Page 10 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

A ndrew

Watching Serafina walk away, after she’s given me all the information I need, feels less like triumph and more like a strange vacuum has appeared in the base of my stomach. That hour went fast.

Too fast.

I wanted her to sit with me for longer. Not because I need the intel, but because I like her.

I like her a lot more than I expected to.

Not just because she’s the epitome of all my teenage wet dreams, but because she’s sweet and…

deep. I don’t mean deep in a philosophical kind of way.

She’s deep in the sense I feel like she has a multitude of layers to peel back, jewels to uncover.

I’ve barely gotten started and already it’s time to leave.

I have to force myself to throw a mental high five, because it’s done. I got the intel I needed, even though I feel fucking flat.

It’s no secret that Cristiano Di Santo is planning to get married at this hotel in this part of the Hamptons.

Enough additional security has been laid on in the local area to draw even more attention and whispered rumors.

But I needed to know exactly where the bridal party will be and exactly the role my brother will be playing.

He’s the best man.

Fuck .

He really has worked his way into the heart of the New York Italian Mafia.

I add this new information to my mental library where it joins intel on how the Di Santo’s operate—which reminds me I need to arrange for that kid Federico to get onto the property.

That was his reward for dishing the dirt on the way the Di Santo’s treated his father.

He has a thing for one of the sisters it seems, and is prepared to bulldoze the wedding prep to stake his claim.

Thinks he’s mafia material but he’s just a kid.

And I know my brother will put him in his place.

A small kernel of apprehension sits at the base of my spine though. The rumors about this wedding have been loud enough to reach the ears of the Marchesi’s, the Di Santos’ biggest rival.

When “Fury” Marchesi himself told me about the drug bust my own brother orchestrated, putting the Marchesi’s millions out of pocket, I had to wonder if they wouldn’t pick the wedding as their moment to retaliate.

All the more reason for me to be here. I wouldn’t mind putting some bullets in those asshole brothers.

I’ve cozied up to them enough to get the detail I need on Connecticut, and now it’s time to pull it from under them. By the time the wedding comes around, they are going to be pissed and desperate.

An image of Serafina walking back inside the hotel pokes at the sensation that I’ve lost something I’m going to regret. I shove it to the very archives of my mind, throw down a fifty tip and head back the same way. I need to get some air and it feels too stifling on the terrace.

I walk back through the lobby and out to the front of the hotel. I hear voices to the left, just out of sight, so I change direction and head toward the beach. I have to make some calls and I can’t risk anyone listening in.

The voices of two men recede into the breeze but a third makes me stop. It’s a woman’s voice, faint but unmistakeable. And there’s a definite note of nervousness to it. I edge toward the source and hover just out of sight behind a wall.

Up close and clearer, the first thing I hear is her name.

“You’re Serafina Castellano, right?”

“Who’s asking?” she says, faintly.

“Oh, don’t be worried. Everyone around these parts knows who you are.” A sordid chuckle leaves the man’s throat. “We just want to talk to you, alright?”

The sound of feet shuffling across the gravel puts me on high alert.

“I don’t know you. I’m really sorry. I have to go.”

“No, wait… Just one minute, seriously. That’s all we need.”

Anger infuses my blood. From nowhere .

“Fine. One minute.” Her voice trembles. “But only if you let go of my arm.”

What. The fuck?

I inch round the wall until I can see the two scrawny assholes. The one being deliberately intimidating has the good sense to step back and release her.

“We just want an introduction to your new brother.”

Serafina’s skin pales, illuminating her piercing blue eyes.

“We run a small waste disposal business, see? It’s upstate—further north than Di Santo territory—but we’d like to work with your brother and his men. We want an alliance…”

“I’m sorry,” Serafina says, backing up. “He’s not my brother and I have no influence over his decisions or his men. I’m not involved in any of that.”

“Look…” The fucker who’d grabbed her arm closes the distance again, towering over her. His voice thins and there’s a sinister playfulness to it. “We just want you to pass on a message is all. It’s not so hard.”

