Chapter 2: The Devil's Warmth

My jaw was locked. My teeth were clacking together so violently that I thought they were going to chip, but I couldn't stop them.

​I just stared at him through the sheets of freezing rain. Alexander. The man who sat at the head of every holiday table, the man who quietly paid for Leo’s college tuition, the man whose name made Leo’s father sweat nervously. He was supposed to be picking out a tuxedo for our wedding.

​Instead, he was kneeling in a dirty puddle on the sidewalk.

The filthy city water was soaking right into the knees of his charcoal suit pants, but he didn't even flinch. He wasn't looking at the rain, or the people hurrying past us under umbrellas. He was just looking at me.

​His hand was massive. The rough pad of his thumb was resting right against my jawbone, and his skin was so unnervingly warm it felt like a brand against my freezing face.

​I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even form a coherent thought beyond the image burning behind my eyelids: Leo’s hands bruising Chloe’s hips.

​"Get up," Alexander said. It wasn’t a gentle suggestion. It was a flat, heavy directive.

​He didn't wait for my brain to catch up. He stood up, his hand sliding down to grip my elbow, and he practically hauled me off the concrete.

​The second my bare feet took my weight, a sharp, blinding pain shot up my legs. I gasped, my knees buckling instantly as the scraped, bleeding soles of my feet protested. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the hard impact of the sidewalk.

​It never came.

​Alexander’s arm shot around my waist, catching me effortlessly. He pulled me flush against his side, taking on my entire body weight like I weighed absolutely nothing. He was solid. Like a brick wall wrapped in expensive wool and radiating a terrifying amount of body heat.

​"I've got you," he muttered close to my ear.

​A sleek, black SUV was idling at the curb, the hazard lights blinking a dull orange through the downpour. The back door was already thrown open by a driver who was doing a very good job of pretending he wasn't staring at us.

​Alexander guided me into the backseat. I practically collapsed onto the leather. The second he climbed in beside me and the heavy door slammed shut, the deafening roar of the storm was instantly muted.

​The silence in the car was suffocating.

​I shrank back against the door, pulling my knees tightly together. I was completely hyper-aware of how repulsive I must look. My wet hair was plastered to my skull, dripping dirty rainwater onto his pristine, buttery-soft leather seats. My blouse was practically see-through, clinging to my shivering skin. And my feet... God, my feet.

​I looked down. Water and watered-down blood were pooling off my soles, staining the thick, luxurious black floor mats.

​A fresh wave of deep, agonizing shame washed over me. I was ruining his car. Just like I had apparently ruined Leo's life by being so painfully boring.

​"I'm sorry," I whispered. My voice cracked. I sounded like a dying animal. "I'm... I'm bleeding on your mats. I'll get out."

​I actually reached for the door handle, some delusional part of my brain thinking I could just walk home in the storm.

​Alexander’s hand shot out and clamped over my wrist. His grip was firm, anchoring me in place.

​"Stop," he commanded, his voice a low, rough vibration in the quiet cabin. He didn't let go of my wrist. "The car doesn't matter. Breathe, Serena. You're hyperventilating."

​I didn't even realize I was doing it, but my chest was heaving in short, jagged gasps. I couldn't get enough oxygen. The panic was finally setting in, wrapping around my throat and squeezing tight.

​He reached over and cranked the car’s heating vents all the way up, pointing them directly at me. We rode the rest of the way in absolute silence. He didn't ask me what happened. He didn't ask me why I was running through the streets without shoes. He just stared straight ahead, a muscle jumping wildly in his clenched jaw.

​The SUV pulled into a stark, brightly lit underground garage. The driver scrambled to open my door, but Alexander was already there. He didn't even give me a chance to try walking again. He hooked his arm around my waist, practically carrying me to a set of private elevator doors. He swiped a black card, and we stepped inside.

​There were no buttons. The elevator just started climbing.

​I pressed my back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, wrapping my arms around my stomach. I felt like I was going to throw up. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the wet, slapping sounds. I heard her whining his name.

​The doors dinged open, revealing a massive, sprawling penthouse. It was all dark wood, polished concrete, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-blurred city skyline. It was beautiful, but it was cold. Untouchable. Just like him.

​"Sit," he told me, pointing to a massive, low-slung charcoal sofa in the center of the living room.

