Your Little Plaything? I'll Be Your Nightmare

"Chiara, I'm back." Dante Costello pushed the door open, bringing in the sharp chill of snow and wind. He pulled me into his arms.

The familiar scent of cedar wrapped around me in an instant, but I went rigid like stone in his embrace.

Something was wrong. The smell was wrong. Beneath the cool cedar, there was another faint but unmistakable scent of gunpowder and blood.

I shoved him away and lifted my head, staring hard at his face. His face was still the impossibly handsome one I knew—he had a high, straight nose, thin lips, and focused and tender eyes that glinted behind gold-rimmed glasses. He looked every bit the refined scholar, not the Underboss in his mafia family.

"What's wrong, Chiara?" Dante reached out to touch my face, but I turned my head to dodge him.

His hand froze in midair. I got a good look at his long, clean, well-shaped fingers. But on the back of his right hand, near the thumb, there was a fresh, thin wound that had just begun to scab over.

My blood turned to ice in that instant.

Three days ago, Luciano Costello had cornered me at the end of the hallway. He had a face identical to Dante's, but his gaze was sharp and predatory, like a hawk circling for the kill.

He'd grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the cold wall, his burning body pressed tightly to mine as he asked hoarsely, "Do you like him that much? Chiara, sooner or later, you'll be mine."

I'd struggled, and my nails had raked a deep gash across the back of his hand. He'd acted like he didn't feel a thing, though. He'd just lowered his head, greedily breathing in the scent at my neck. His scorching breath had spilled over my skin, sending a violent shiver through me.

At the time, I'd thought he was just insane. But now, looking at the identical wound on Dante's hand, smelling that faint trace of blood on him… a ridiculous, terrifying thought exploded in my mind.

The man I'd been seeing had never been just one person.

I forced down the storm churning in my chest and managed a smile. "It's nothing. You just… feel a little different today."

Dante's gaze flickered behind his lenses. He adjusted his glasses and leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I just cleaned up a little mess, and I'm exhausted. I'm gonna take a shower."

I watched his back as he walked into the bathroom, then slowly went to sit on the couch. A contract lay on the coffee table.

Three million dollars—that was the massive gambling debt my father had racked up when his business went under. It was money owed to the Costello family.

But Dante had "kindly" paid it off for me, on the condition that I stay by his side and become his woman. He'd said, "Chiara, don't be afraid. You've got me."

In hindsight, that wasn't salvation. That had been a carefully built cage. Dante and Luciano, the two brothers—one had played god for me in the light, and the other had played the devil in the dark. They shared me, like they were toying with a declawed, defanged pet.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. I took out my phone and dialed a number.

A lazy, teasing voice came through on the other end of the line, "Well, well. Finally remembering me, bella mia?"

It was Leo Caruso. He was one of my former suitors and the heir of another mafia family. He now worked as an information broker.

I got straight to the point. "Leo, I need you to look into two people for me—Dante Costello and Luciano Costello."

Leo went quiet for a moment. "Chiara, did you get mixed up with those two?"

"I want everything you can find on them."

"Fine. But you owe me for this."

"Deal."

I hung up and deleted the call history.

The bathroom door opened. Dante walked out with only a towel around his waist. Water droplets dripped from his hair and onto his toned chest, sliding down and disappearing into the lines of his hips.

He came over, bent down, and braced his hands on either side of me on the couch, caging me in his shadow. "Chiara, who were you on the phone with?"

I lifted my head to meet his searching gaze. I could smell the intoxicating mix of soap and cologne on his skin. I said, "My mom. She was asking when I'm going home."

He stared at me for a few seconds, then smiled. "I'll go back with you in a few days."

He dipped his head, aiming for my lips. At the last second, I turned my face away. "Dante, I'm a little tired."

He stopped, and the air between us turned frigid. After a long moment, he straightened up, saying in an unreadable voice, "Okay. Get some rest."

That night, I didn't sleep at all.

The next day, Leo called. "Che diavolo, Chiara? You're messing with two absolute psychos!"