Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
And watching her unobserved as she tries her jail break? She’s definitely going to be entertaining.
I grin.
She’s so intent on her work that she doesn’t hear me as I cross the room in my bare feet.
“Shit,” she mutters to herself, and I watch as she sits back on her heels and studies the lock for a moment. A hairpin is sticking out of it. Stuck. Well, what did I expect? A good little victim? She’s the Moretti Mafia princess, after all.
I take the last few steps soundlessly as she struggles to get the jammed pin out of the lock. She must feel me at the last moment because she stiffens. I reach over her and close my hand over hers.
The instant I do, she gasps audibly.
I lean down, inhale the scent of jasmine in her shampoo.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn her head. Doesn’t even try to pull away, not yet. She just stares straight ahead at the hand covering hers and I can imagine the pounding of her heart at being caught.
“Going somewhere, Little Moth?”
3
ALLEGRA
Ilook at the huge hand that’s covering mine. Cassian Trevino’s hand. Cassian Trevino who has somehow materialized out of thin air. How did he get in here without my hearing him?
His skin is warm, but calloused and although he’s not hurting me, I remember what he did to Michael. How he snapped his wrist and brought him to his knees with these very hands.
I need to keep that visual front and center. Remember that for all his beauty—because he is beautiful—this man is brutal.
“Well, Moth?”
I glance over my shoulder to see the door that was locked when I tried it earlier now standing open. Of course. He’d told the guard to put me in the room adjacent to his. That must be his bedroom.
“My name isn’t Moth,” I say, not looking at him just yet. Not quite ready for that.
“Your name is what I say it is. Stand up.” He speaks calmly, his voice low and controlled.
I don’t move. Instead, I try to pull my hand free, but he doesn’t let me. My heart is pounding so hard against my chest there’s no way he doesn’t hear it.
“What did I say about repeating myself?” he warns.
I have to get up. I have to face him. To show him I’m not afraid.
Except that I am. I know what men like Cassian Trevino are capable of. As if I need a reminder, my thumb moves to the nub of my pinkie. It’s subconscious. Memory telling me to tread lightly. This man is dangerous.
I draw a deep breath in, and it takes all I have for me to rise to my feet. I keep my back to him. One step at a time. I can’t face him just yet. I’m looking down and I notice his feet are bare which for some reason is strange to see. Like it’s too human, too normal.
He pulls his hand away giving me just enough room to turn and face him, but I remain as I am, still holding onto the doorknob while I concentrate on breathing. He’s so close I feel the heat of his body at my back. Feel how much bigger than me he is.
I remind myself that I am collateral. He took me until my brother pays him back. I’ll be safe. He can’t hurt me.
But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit. This man can do whatever he wants. He strolled into our house soldiers in tow. He didn’t sneak in. He stood in my father’s study like he owned the place. He drank his whiskey.
And besides, the little voice inside my head starts, what do you think will happen when Michael can’t pay him four million plus interest by the end of next week?
I ignore it. I can’t think about that now. Now, it’s me and him and I just need to survive this moment.
But I’m not defenseless, I remind myself. I am a Moretti. And I decided five years ago that I would not, would never, be a good little victim again.
Steeling my spine and setting my jaw, I turn to face my enemy.
I look up. My heart races. He must be almost a foot taller than me. He’s wearing a T-shirt and that tattoo I’d glimpsed earlier is more visible now. I don’t concentrate on that just yet. I make myself keep going, taking in the chiseled line of his jaw, a sharp contrast to full, soft lips. It helps that they’re set in a smirk. When I get to his eyes, I find they’re gleaming with amusement. If he was hideous, a beast, this would be so much easier. This though, how fucking beautiful he is? It’s just wrong.
I clear my throat, take in the wet, messy hair, the scent of soap similar to the aftershave I’d picked up from him earlier.