Page 45 of Claimed Through Deception

I drop my forehead against her shoulder, exhaling a harsh, shuddering breath. My hands remain locked around her waist. I refuse to let her move off my lap.

"Five minutes," I murmur into her skin. "Give me five minutes."

Livia doesn't fight the hold. She rests her chin on the top of my head, her fingers gently threading through my dark hair.

We sit on the edge of the mattress. The silence of the room wraps around us, broken only by our ragged breathing. I am a violent man. I rule an empire built on blood and fear. But sitting here, holding the waitress I trapped in my web, I find the only peace I have ever known.

She is the only truth in a world full of lies.

I lift my head, meeting her gaze. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

"I broke the engagement," I tell her.

Livia freezes. Her hands stop moving in my hair.

"The ambush," I continue, my voice dropping to a low, lethal hum. "Caterina's father found out I backed out of the deal. He sent his dogs to kill me."

Her eyes widen. She looks at the bloody rags on the floor, then back at the dark, jagged stitches on my ribs. She realizes exactly what this means. She realizes the magnitude of the war I just invited into my house.

"Why?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "Why would you do that?"

I lift my hand, cupping her cheek. My thumb traces the soft curve of her cheekbone.

"Because I refuse to put a ring on another woman's finger when my obsession belongs to you."

15

Livia

"Because I refuse to put a ring on another woman's finger when my obsession belongs to you." The words feel like a death sentence.

I look at the dark, bruised exhaustion around his eyes, and then I look down. My hands are coated in his blood. His bare chest is smeared with it. The metallic, cloying scent of copper fills my nose, mixing with the sharp sting of the antiseptic I used to clean his skin.

My chest seizes. The air in the room thins out, choking me.

I shove my hands against his uninjured shoulder. I push hard, scrambling backward, sliding off his lap. My bare feet hit the floorboards, and I stumble, my back hitting the edge of my dresser.

Niccolò winces, his hand flying to his bandaged side. "Livia—"

"Don't," I gasp. I hold my bloody hands up in front of me like they belong to a stranger. "Don't say my name."

He sits on the edge of the mattress. The vulnerability vanishes. A hard, cold mask slides over his features, but his dark eyes stay locked on mine. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" My voice cracks. It rises into a frantic, broken shout. "You killed people! You broke a treaty, and you did it because you think you own me!"

"I’m keeping what is mine," he growls.

"I am not yours!" I scream, the sound tearing at my throat. Hot tears spill over my lashes, tracking fast down my cheeks. "You think this makes you a protector? You think coming in here, bleeding on my floor, makes you different from the rest of them? You are a monster, Niccolò. You are a violent, pathetic thug."

His jaw tightens. I want to hurt him. I need to push him away before he swallows me whole.

"You are exactly like the man who ruined my childhood," I sob, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You solve your problems with your fists and your guns, and you expect me to sit here and be grateful. You expect me to be your willing whore while you burn the city down. I won't do it. I will never do it."

Niccolò’s face is unreadable, but the darkness in his eyes fractures. I compared him to my father. Again. It is the only weapon I have that actually cuts him.

He doesn't yell. He doesn't threaten me.

He stands up. He moves slowly, favoring his stitched side. He picks up his ruined, blood-soaked shirt from the floor.