Page 87 of Thorns of Desire

“She’s quite capable,” she rumbled, her hand inching lower. “Maybe I can helpyou?”

“I’d rather be burned alive,” I greeted. “How did you get in here?Whendid you?”

“You were in the shower.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t watch. Voyeurism isn’t my thing.”

“I really don’t give a fuck what your thing is. Never have and never will. You’re only here because I want to see Athena happy.”

“That’s just it,” she purred. “I don’t believe you. You wanted to get close to me.”

This fucking woman.

“You’re delusional. And if you think I’d touch you on myweddingday, let alone fuckingever, you need to see a doctor, because you’re also insane. Athena is the only one I want.”

“Athena is a girl, Manuel. You need a woman. I can give you passion and so much more.” I scoffed, not even granting her a response. “Our relationship would be unmatched.”

I laughed.

“You mean your thorns of desire would be deadly. They’d make the love of my life bleed and cause her pain. But you don’t care, do you? You’re a snake, only a cheap and faded version of Athena.” I fixed my cuff links and pulled on my suit sleeves. “Now, what is it that you really want, Alexandra? I thought I made it crystal clear eleven years ago that you aren’t the woman for me.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she pulled her dress down and cut the shit, knowing her attempts at seduction were futile.

“You were cruel to me that day.”

“I made a point that day,” I corrected her. “You should heed it, because it still stands.”

Memories of her deceit and attempted entrapment filtered in like a bitter pill.

Her petite body lay in the hospital bed, pale and bruised, and regret hit me at the harsh words I spat at her a week ago when I caught her using an innocent child’s voice as her own. Even after she had been caught red-handed, Alexandra didn’t bother recognizing the child—whoever that little girl with the mean kick was—as the owner of that amazing voice.

But that was neither here nor there. Alexandra was in the hospital bed, looking fragile and so damn beaten. I didn’t like to see any woman in this condition, no matter my scruples. It was the reason the Omertà never got involved in human trafficking.

None of us could tolerate that shit.

The smell of bleach and disinfectant dominated the room, her soft whimpers moving her lips in a distorted prayer.

“What happened?” I asked her, keeping my voice low.

She mumbled quietly and I leaned in, putting my ear closer to her mouth.

“Say that again.”

It was then that it hit me. The heavy scent of powder and makeup.

“They were looking for you,” she said.

“Who was?” I straightened to my full height, studying her face with narrowed eyes.

Her eyes fluttered open, but nothing about them fascinated me. All I saw was deceit. Again.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” she whispered.

She couldn’t have told them anything because she knew nothing—not about my business and not about the Omertà.

I brought my finger to her face, dragging it across her cheek, and the coat of heavy makeup came off, revealingnothing but healthy skin underneath. She startled, frozen in shock that I’d discovered the truth so easily, and tried to shift away, but it didn’t matter.

Without a word, I turned on my heel. I was almost at the hospital room’s door when her voice stopped me. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know what else to do… You weren’t answering my calls.”

“So you decided to… what? Lure me here and play the victim?” I hissed. “The bruises were a nice touch. How did you get the hospital to call me?”