Mag-log in“You are an interesting woman,” he says finally, as though he has been collecting sentiments about me like curiosities. “I am not for your amusement,” I say. “Amusement is a generous way of putting it.” He turns his face to me and finally, which is nothing like mercy, he kisses me. It is a small t
“You will come with me tonight,” he says suddenly, and when I look at him the certainty in his eyes is a rope. “Where are we going?” I ask. I do not like the sound of my own voice in the dark halls. “To the club,” he says, as if the clubs he owns are nothing more than rooms he has arranged for his
The dinner goes on without ceremony. I wear a dress that fits like a promise and is less comfortable than anything else I own. The woman who dresses me fusses at the strap and at the hem with an intimacy that is practiced, like a ritual done daily for decades. The room where dinner is served is a pl
“You should not have broken a tray,” he says in that voice that is silk wrapped around steel. It makes everyone quiet because it is a voice that is treated like currency in this house. The words are simple but the way he says them says a thousand more complicated things. He is not angry the way I am
I come back from the memory to find sunlight in my eyes and orange juice dried on the carpet like the outline of a wound. My hands are trembling now for reasons I cannot name. The house clock in the hall ticks the way a heart does when it is being measured. There are noises behind the walls, small h
Oh God, I hate him. He is the center of everything I cannot control in this place. He is the reason doors close and keys rattle and the nights feel like traps. He is the reason my throat tastes like metal at dusk. He is also the reason, absurdly and against my every better judgment, that sometimes
His expression doesn’t move—but his hand tightens on the edge of the table signaling that I’ve stabbed a nerve. That’s all it takes for him to strike. My chest erupts in pain, as invisible hands squeeze my windpipe. I stagger back, chairs screeching as I collapse in a strangled breath. “Don’t fo
☾ ROMANO ☽ The stale smell of blood clings to the air, mixing with cigar smoke and the roar of spectators. Somewhere in the center of this massive underground fight club, two bare-knuckled fighters go at each other like rabid wolves, their grunts and fists drowned beneath waves of cheers. At the p
“Witches,” he murmurs into my hair. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the sun.” Witches…? I glance back at the bloody heap—just as a naked, beautiful child wanders from the dunes. Tiny hands stuffed in its mouth. Rafaele tenses just as I hear his low growl and he does something shocking. He rai
Oh shit. “Please don’t let that car catch up. Please—” “I don’t carry thieves.” “I’m not a thief! I’ll pay you—really nicely.” I raise the card, watching his beady eyes shift. He says nothing more after that, just keeps driving—cutting through traffic while Antonio stays right on our tail.







