Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I loosened my hold on her and looked at her face, her beautiful, soft, sad face. She slid to her knees, and we stayed like that, watching each other, enemies, lovers, pawns in a game.
“Kill me, Gia,” I whispered, my voice failing as I took her hand, the one that held my gun, and set the barrel at my chest. “Kill me after I kill my uncle. After I kill Victor.”
She watched me, and for a long moment, I wasn’t sure what she’d do. All it would take was the quick pull of her finger, and I’d be dead. Out of my fucking misery.
I wasn’t even scared.
But she shook her head and set the weapon down beside us and held onto my bloodied cheeks. She ran her tongue up along my face, then brought crimson-stained lips to mine and slid her tongue between my lips before kissing me, the taste of her mixed with that of my own blood.
“I want to pull the trigger on Victor. I kill him. Not you.”
She barely took her lips from mine as she muttered the words.
I nodded and kissed her and remembered how I’d called Isabella my vengeful little bitch once. I grinned behind the kiss, holding onto Gia like she held me. Knowing we knelt on the very spot I’d nearly killed Salvatore, knowing I’d fucked Gia standing on the stain of his blood. Knowing I was truly a monster because I didn’t find it wrong. I didn’t feel guilt. Not anymore. And as I stripped Gia’s clothes off her and spread her legs open to feast again, I felt good. I felt hungry. Hungry for vengeance. Hungry for her.
Gia was my match. My perfect match.
I was right when I’d told her she was like me. She hated like me.
And I trusted she’d do what she promised.
She’d end me once this was finished.
I’d help her get her revenge.
And then I’d be finished.
And I’d take all that was left of the Benedetti family down with me once and for all.
16
Gia
I kept Dominic’s gun. I laid it beneath the pillow beside me and slept.
I wasn’t sure if Dominic slept that night. I don’t even remember getting upstairs and into bed after what happened in the dining room.
The scent of sex permeated my room. It was the first thing I smelled, his smell, my own, when I opened my eyes. I sat up in bed, rubbed my face, and picked up the loaded weapon.
I’d kill Victor Scava with this gun.
Then I’d kill Dominic with it.
He wanted me to. He’d asked me to. I finally understood him last night. I finally saw him. Really saw him. He’d been at odds all along, at once my cruel captor, then ally, then lover. I knew why now.
I got out of bed and walked through the door that connected our bedrooms. I didn’t care what I looked like, that I was naked, unwashed. That his cum had dried and crusted between my legs. I didn’t care.
I only cared about the gun in my hand.
Dominic walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist, another in his hands, drying his hair.
“How long have you been hiding?” I asked.
He stopped and looked at me.
“You need a shower, Gia.”
He resumed walking, tossing the towel he used to dry his hair on the bed.
“How long?”
He stopped and turned to me, paused, then walked right up to me and cocked his head to the side.
“Get your facts straight before you walk around demanding answers with a gun in your hand.”
He easily wrapped his hand around the wrist that held the gun.
“You need a shower,” he said again.
“Can’t stand your own smell?”
His eyes narrowed, and he forced the weapon out of my hand.
“It’s mine!” I followed him to the dresser, trying to reach around him to get it when he opened a drawer and set it inside.
He caught my wrists and walked me backward a few steps.
“You need to keep your shit together, and you need to have a fucking shower.”
“It’s mine,” I said again, looking up into his eyes, blue-gray pools so deep, I could lose myself inside them if I wasn’t careful.
“I’m not taking it away. It’s yours. Come on.”
His voice was quiet, as if talking down a child throwing a tantrum.
He walked me into the bathroom and ran water into the tub. The first time he’d bathed me came rushing back, and I pulled away. But he kept hold of my wrist and held me there.
“Relax. Do you want me to give you something to relax?”
“Your little pills? No, thank you.”
“Then be a good girl and get in the tub.”
I glanced at the tub filling up with water, saw him check the temperature and adjust it.
“In.”
“I want this off too.” I pointed to the collar.
“And I told you once before, it will come off when I’m ready to take it off.”