“You don’t have to hide from me, Luca.”
Standing painfully still, he clenched his jaw. I shot up from the bed, now standing in front of him, and at well over six feet tall, he towered over me. Our eyes locked, a silent communication passing between us.
Feeling brave, I slid the dress shirt over his strong shoulders. “Let me see you.”
I wasn’t talking about the scars on his back. I wanted to know what made Luca Salvatore tick. What were his hopes and dreams, his strengths and his weaknesses? I wondered why my heart beat differently when I looked into his eyes, why I felt connected to him in ways I could not explain.
“I see you too,” he said with a sharpness to his tone. “You know what it’s like to hide the truth. Don’t you?”
I nodded. “I won’t hurt you, Luca.”
Madness danced across his blue irises. “Maybe I want you to.”
“Never.”
A promise.
He turned his head to the side, unable to meet my gaze, and the fabric bunched around his muscular biceps. Then he shook the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. I smoothed my fingers over his marred skin. He was beautiful and damaged, and I wanted to kill the person who had hurt him.
My parents never laid a hand on me, but I had endured years of neglect in my personal version of Hell. Locked closets. Dark rooms. Padded walls. Leather restraints. Aiden was the reason I made it through those painful times. Who did Luca turn to? His younger brothers didn’t strike me as the comforting types.
Hesitant to bare himself to me, Luca sighed as he turned around. I stifled my gasp, the sight of his scars up close heartbreaking. My mind drifted to someone hitting him with the buckle of a belt until his skin cracked open—someone slashing into his flesh with knives. A few were from cigar burns.
I closed my eyes and cringed, wondering how he had survived years of torture. He flinched and hissed when I placed my hand on his lower back. Long and jagged, the worst scar ripped a tear from my eye, wetting his skin.
Luca groaned, then pulled away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
He swiped his thumb beneath my eye. “Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve your tears.”
Luca buttoned his shirt, staring down at me as if he were deciding what to do with me. Then he grabbed my wrist and yanked so hard I tripped. My cheek smashed into his hard chest, and he slid his arm behind my back, opening the door without a word.
Luca checked both ways before we stepped into the hallway. He squeezed my fingers, but this time not in a rough, possessive way, as we descended the stairs that dumped us into the Butler’s kitchen. The staff was busy plating entrees, everything from chicken and fish to steak and lobster. My stomach rumbled from the delicious scents.
Luca stole a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. A woman wearing a white apron and chef’s hat saw him and turned her head, pretending not to notice us. I could tell by his attitude that he got away with murder. No one would challenge the son of Arlo Salvatore.
We moved outside onto a wide veranda made of Tuscan paving stone. Women dressed in costumes, and men donned expensive suits. The men smoked cigars with women sitting on their laps, laughing and drinking. Everyone seemed happy, maybe even enchanted. Some women were ethereal looking with their painted faces and beautiful gowns.
He tugged on my fingers and picked up his pace, tipping his head toward the bay as we navigated the backyard. My feet hurt from walking so fast, but he wouldn’t slow down until we were standing at the edge of the cliff.
His house was at the center of Devil’s Creek. Lights twinkled below. The closest neighbor was at least a city block away on both sides. Water splashed from a distance, and I stared down at the massive drop. His view was better than my grandparents, who lived at the opposite end of Founders Way.
Luca drank from the champagne bottle and then handed it to me. I took a sip, and the sweetness exploded on my tongue. He played with the ring on his finger. It was platinum with onyx chips that formed what looked like an S… or a snake. A snake shaped like an S?
He appraised me with the same curiosity as his guests, but my cheeks flushed for a different reason when Luca studied me. “Are you afraid of heights?”
“No,” I lied.
I hated heights. When I was in high school, I’d almost fallen from a cliff during a skiing trip and never wanted to tempt fate again, staying far away from anything dangerous. At least that was my goal until the day I met Luca.