led, or helped to lead, to their destruction?

Rage fills me at the thought, and I don't mask it .

Nova sees it, and she finally reacts. Finally drops the mock persona of the weak, compliant, and meek princess. She tries to run.

I'm on her instantly.

She doesn't scream or make any shrill noises; she snorts like an angry bull. I laugh, a cruel sound in the stone room.

She's easy to control because she's so tiny. I wrap my hands around her waist, lifting her off the ground and making her squeak in shock. I pivot and push her against the wall, leaving one hand on her hip and the other going around her throat.

My action is a mistake.

The fire in her eyes immediately dies and terror settles in the banked embers. Terror so potent that I know it isn't artificial. There is no acting right now, no matter how good.

The other reason I know this was a mistake is because I've touched her. Up to this point, my fixation on her had been with the photos, then watching her on the security camera. I can feel her hip under her soft suede romper. I can feel her skin—skin that should never be this cool, and is this cool because of me. A conflicting, potent mix of lust and disgust rears within me.

Both my hands squeeze. She closes her eyes, and a whimper escapes before she presses her lips tightly together.

I'm not sure what I want to do.

Crash my mouth down on hers.

Back away in horror at my actions.

Or shake her until she finally cracks open so I can see her slithering insides.

Images flash through my mind, each one like a fang injecting venom that makes my blood heat with rage.

The bodies of the abused and violated women we recovered from the Czech mafia—Mancini's partner in crime. Sophie's torment after Creed rescued her from the death ring that Mancini’s suspected accomplices had planned to deliver her to. Eden's battered face after Lixin, Amazu, Novak, and Mancini kidnapped her. Having Mancini in my clutches and being forced to let him live .

Small hands fist my shirt, and the touch pulls me back. Nova isn't clawing at my hand on her throat; she isn't trying to push me away. Her eyes are closed, and her face has a quiet resolve.

Like she wants me to end her misery.

She's lying. She's trying to play you for a fool.

Releasing her, she drops to her feet, unsteady but catches herself. I shove away, taking three steps back.

"I'll crack you yet, princess," I seethe. My rage and disgust are in equal measure for her and myself.

Turning away, I see the uneaten food on the tray.

Not good enough for her? Taking a stand against me by going on a hunger strike?

Whatever the reason, uncontrollable fury claws through me. I'm always calm and in control…until this princess, the spawn of a snake.

With a ferocious roar, I kick the tray, scattering and launching the food, which splatters against the wall.

I don't look back at the sound of her choked sob. I slam and lock the door, then break into a run, needing to get away from her before I snap her beautiful little neck.