Page 31 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
“I don’t need to take something I already have. I’m a Bianchi, aren’t I?” I lift a brow.
His lips twist in an ugly smirk. “You’re a Ricci, and I do not trust you.”
“Our goals are aligned. That is why I went after Sasha Ivanov. To avenge my father and your brother.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he doesn’t believe me.
“Reaper tells me Matteo Santori is helping you,” he says, ignoring my comment altogether.
I swallow heavily, trying to calm my quickening breaths.
He leans in closer. “I’m told he tried to broker a betrothal with you.” The words are a caressed breath against my lips.
Lifting my hand, I cup his jaw, scratching my nails down his face. “He did. I denied him.”
A wicked smile pulls at his lips. “So, he wants what is mine.” The notion seems to delight Enrique. “Such a shame you’ll never see the light of day again, Adelina.”
My heart rate rises, and I drop my hand. “I’m doing what we agreed!”
“Are you? Because as far as I’m aware, Sasha Ivanov is very much alive and killing my men.” He spits the words in an angry hiss. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I’m not his master. He barely speaks to me. The only reason he’s even here is that Nero sent him to watch me—as per our agreement. So yes, he’s still alive because I haven’t managed to get close enough yet.”
Enrique finally releases my throat. “I thought he was in love with you.”
“He was.”
“Was?”
“I married the enemy. That’s put him off a little.”
“Well then, it seems you have a problem.” He sighs, turning those dark eyes on me. “Because I set you free for a sole purpose, my little black widow. If you cannot get the job done, then I see no reason for you to be missing from my bed.”
My stomach rolls, and bile creeps up my throat. “I am not your whore, Enrique.”
His eyes shift to my lips, and that feral need sparks within them.
I shift the dynamic and throw my leg over his thighs, straddling him on my knees. My tight skirt rides up, and he tries to look at my bare thighs, but I grab his jaw, leveraging my weight over him as I shove his head back against the seat. My nails dig in so hard they leave little crimson half-moons on his cheek. His hands land on my bare thighs, slowly gliding upward.
“Sasha Ivanov is not a stupid man,” I whisper over his lips. “But soon, I will have him right where I want him. He will fall in love with me just as he did before.” I press my body to his, and I can almost taste his want. I glide my lips across his cheek to his ear. “And then, I will kill him.” I trail one fingernail over his throat in a slicing motion before I try to move away from him.
His fingers dig into my thighs hard, holding me in place. “Such a bloodthirsty little thing.”
“I’m not the innocent girl my father sold, Enrique. I have you to thank for that.” And in the end, he will come to regret that.
He releases me, and I climb off him, reaching for the door. “Principessa,” he calls, just as one foot touches the tarmac outside.
I glance back at him.
A tinge of blood now traces his cheeks, and his breaths are uneven. “You have one week to kill him. If you do not come back to me in seven days, you will not like the consequences.”
The threat sets my spine on edge, but truthfully, I’m surprised he’s allowing me to walk out of here at all.
When I stumble back to Lorenzo, he looks pissed. His gaze remains fixed on the two cars, even as I approach. His expression is one of pure rage. I move past him and open the door to my car, climbing into the back. It’s only when I’m inside that I release a long breath. My hands tremble, and my pulse races. The truth is, Enrique terrifies me. The time I spent in his house, the things he did to me…they’re ingrained in my mind like a brand. I know that if Sasha is not dead in seven days, Enrique will come for me and make it his personal goal to make my life nothing but torture. What if I can’t do it?
Sasha is still suspicious of me, I can tell. There’s no way I can kill him unless he trusts me completely. I couldn’t kill Enrique, and Sasha is far bigger, scarier, and faster. Enrique will lock me in that house like his personal sex doll.
My chest tightens until I can barely suck in air, and then I start to panic because I can’t breathe. I can practically feel his hands around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, that sick smile on his lips. My head swims and a choked cough works up my throat. I get trapped in a cycle, unable to simply open my mouth and suck in air. The back door opens, and someone gets in the car, but I can’t look at them. Instead, I claw at my throat.
