Rocco recovers enough to throw a punch that connects with Salvatore's jaw. Blood appears on his lip, but he doesn't slow down. He grabs Rocco by the shirt and drives him backward into the stone wall.
The impact drives the air from Rocco's lungs. Salvatore doesn't give him time to recover. He hammers his fist into Rocco's solar plexus, then his ribs, systematically brutal.
"Stop it! Both of you, stop!"
Rocco tries to fight back, but Salvatore is relentless. He drives his fist into Rocco's face, snapping his head back against the stone. Blood streams from his nose, dark in the streetlight.
Finally, Rocco's knees buckle. He slides down the wall, leaving a red smear on the stone.
Salvatore steps back, breathing hard. His knuckles are bloody, his shirt torn at the shoulder. He looks down at Rocco with cold satisfaction.
"You didn't have to do that," I whisper.
"Yes, I did." He turns to me, and I see the predator beneath his controlled exterior. This is what he hides from the world. This is what he truly is. "Get in the car."
"No," I whimper, not sure if I even want to go with him now. My mind is racing, terrified of what I just witnessed and why he so violently attacked when he could've walked away.
He moves toward me, and I back away instinctively. "Rosaria."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." I'm shaking my head, hands raised in a defensive posture.
"You are."
His hand closes around my wrist, fingers digging into my skin. I try to pull away, but his grip is iron.
"Let go of me, Salvatore. Please..."
"Not a chance." He drags me toward the car, and I dig my heels into the gravel, fighting every step.
"Salvatore, let go!"
"Stop fighting me, Rosaria." He stops and stares at me, and I see something fluttering beneath the surface that hasn’t registered until now. He's angry with me for some reason, and I don't know why. It makes me pause.
"What's going on?" I ask him as worry starts to needle at my conscience. I don't know what we are or what we have. I only know in this very second, for some unnamed reason, I'm afraid of losing it.
He opens the passenger door with his free hand, then steps aside and nods at it. "Please just get in..." His eyes narrow on me as I glance back at the place where Rocco lies out cold, blood draining from his nose. Salvatore didn’t come here to hurt him, but he never sent me a message saying he wanted me to come meet him, either. I'm confused, but I climb into the car and he follows me.
Salvatore's driver starts the engine, and we pull away from the curb. In the side mirror, I see Rocco struggling to his feet, blood covering half his face.
"He could be seriously hurt."
"He'll live." When I turn to look at him, he has a rag he's produced from somewhere and he's wiping Rocco's blood from his knuckles.
"You don't know that." I swallow the fear still creeping up my throat and shrink back. I don't know why he demanded that I get in this car with him but he's not making me comfortable.
"I do. I know exactly how much damage I did."
The casual way he says it chills me. I press myself against the passenger door, as far from him as the small space allows.
My hands shake as the adrenaline starts to fade. The reality of what just happened settles over me. He came for me. He hurt Rocco and he took me, and now my romanticized idea of Salvatore DeSantis is fading. My uncle will light the entire worldon fire to find me and when he does, he won't be kind to me in bringing me home. He will devour anyone who takes what is his, but not because he cares. Simply because they've crossed the line.
"You just kidnapped me."
"I extracted you." His voice is cold and calculating and it makes me shiver in fear.
"Then take me home..." My pulse thuds weakly in my throat and he turns to scowl at me.
"You prefer prison over my bed?"
