Page 110 of Forsaking All Others

How could two halves of the same person be friends?

But he was elemental to me. Quite simply, the only reason I was still alive.

The idea of life without him was impossible to fathom.

Even if it meant I would have had free access to Fiammetta.

Free rein to be her husband in all the ways I yearned to.

My mouth watered behind my molars at the thought, and I fisted my hands to curb the hot desire for exactly that outcome.

“You call me principessa, not bambolina,” Fiammetta guessed, and when I inclined my chin, she smiled in satisfaction. “For a stone-cold killer, the most tender moments in my marriage have been with you.”

Tender? I snorted. “If you think I’m capable of tenderness, you mistake my intentions.”

Her head cocked to one side like a cat studying a bird, eyes narrowed and tracking. “And what are your intentions, Ghost?”

Ghost.

I liked the nickname more than the sound of my brother’s name in her mouth.

“My intentions aren’t honorable because I am not an honorable man,” I explained, waiting for the server to deposit our bruschetta appetizer on the table between us. “If I am tender with you, it is only to tenderize you toward me.”

“A manipulation?” she confirmed with raised brows. “How bold of you to admit that.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I do not have to play the word games my brother does. The truth is, I was the one who saw you that day in Sicily when Lando told your father he would marry Dario to you. I was the one who saw you lying in the grass and wanted to sneak up on you like a raider, fuck you into the dirt until the shape of your body imprinted in the earth. In the six years since then, I’ve had you countless times, and my thirst hasn’t slackened.”

She stroked the stem of her glass and peered at me, a blush high in her cheeks even though she pretended indifference. “I’ve slept with both of you.”

Rage ignited in my heart, and I had to swallow twice before I swept everything off the table in a fit of fury.

“Yes,” I said tightly. “Though Dario prides himself on giving into temptation very rarely.”

She made a considering noise and then moaned as her mouth closed around a small piece of tomato-topped toasted brioche. Instantly, I was solid iron, desperate to eat the sound off her tongue.

“I attribute so much to him, it’s hard to say how I feel about you. To separate the two,” she admitted. “I’m so used to hating you—him—you both.”

“You hate us, but your body doesn’t,” I pointed out with a look at her hard nipples behind the fabric of her dress.

Her flush deepened, spilling down her throat and chest. I wanted to lap it up like overturned wine with my tongue.

“Will you tell me about what your life is like when you aren’t pretending to be him?” she asked.

“Boring, really.” I swirled the ice in my glass to avoid her scrutiny. “I eat. I sleep. I work out. When I have a job, I travel to the target, kill them, and come home.”

Fia was quiet for long enough I forced myself to look at her, noticing the softness in her features. It wasn’t pity, which would have made me angry, but something like understanding.

“Sounds lonely,” she questioned quietly. “Do you have friends?”

“Does any ghost?” I said with something like a flat smile.

“What about things that bring you joy? Do you ever just . . . have fun?”

I cocked my head as I considered, indulging in my need to trace her features with my gaze, to have her look at me and know it was truly me.

“When I am with you,” I admitted easily enough, shrugging the weight of those words off my shoulders.

Her mouth twitched downward. “That’s not very often.”