My gaze drops to her fingers. She’s curling them around each other and… they’re shaking.

I don’t think. I just step out into the sheltered pathway, startling all of them.

“Leave her the fuck alone.” I press two fingers to my throat. I’ve lowered my tone to great depths before, but that sounded subterranean.

The two men swing around and tilt their chins up to face me. “This is none of your business, amigo.”

I take a step toward the men, daring them to back away, which they do, one dainty step at a time. “I’m not your amigo.”

“In that case…” The scrawnier of the two idiots pulls out a knife.

Fucking imbecile. I really didn’t want to have to do this here. I would rather wait until there was no one else around, slice the fucker’s blade through his throat then leave him in the ocean for the fish to feed off.

“Go back inside, Sera,” I grunt.

She scoots backward, her eyes stretched wider. Then her footsteps quicken on the gravel until she’s out of earshot.

“Go near that woman again and you’ll wind up face down swimming in your own fucking blood,” I growl.

They glare up at me with forced bravado and the taller one bears his teeth. “This has nothing to do with you, bro’. We have business to discuss with her. Important business.”

“You’re not listening to me,” I enunciate slowly, since they don’t appear to be smart. “You go near her again and I will kill you.”

“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?” the shorter one spits. “Because you look like a nobody to me.”

I breathe steadily. “That’s my intention. When people don’t know who I am, they don’t expect this. ”

In one beat of my pulse, my fists curl and my biceps brace, and I whip out a series of sharp, fast punches that have both men dropping to the floor like anchors from a ship. I barely feel the contact of my skin on theirs, though the sound of breaking bone rings satisfyingly in the still air.

Neither of them moves. They’re both out cold. Hopefully, when they come around they’ll realize “bro” was serious. What they won’t realize is how hard I pulled back from snapping both their spines.

I roll my neck, feeling the muscles crack, then pass a hand through my hair. A movement catches my eye and I turn to see Serafina staring out of a window in the hotel annex, white as a sheet, her mouth dropped open. Fuck, I wish she hadn’t seen that.

I turn to leave. I need to get out of here for good, check out early, before she can ask me too many probing questions.

But there’s something about her demeanor that stops me. In the quiet of the sheltered path I can hear her gasping breaths. She rams a hand up against the wall and rests her full weight on it, her eyes squeezed shut.

I run along the path and shove open the annex door, only registering the possibility this is where the staff accommodation must be because it’s nowhere near as luxurious as the hotel itself.

I curl my hands around her shoulders and turn her to face me. She’s white and damp, and her breathing is out of control. She’s having some kind of panic attack.

Immediately, I pull her toward me and rest my forehead on hers. With one hand I hold the back of her head, and with the other, I guide one of her hands to my chest and press her palm flat. I need to regulate her breathing before she passes out.

Sweat is pouring down the back of her neck.

“Breathe,” I whisper, firmly.

I draw in short breaths of my own, mirroring her, matching her tempo, joining her in the madness.

“Good. That’s good. Breathe.”

As our chests move in tandem and our heart rates meet, I lengthen my breaths, taking her with me.

Her hand trembles against my chest so I push my fingers through hers, trying to distract her from whatever terror is pulling her under.

“You’re doing good,” I whisper. “Slower now. That’s it.”

After a couple more minutes, I sense her lungs opening up and she takes a long, deep breath then collapses into my shoulder.

I tentatively wrap an arm around her. She’s still cool and damp but she’s stopped trembling and her body is molding to mine, seeping into every crevice, finding every hidden part and filling it. My chest expands of its own accord and I push my free hand through her hair.

With sudden clarity, I realize I don’t want to let her go.

Not just because she’s a closed book I want to prize open; not just because her hobby warms me like a faint memory; and not just because she’s a redheaded beauty with curves that make my mouth water.

I don’t want to let her go because something—a killer’s instinct perhaps—tells me she needs protecting.

