“Don’t call me sis,” I reply. “You’ve lost the right to that word. What are you going to do now, Pietro? Will you go back to him?”
I’ve deliberately kept Luca’s name out of this conversation, because I still don’t trust my brother. I don’t want to give him any information he might use against us—because while he seems genuinely regretful, who really knows? It could be an act, or it could be temporary.
“No,” he says firmly. “Never. I can’t face him ever again after what he tried to make me do. Your vamp… Tell him thank you from me. It was worth the fucking headache I ended up with after he threw me across the room. I’d rather have died than have dealt with the rest of my life knowing what I did to you. And I knew… It wouldn’t have stopped until you were pregnant, and who the fuck knows how long that might have taken? So tell him thank you. From me.”
I shudder at the reminder of what almost happened. At the thought of being held captive in Tomasso’s mansion while my brother repeatedly tried to knock me up. “I will. Though I warn you, he wants you dead.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around. What about you, sis—sorry, what about you, Rosa? Do you think you can ever forgive me?”
It’s a big question, and not one I can come close to answering. I can’t even look at him without feeling sick, but that might pass. We have many years ahead of us, decades to make things right. Maybe one day he will be my brother again.
“Ah, fuck it,” he says, his words dripping with weariness. “It doesn’t matter if you can or not. I can never forgive myself. I’m sorry. For everything.”
He stands abruptly and, before I can respond, throws himself over the balcony.
CHAPTER 15
LUCA
Ican’t believe I fucking fell asleep. My one job was to keep her safe, and I failed.
I woke up alone, reaching out to the cool, empty space where she should be, and my first reaction was to feel sad. Me, the big bad vampire, was about to cry into his pillow because some woman skipped out on him after a night of spooning.
Except, of course, she’s not merely some woman. She’s Rosa Capelli, and for whatever reason, blood spell or not, she is my woman.
She’s also a pig-headed pain in the ass who thinks she can take on the whole world alone. A woman who is so used to relying only on herself that she can’t accept help. I was hoping last night would have cured her of that, but it seems not. When I find her, we are going to have a serious talk—even if I have to tie her up and gag her to make her listen.
My body responds to that image in predictable fashion. She might like being tied up and gagged a bit too much. I would certainly enjoy it.
I lift the drape and the screen to glance out the window and jump back at the sizzle of sunlight against my flesh. At least the sun is heading in the right direction—it will be dusk before too long, and I can handle that.
I’m pretty sure I know where she went—back to her precious apartment. She could be walking straight into a trap, and there’s nothing I can do about it. She could have been taken while I was still knocked out. The thought has panic rolling over me in wave after annoying wave.
Last night ended with her in my arms—warm and cocooned and safe, as she should be. I stayed awake and listened to her breathing and soothed her when she cried out. She was like a small animal burrowing into its den, its safe place.
I like the idea of being Rosa’s safe place a whole lot more than I should. It all felt so fucking natural. So undeniably right. And that terrified me. I was determined to stay awake all day if I needed to. To protect her. Epic fail.
I head into the bathroom and take in the aftermath of the night before. The mirror above the sink is cracked, and all the little toiletries lie scattered around the tiles. I picture her on her knees, her tongue on my cock, her palm cupping my balls. My body heats as I recall how good it felt to sink myself deep inside her, to taste her blood on my lips.
I slam my fist into the wall, and it goes all the way through to the bedroom. Shit. Now I’ve made a mess of the hotel room and have blood oozing from my knuckles. I really need to get a grip of myself. Losing my cool will get us both killed.
I go and sit down on the bed that’s still drenched in the smell of her and reach out to her with my mind. The first time I did it was trial and error and good fortune, or maybe magic—who knows?
This time, all I get when I stretch out a mental line toward her is a big fat nothing. I get so far and then I hit a barrier, and nothing I do seems to get around it. It’s different from when she was drugged—there was nothing there. This is a big solid no. Looks like the blocking thing works both ways.
“Rosa,” I growl aloud. “Let me in, right now!”
She doesn’t, and I give up. I already know how stubborn she can be. At least it means she’s safe and well enough to resist me. But I hate that she’s keeping me at arm’s length, even if I have only myself to blame.
Since she’s okay for the time being and I’m stuck here for a while longer, I finally do what I should have done hours ago—call Don Vincenzo. The man owns me, and I can’t put it off any longer. I was transformed by his sister Giulia, and I passed to him when he took over the family—which he did by persuading me to kill her.
I didn’t take a lot of persuading. The woman was depraved and cruel. She imprisoned people within the walls of her home, held rigidly still in chains, tubes made of animal intestines inserted into their arteries. The tubes were run into her chambers, and she’d suck from one whenever she wanted until the supply went dry—usually after weeks of agony for the unfortunate soul on the other end. Even by our standards, it was harsh. Sometimes I can still hear their screams.
Once I was fully grown, she’d fuck me, use me however she wanted, and make me stay with her in her bed—listening to them beg and whimper and plead for someone to kill them, laughing at their agony. When Vincenzo planned his coup, I was all in, and after it was done, I tore the walls of that room apart with my bare hands and killed every single human left alive behind them.
Vincenzo owned me then, and he owns me now. I am bound to him until he lets me go, which I’m guessing will be never. These days, he’s every bit as depraved as his sister was. Nobody was meant to live so long.
“Is she dead? Do you have her?” he asks as soon as he answers, his voice brittle, like fingernails down a chalkboard. I grimace at the sound of an agonized scream in the background and fight to stop myself from picturing whatever madness is going on there.
