The Captive Heart
A knife, lying amidst the dishes, its blade glinting in the candlelight.
Without thinking, I grabbed the knife, my fingers closing around the handle like a vice. I felt a surge of power and superiority in my veins and with a smoothness I didn't know I had, I pushed back the chair and held the knife to Massimo's throat, pressing it deep until I saw blood dripping from the blade on to his shirt. Oh fuck! What am I doing?
Massimo's eyes flickered to the knife, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of admiration and prude. But then, his expression smoothed out, and he leaned back in his chair, a look of anticipation on his face.
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