Page 31 of Vendetta

Rosa: I wish I was. My father made an agreement with him. They planned everything already. I don't even get to pick my own dress, but I need you to be there. I don't think I can do it without you.

Claudia: This isn't the fucking Dark Ages. How could they do that to you? If you want me there, I'll be there, but this is crazy.

Rosa: I know. If there was a way out I'd take it, but my dad needs Lorenzo's help and this was the only way he'd agree. I'll text you the details. Have fun with the twins. 😘

The turkey sandwich tasted like ashes in my mouth. Just thinking about my situation ruined everything. I took a few more bites, but it didn't improve, so I wrapped it up and tucked it into the fridge for later.

Chapter 22

Rosalina

Days ticked by, and the wedding grew closer. It was only a week, but it went by far too fast, and achingly slow.

My father sequestered himself in his office, as usual, and was easy to avoid. I kept my head down so I wouldn’t be forced into another confrontation with him. The only conversation I’d managed was when I told him that Claudia would be at the wedding. It was the one thing I wouldn’t budge on. He wasn’t happy about it, but after some convincing, he agreed that it was appropriate.

For the next few days, I hid in my room, or walked along the white sand beach, but never without my silent shadow. As much as I wished I could’ve ignored him, his presence was the one thing I looked forward to. The secret smiles he tried to hide, and the way his eyes lingered on my every move, said more than words ever could. Memories of our encounter followed me as I went through my daily routines, causing inconvenient bouts of embarrassment when I invariably did something clumsy. He didn’t bring it up, and neither did I. It was like an unspoken agreement that if we ignored it long enough, maybe it would go away. It absolutely did not go away, and anytime I wandered too close, his scent would take me right back to that glorious moment.

No miraculous escapes came to light, even with Claudia brainstorming via text every night. Every idea was too complicated or farfetched to actually work. She tried to be supportive, but it only reminded me of how bad it would be if I didn’t get out.

Cruz’s quiet attention reminded me of my long-abandoned plan A. That was my last hope. There were no other options, and I’d run out of time. The wedding was tomorrow. There’d be no rehearsal, just the real thing at sunset.

I chanced a sideways glance at him. He was as painfully handsome as ever, standing in the kitchen near the door. It might take a bit of work, but he could still be my savior.

After lunch, I thanked Maria and hurried into the hall leading back to the wing my room was in. Warmth grew between my legs in anticipation of what I was about to do. I really shouldn’t do this, but I was out of time. It was now or never.

Halfway back to my room, I started unbuttoning my shirt. When it was loose, I slid it down my arms and dropped it on the floor. In just my bra, I kept walking. The sound of Cruz pausing to pick up my discarded top had me peeking over my shoulder. He was crouched with the soft fabric crushed in his hand, but his eyes devoured me as I hurried away.

It was working. Maybe too well. Should I be teasing an alpha like this? Probably not. I was asking for trouble, but it was fucking exciting. Just as exciting as flashing him glimpses of my panties had been walking up the bank from the beach in that tiny scrap of a dress the other day.

When I made it to my room, I left the door open and turned to face him. He followed me in and closed it behind him. His jaw flickered as if he were clenching his teeth, and his eyes locked onto my face like he was forcing himself not to look anywhere else.

“I think you dropped something, Rosa.” He held my shirt out to me, remaining annoyingly professional.

I took it from him, but let it fall from my trembling fingers just as quickly.

“What are you up to, hellcat?” he asked, watching me with burning intensity.

My hands traced a path down my butterfly-filled stomach to the button on my pants. Cruz’s jaw ticked. I flipped the button and dragged the zipper down. His throat bobbed.

“You should think about what you’re doing.” He reached back and locked the door without taking his eyes off me.

“You should think about what you’re not doing, bodyguard,” I said as I tugged my jeans over my hips and down my thighs.

His tongue trailed over his lower lip, and he stepped toward me. Could I do this again? Should I do this again? I definitely should not, but something about Cruz had the same kind of pull that Nico did. Even though everything about this was wrong, I wanted it anyway. In reality, fucking him had little chance of helping me escape, but it wouldn’t hurt, either.

This was my last chance to feel some happiness before I was shackled to the dirty laundry thugs tomorrow. I needed this. Even if it didn’t help me escape, it was something for myself.

I stepped forward out of my pants.

“Rosa.” His words were a pain-filled growl crawling up his throat against his will.

“Cruz.”

That was all it took. His name on my lips, and he grabbed me around the waist. His mouth crashed down on mine, devouring my every breath. My hands fumbled at his tie, pulling it from around his neck and clumsily working at his buttons. I wanted his skin on me this time. I wanted his scent all over me. His belt came off, and I unfastened his pants as he stripped off his jacket and shirt.

His dusky skin was unveiled, covered in black and gray tattoos swirling like impending doom, but I hardly paid any attention when his cock spilled from his pants. I dropped to my knees, suddenly starving for a taste. His solid shaft twitched as my tongue lapped up the length and circled the crown. He tasted like some exotic spiced candy, sweet and smoky.

As I lavished his length with my tongue, his fingers slid into my hair, and he groaned. From my knees, I worshiped him as he guided himself deeper down my throat. My pussy ached and clenched around nothing, feeling empty. Hearing my needy whines, he joined me on the floor, lying back in the pile of our discarded clothing.