Page 32 of Claimed Through Deception

"Talk to me," I demand, my voice is a harsh, desperate rasp.

Her eyes are wide now, the dead, hollow look finally shattered by the sudden violence of my movement. Her chest heaves, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

"Let go of me," she whispers, struggling weakly against my grip.

"No." I pull her an inch closer. The steam swirls around us, isolating us in the humid heat. "I want to know who put those shadows under your eyes. I want to know who told you to stop fighting back. You submit to me, Livia. Only me. You do not let my staff turn you into a ghost."

"They didn't do anything," she cries out, a furious, hot tear finally breaking free and spilling over her lashes. "They are exactly what I expected. This entire house is exactly what I expected."

"Then why are you looking at me like you’re dead?" I growl, my grip tightening marginally on her delicate wrist.

She stops struggling. She goes completely limp in my grasp.

She looks into my eyes, and the weight of her emotional ruin crashes into me. The tear slides down her pale cheek, dropping onto the white collar of her apron. It isn't the physical exhaustion. It isn't the maids. I look deep into the broken, shattered depths of her dark eyes, and I realize she isn't hiding from them.

She is hiding from me.

Something in this house broke her trust. Something convinced her that the tiny, fragile sliver of vulnerability we shared in the study three days ago was a complete lie. She is looking at me not as a savior, but as a warden. A man who plays games with her sanity.

The absolute desolation in her expression guts me.

My chest tightens, a sickening wave of guilt mixing with my possessiveness. I wanted to conquer her. I wanted to break her fierce independence so she would rely on me. But looking at her now, trembling and completely devoid of hope, I realize that breaking a shattered girl isn't conquering. It is just cruelty.

I am tearing her apart.

The beast inside me screams to pull her into the water. It demands I press my mouth to hers, to forcefully remind her that her body belongs to me, to wipe away the despair with pure, blinding lust.

But the man looking at Livia Marino's tears cannot do it.

I slowly, reluctantly loosen my grip on her wrist.

My fingers uncurl. I let her go.

"Get out," I say.

Livia doesn't hesitate. She scrambles backward, nearly slipping on the wet marble floor. She clutches her wrist to her chest, her eyes darting to my face one last time to make sure I am not going to grab her again.

She turns and flees the bathroom.

I hear the heavy oak doors of the suite open and slam shut.

I am left alone in the suffocating steam. I look down at the water in the massive black tub. It has turned a faint, murky pink from the blood washing off my back.

I run a wet, heavy hand over my face, the exhaustion of the last three days finally crashing down onto my shoulders like an anvil. I slide off the edge and submerge myself in the hot water, letting it burn against the cuts on my knuckles.

My Consigliere’s voice echoes in my head, a conversation from weeks ago.

The Falco family expects a formal dinner. Don Roberto has already arranged the catering. Caterina is expecting a ring.

I rest the back of my head against the cold marble lip of the tub and stare up at the ceiling.

Caterina. The political alliance that guarantees my control over the eastern seaboard. She is coming to the estate this weekend for a formal engagement dinner.

A wave of revulsion rolls through my stomach.

I can barely stand the thought of Caterina's name, let alone the reality of her sitting at my dining table. The thought of another woman acting as the Lady of this house, sleeping in my bed, wearing my ring... it makes my blood run completely cold.

But worse than that is the thought of Livia.