​I hobbled over and collapsed into it. The cushions swallowed me up. I curled into a tight ball, pulling his heavy, oversized suit jacket tighter around my shoulders. It smelled like cedar and smoke, and for some reason, that specific scent completely broke me.

​The dam shattered.

​I didn't just cry. I sobbed. It was the ugly, chest-heaving, snot-nosed kind of crying where you can't catch your breath. I buried my face in my wet knees and let it out, the agonizing realization that my life, my wedding, my future, my best friend, all of it was gone. It was just gone.

​I heard ice clinking into a glass. A moment later, a crystal tumbler was pressed firmly into my trembling hand.

​I looked up through my blurred, swollen eyes. Alexander had taken off his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt. He was crouching right in front of the sofa, right between my knees, completely invading my personal space.

​"Drink it," he said softly.

​I brought the glass to my mouth. The rim clinked awkwardly against my teeth because I was shaking so badly. I swallowed a huge gulp. It was straight whiskey, and it burned like absolute hell going down my raw throat. I coughed, my eyes watering fresh tears, but the violent shivering in my spine finally started to slow down.

​Alexander took the half-empty glass from my hand and set it on the table. He didn't move away. He stayed crouched there, his dark eyes locked onto my wrecked face.

​"Tell me," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it demanded an answer.

​I shook my head, my bottom lip trembling uncontrollably. "I can't. It's... it's pathetic."

​"Serena." He said my name like a warning. "Tell me exactly what that boy did to you."

​The way he called Leo a 'boy' made something dark and vindictive twist in my gut. I swallowed hard, staring at a spot on his incredibly expensive rug.

​"I bought a cake," I mumbled, my voice sounding hollow and detached. "For his promotion. I went to the condo early to surprise him. But... he was already occupied."

​I squeezed my eyes shut as the tears started spilling all over again.

​"It was Chloe," I whispered, the name tasting like poison. "My maid of honor. They were... they were in our bed. And he told her... he told her I was boring. He said I was nothing."

​The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone.

​When I finally forced myself to look at Alexander, my breath caught in my throat. He wasn't looking at me with pity. Pity, I could have handled. Pity was safe.

​He looked furious. But it was a terrifying, quiet kind of fury. His eyes were completely black, stripped of any warmth or civility. It was the look of a man who destroyed lives for a living.

​Slowly, his hand came up. His long, calloused fingers brushed against the side of my neck, his thumb wiping away a tear right at the corner of my mouth.

​I froze.

​The touch was entirely inappropriate. He was my fiancé’s Godfather. He was twice my age.

But the sheer, burning heat of his skin against mine felt like a lifeline. I didn't pull away. God help me, I actually leaned into his palm a fraction of an inch.

​Alexander’s breathing shifted. It got heavier. His gaze dropped from my swollen eyes down to my lips, and the raw, undisguised hunger in his expression made my stomach bottom out.

​"He is a stupid, careless little boy," Alexander murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rasping against the quiet room. "He has no idea what he had. He doesn't know what to do with a woman who bleeds for him."

​His face was so close to mine I could taste the whiskey on his breath. My heart was hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against my ribs. It felt wrong. It felt dangerous.

​It felt incredibly, insanely good.

​His thumb dragged across my lower lip, parting it slightly. I let out a shaky, pathetic little exhale.

​Suddenly, my cell phone, which I didn't even realize was still shoved in the deep pocket of my wet skirt, started to ring. It was a loud, jarring marimba tone that shattered the heavy air between us.

​I flinched, snapping back to reality. I fumbled in my pocket with numb fingers and pulled it out. The screen was cracked, but the caller ID was glaringly bright.

​LEO (34 Missed Calls)

​I stared at the name, a fresh wave of nausea hitting me. I went to hit the red decline button, but before I could, Alexander’s large hand closed over mine, engulfing my fingers and the phone entirely.

​He didn't take the phone away. He just held my hand there, staring down at the glowing screen.

​A slow, terrifying, and utterly ruthless smirk touched the corner of the Godfather's mouth.

​"Don't decline it," Alexander whispered, his eyes flicking back up to mine, dark and full of wicked intent. "Let it ring. Let him sit in the quiet and realize he just lost you to me."