Page 73 of The Serpent's Bride
Then Lorenzo delivered the final knife straight into my ribs.
“She already hates you, Leo.” His smile turned rotten. “Imagine how easily I could make her want you dead instead.”
Chapter Twelve: CHIARA
DaysafterLeowalkedout of that room and left me burning for him, humiliation still sat like poison beneath my skin. Not because he rejected me. Because I begged.Actuallybegged.
Every time I remembered it, heat crawled violently up my throat until my face felt feverish. I would be brushing my hair, drinking tea, staring out at the skyline, and I’d hear my own desperate voice echoing in my head again.
Please touch me.
God. I buried my face deeper into the black silk pillow stretched across Leo’s enormous bed and groaned loud enough for the sound to disappear into the mattress. The sheets smelled like him now. Expensive cologne layered over whiskey and cedarwood, masculine and dark and dangerous. I hated that I recognized it. Hated that my body relaxed into it anyway.
The worst part wasn’t even the embarrassment. It was that I still wanted him.
The rejection should have cured me. Shamed me back into my senses. Instead, it made everything worse. My body had becomehypersensitive to him afterward, like he’d awakened something starving and left it pacing around inside me with nowhere to go.
Every brush of silk against my thighs made me think about his hands. Every low male voice in the penthouse made my pulse jump before disappointment followed. Every night I laid awake imagining heavy footsteps outside the bedroom door.
Waiting. Always waiting.
And Leo? Leo barely came home anymore.
Or maybe he did, and simply avoided me so expertly I never saw him. Sometimes, long after midnight, I heard distant movement in the penthouse. Men talking in low voices. Ice clinking against crystal glasses. The quiet hum of the elevator opening and closing again.
But he never came in. Never came to me. Like he was punishing both of us.
I rolled onto my back slowly, staring up at the black ceiling overhead while the city glittered through the towering windows beside the bed. Rain streaked faintly across the glass tonight, turning the city into smeared silver and gold.
Tomorrow I was marrying him. My stomach twisted violently every time I thought about it. Tomorrow I would stand in front of the entire Five Families and become Chiara Moretti. The Serpent’s wife.
A cold shiver slid over my skin despite the warmth of the penthouse. I sat up abruptly, silk sheets slipping down my bare legs. One of Leo’s black dress shirts hung loosely off my body, exposing one shoulder. The soft fabric brushed against my nipples every time I breathed, making me painfully aware of my own body all over again.
Pathetic. I hated this version of myself.
Eighteen years terrified of men touching me. Terrified of marriage. Terrified of becoming some monster’s obedient little wife. And now?
Now I was sleeping in Leo Moretti’s bed voluntarily like some lovesick idiot while he ignored me on purpose.
I heard the front door opening. I dragged a hand through my hair with a sigh and forced myself out of bed. The penthouse smelled faintly of espresso when I wandered downstairs barefoot. Sergio was sitting at the massive marble kitchen island cleaning a handgun with the casual boredom of a man polishing silverware.
Black tattoos curled over his forearms beneath rolled sleeves. His dark hair was slightly messy, expensive watch gleaming beneath the kitchen lights. He looked up once, then smirked.
“Well,” he drawled. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Good morning to you too,” I hissed.
“It’s two in the afternoon.” I flipped him off automatically while reaching for the coffee pot. Sergio clicked his tongue. “Careful, princess. That finger gets people shot in this family.”
“You people threaten murder over everything.” I rolled my eyes.
“You’ll fit right in,” he chuckled.
I snorted softly despite myself.
That was the problem with Sergio. He was impossible to dislike. Somewhere between being assigned as my bodyguard and stealing half my desserts, he’d turned into something dangerously close to a friend. Or maybe a heavily armed emotional support Doberman.
“You’re wearing boss’s shirt again,” Sergio observed casually.
