Page 13 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
“Lina!” she snaps, drawing my attention back to her.
“Arrange the meeting with Matteo, please. I don’t have much time.” Because Enrique doesn’t know about any of this, or that I’m even back in the country, but he will. This started as a back-up plan, a way to remain close to Sasha, but somewhere along the way, I grew to want this. I want the power, the untouchability that comes from not only sitting on a mafia throne but having fought to get there. I’m so tired of being a victim in someone else’s story. What greater revenge could there be than to take the very throne Enrique sought to steal from my family? Our marriage is an alliance that entitles him to all that is mine, but it works both ways. If I stay this path, it’s only a matter of time before Enrique comes for me, just as he said he would.
I just have to play this right. Manipulate all the pieces on the board before I allow the ax to fall. Gabriella turns around, shaking her head before she walks away. She thinks I’m stubborn, but there’s so much more going on here than she knows. I do this to protect her.
Closing my eyes, I trail my fingers over the delicate, worn paper of my father’s favorite book, a first edition of Moby Dick. The scent of the old leather and dog-eared pages reminds me of him. For a moment, I can almost picture him, smiling indulgently at me as he did whenever he found me in here. A lump settles in my throat, and my heart grows heavy. I don’t allow myself to think of him often because when I do, I miss him so much it hurts. I think of all that he was, all that was taken from me. I imagine one day marrying a man I love and having no father there to smile at me as he walks me down the aisle. I picture a life of children with no grandfather, events and memories that he should have been there for. All stolen. By Sasha. A man I loved.
I drop my chin to my chest, as one tear breaks free. The storm of emotions envelopes me for a moment, and I let the self-pity run deep. Then I force it back, sucking in a deep breath. There will be a time for tears, but it is not now. Slamming the book shut, I close the door on my nostalgia as I put it back on the shelf. My mind is too engrossed. I need to switch it off.
When I step into the gym, I’m not alone. The rhythmic thud, thud, thud of fists can be heard before I even round the corner. Lorenzo is on the bench, pressing weight with Ben, one of his guys, spotting him. Sasha pounds the punch bag with a force that is a little unsettling.
I came here to escape him, and yet here he is. Shoving my headphones in, I jump on the treadmill. Within a minute, I’ve cranked it to full tilt. I sprint as though I could outrun my own thoughts and all the problems that seem to follow me like a plague. The music blares in my ears, and my lungs burn for air. I run until my heart pounds out of my chest and my legs feel like jelly. Then I slam my hand on the stop button and hop onto the side rails as I gasp for breath. The second I recover, everything I was running from is right there, waiting for me. When I turn around, I see Sasha, upside down on the pull-up rack, doing sit-ups. The sight of him ignites the festering anger within me, and I just want to hit someone. Him. I can’t, though, so I settle for the punch bag. My fist meets the worn canvas with a muted thud, and the bag barely even moves. I hit it again and again with the same effect, until my hand aches.
I jump when something brushes my cheek, and my headphone is pulled loose. I instinctively lash out at the uninvited contact. Sasha easily bats my hand away from him, and I glare.
“What?” I snap.
“You’re going to hurt yourself, hitting the bag like that.”
“Maybe I want to hurt myself.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s…unintelligent.”
I hate the way he says it, as though I’m some lesser human being. It’s the way he used to speak to me back before…well, before.
Without permission, he moves behind me and grabs my hips impatiently. “You’re standing wrong. Brace your feet like this.” He twists my body before kicking one of my feet away and widening my stance. Hot breath washes over my neck, and an involuntary shiver tears over my skin. He lingers a few seconds longer than necessary, and my heart thuds awkwardly in my chest. His fingers flinch against my skin, holding me tight.
