Page 66 of Wounded King

"Anything?" Luciano asks when I join him in the car.

I shake my head. "Nada."

"Well, I have a gift for you," he grins.

I'm not in the mood for games. I haven't slept a lick between not having seen Violet in over twenty-four hours and discovering my sister is missing. "What?"

"The boys picked up Fabio. They have him at the harbor."

Now thatisgood news. Finally, an outlet for my pent-up frustration. "Let's go."

The drive to the harbor takes about forty-five minutes, which we spent mostly in silence. Both of us are busy with text messages and emails. I catch up on the news of my father's trial and find out that he and the jury have been sequestered. As much as I would normally enjoy the news that he's locked up again, the timing is inconvenient. Not only does it add a shitload of more work for me, it also takes away any help he might have been able to offer.

The grin I've come to recognize—the one Luciano only ever makes when he's getting a text fromher—crosses his face.

"Her?" I ask, pretending not to care, even though I've been waiting all morning for an excuse to bring her up.

"She's worried about Sophia," he says.

A petty, childish part of me stings at that. "Would be nice if she worried about me, too," I mutter, dragging my gaze out the window so I don't have to watch him type back.

But still… It's something. A sign she hasn't buried me completely.

The truth is, I wish I had the luxury of time to pursue her the way I would like to. Properly. Fully. Ruthlessly. Wear her down until she's begging to come back to me. But I don't. I know I could have her picked up and brought to me today, kicking, screaming, and cursing me out with that fire in her eyes I crave like a fix. But I haven't.

Because if I brought her here, I wouldn't be able to let her go.

And I don't have the bandwidth to keep her close and keep her safe—not at the same time. Not now.

And yet, the urge is there. Always. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Hear her.Feelher. I don't know when it happened—when Violet Meade stopped being the nurse at my bedside and started becomingmine. I only know that now she is. Whether she knows it or not. Whether she likes it or not.

She broke it off. Said it was too much. That she couldn't handle the weight of who I am. But I'm not done with her. Not even close.

I can still feel her pussy wrapped around me, that tight, wet heat pulling me under like a riptide. The way her body clung to mine when she came, like she never wanted to let go. Like some part of her wanted this just as much as I did, even if her mouth couldn't admit it.

She's addictive. But it's not just the sex.

I like the way she fights me. The way she tries to control the uncontrollable. The way she stands her ground even when she's shaking. That spark in her eyes when she's pissed off? The blush in her cheeks when she's trying not to moan? I'd kill a man just to see it again.

And I will if I have to.

She doesn't get to walk away from me. Not forever.

Let her have her distance now, if it makes her feel in control. But eventually, I'll come for her. And when I do? I'll make her remember exactly what it feels like to belong to me.

We enter the harbor district, and I shove all thoughts of Violet from my mind. It's showtime. The car stops at the door to one of our buildings. Four guards are stationed outside, opening the door as soon as I exit the car.

It's cooler inside. Bright artificial lights illuminate Fabio, who is hanging by his arms from the ceiling. He's got himself all worked up, swinging in circles, and there's puke on the ground.

I snap my finger at one of the soldiers standing to the side to stop his swinging motion, then I give Fabio a minute to recover his equilibrium. I have to give the motherfucker his due; he's a tough son of a bitch.

"Marcello Orsi?" He croaks hoarsely, probably from all that puking.

"Where are your manners? Give the man some water," I order, watching one of the soldiers do my bidding.

Fabio is not too proud to drink from the bottle the man is holding to his mouth, but his one good eye is throwing daggers at me. When he's done drinking, he spits a good portion to the ground, before he addresses me, "Are you fucking suicidal? Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Refresh my memory," I turn to Luciano.