She has no security watching from any distance and those cretins just demonstrated how much she needs it. But, more than that… she doesn’t seem to have anyone looking out for her. She comes from this big family that has skyrocketed into the heart of the Di Santo’s and she has no one .

It’s not pity I feel, it’s annoyance. How can they leave this beautiful woman who is hiding a world of pain beneath those smiles, to live a decent drive away, free to make all the friends she wants but seemingly afraid to. The injustice of it sets my blood alight.

Eventually, she draws her head back and peers up at me, her eyes scorched with tears. I almost hate myself for thinking this, but she looks even more beautiful with tears spent from those bright blue eyes.

I gently rest my forehead against hers again and close my eyes.

“Has that happened before?” I whisper.

A pause. A swallow. “Yes.”

“How often?” I lick my lips, suddenly ravenous for a different kind of information. Details that are only about her, not the Di Santo’s.

“It used to happen a lot when Mama died.” Her voice is quiet. “They happened less over the years. That’s the first I’ve had in the Hamptons.”

Her head is tilting backward, bringing her lips almost in line with mine. It’s happening naturally— neither one of us is forcing it. I open my eyes and look into hers. They are piercing, mesmerizing, trusting .

She deserves better than this. Better than me.

I’m a liar, a criminal—a member of a dark and shady organization that does bad things to bad people, and sometimes good people too.

And the worst part is, she already knows.

It was all written right there in my chart.

She interpretated it selectively. That’s what people do when they can’t confront the truth.

I have to pull away.

Just a few more seconds.

I inhale her breaths, which are calmer now. I taste them on my tongue and try not to let the madness go to my head.

I can’t deny it—I want her. I want her limbs, her skin, her flesh… In my hands, in my mouth, on my face. Fuck . I’ve never before felt such a visceral need to make another person mine . A city, yes. A woman, no.

But do I want her because I can’t have her? That question sobers me. I enjoy a challenge. Hell, I even enjoy torturing myself. But I won’t take advantage of Serafina Castellano. She’s given me everything I needed and more that I hadn’t even asked for.

And I took, and I took, and I took.

My lips yearn to just, lower, once. The madness seeps into my blood, threatening to drown out my brain and do what I want to do, not what’s right.

I pull away fast, and a little forcefully. Her eyes widen in surprise then a flush of blood brightens her cheeks and she drops her gaze .

“Thank you,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” I say, softening my hold on her shoulders and pulling my hand reluctantly from her hair. “Those assholes won’t bother you again.”

“H—how much of the conversation did you hear?” Deep worry lines cut into her brow.

“All I heard was they had a message they wanted you to pass on.”

She rolls her eyes. “They thought I was someone else.”

I know she’s lying.

“Well they won’t make that mistake again, will they?” I reply, smoothly.

She turns, her gaze falling to the two men out cold on the path. “Th—thank you. I guess.”

I release her and step back. “You’re welcome. Now, are you sure you’re okay?”

She turns back to me and hugs her arms around herself. “I’m fine. Much better. Thanks.”

I nod in acknowledgment. “I’m leaving today.”

Her eyes pop. “But your check-out is the day after tomorrow.”

“Something’s come up.” And as much as I hate to admit it, that something is standing right in front of me, threatening to distract me from what I came here to do, and I can’t risk that.

This is my life’s work. It all comes down to my next move.

It has to be precise and it requires a hundred and ten per cent of my focus.

I step into her and curl my fingers around her delicately pointed chin, lifting her watery gaze to mine. Then I say something that isn’t rehearsed, isn’t even fucking thought-through, and isn’t a lie. “But I’m going to come back. I promise.”

When I bend to brush my lips across her cheek, I take in a breath heavy, cataloguing her scent of lemon verbena, sea breeze and cocoa butter, and try to hold it in my lungs as I say goodbye.

Then, I turn and walk away, the truth gnawing a sizeable hole in my conscience—that she will never see Andrew Stone again.