Or he’d kill us both.
Some part of him had considered killing me last night. I knew that. Saw it. And it fucking excited me. To see that he couldn’t. That I had too strong of a hold over him.
“How did you come to work for Cristian?” I asked Felix.
I was covered in sweat, breathing heavily and sitting on one of the weight benches. We were done for the morning, which I was both thankful and regretful about. I’d come to crave the violence I shared with Felix. To smell him. Feel his heat, reminding me his blood wasn’t cold.
His eyes flickered to mine. He hadn’t broken a sweat, breathing even and calm. Instead of his usual band tee and jeans, he was wearing a black tank and shorts, a sharp juxtaposition to his alabaster skin. Though he was much leaner than Cristian, his muscles were sharply defined, honed to make every part of him a weapon.
We didn’t speak often. The silence didn’t bother me. In fact, it comforted me. Though it was foolish to feel even slightly comfortable around Felix.
Unlike Cristian, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. Yes, he wanted me. Even he couldn’t hide that. But he was not a slave to his wants.
At first, I didn’t think he would answer me. Giving me any kind of information about him and his past was giving me power. The shroud of mystery and danger he covered himself in added to his mystique.
“I came to kill him,” he spoke after I’d almost given up on him.
An inappropriate bark of laughter escaped me. “You came to kill him?”
Felix nodded. “Years ago. I had no loyalty. Not then. The money was good, but that wasn’t the motivating factor. I needed to kill. To watch as life drained from people’s eyes.” His mouth stretched into a wicked smile that chilled me to my marrow. “I didn’t even understand the concept of loyalty. Not until Cristian. Now I’ll die for him. Kill for him. And protect what belongs to him.”
It took me a second to process everything he just said. I was shocked he was sharing with me, speaking so openly, honestly. Felix was an enigma, a mystery, and I suspected he liked it that way. But he was sharing with me. Why?
I shook under the weight of his stare. “Does that mean you’ll protect me?” I internally cringed at how thin my voice sounded.
His eyes ran over me, leaving ice in their wake. “No, Sienna. Protecting you would’ve been killing you the second you set foot in here. You’re corrupted. Damned. Yet you love every second of it.”
Then he walked out of the basement, leaving me alone with his words and my thoughts.
Neither of them provided any comfort.
I managed to make it through the day at work—my bruise had faded enough to be covered by makeup—staying late so I didn’t have to eat dinner in an empty house. Once at said house, I’d hurried up the stairs to Cristian’s room, skulking through the dark mansion.
I couldn’t sleep, even though I hadn’t caught a wink the night before. Not without Cristian. My insomniac ways returned with a vengeance the first night he was gone. I didn’t know how well that boded for me. My future was supposed to be free of Cristian, of this house, this life. But the month was up. Sofia had called me the very day it was. She had already started making arrangements. May 22. That was the date.
Less than two months from now. In two months, I’d be married.
I had given up sneaking around, trying to find evidence. Given up all of my fight, really.
I hated myself. Just a little. Nowhere near as much as I should have. And only because I was forcing myself to. For settling into a life I was forced into so quickly. A life that felt like it had been made for me.
That, along with many other intrusive thoughts, was the reason I was prowling around the house at three in the morning. In the light of day, this place was opulent, stunning. But it seemed to exist only of shadows in the darkness. Menacing.
Or I was talking myself into thinking that.
I wasn’t alone here.
Cristian assured me that there would be security. As if that was a comfort. A bunch of strange, armed men prowling the grounds. It made sense, I guessed. He was a powerful man with powerful enemies. I barely thought of that. Not until I was walking around barefoot on my own in the middle of the night. The dangers of this life. The fact that a Don’s daughter was brutally raped and murdered in this very house.
I also wasn’t scared of ghosts. Or rival mafia families who might try to make a statement by offing the Don’s woman. No. I wasn’t scared of any of that. Just to prove that, I didn’t turn on the lights when I got to the kitchen, letting the dim glow from the moon and the outdoor lights illuminate my path to the cake stand in the middle of the kitchen island.