Page 38 of Depths of Hunger

Her response is immediate.

Yes.

I think it’s time for another trip like that one. I need some help packing. You up for it?

Yes. I’ll need a few days though. Got a few things to do.

Relief floods me, so intense it nearly brings me to tears. Pippa’s on board. She can get me a good quality fake passport. The by-product of being a capo’s daughter ensures that she knows the right people to create a new identity for me. I blink rapidly, pushing back the sting of tears that I refuse to let fall.

Okay. Let me know what works for you. xx

Will do.

I delete the texts, erasing any trace of my plans. Renzo can’t know. He’d be livid, and the thought of his anger sends a shiver of dread through me. But I can’t back down. Not now. Vampire or not, I haveto stand my ground. If I suddenly start behaving differently, he’ll know something’s up.

My heart aches with a strange sense of loss. I’d begun to hope, stupidly, that Renzo and I could be more than just a power play. That we could have something real. He respected my decisions while he was gone and had praised the way I handled things. I felt proud. I felt valued. But I was a fool to believe it could be anything more than a twisted game. Renzo is a vampire, and worse, he’s a male—possessive, controlling, and maddeningly arrogant. I shake my head and rise from the sofa, the weight of my decisions pressing heavily on my shoulders. Just a few more days. Then I’m gone.

I head upstairs slowly, anxiety churning in my stomach with each step I climb. The thought of sharing a room with Renzo tonight is unbearable. I reach the top of the stairs and turn sharply away from his bedroom. There are plenty of other rooms to choose from, and I need space. I choose the one at the end of the hall, the farthest from him. I open the door and step inside, closing it firmly behind me.

The room is simple, almost stark compared to Renzo’s. A king-size bed with a white duvet, a small dresser, and a nightstand. The bathroom is modest, with a walk-in shower. It’s nothing like the opulence of Renzo’s room, but it’s enough for tonight. I lock the door, then the bathroom door, shedding my clothes as the water heats up. Steam quickly fills the small space, fogging the mirror. I step into the shower and let the hot water pour over me, washing away the day’s grime and stress.

The water stings as it hits the scratches Angelo left on my breasts, and the bruises on my hips throb dully. My gunshot wound aches slightly. I close my eyes, trying to push away the memories. Angelo is dead; I’ll never have to worry about him touching me again. There’s comfort in that, even if the way it happened still horrifies me.

A sudden gust of cool air chills my skin, and I gasp, spinning around. Renzo is standing in the shower with me, naked and utterly unbothered by my shock. His large form fills the small space, his eyes dark and unyielding as they rake over my body. My breath catches in my throat, and I scramble for words.

“I—I want to be left alone,” I stammer, backing away until I hit the cold tiles.

Renzo’s lips curl into a lazy, knowing smile, his gaze locking onto mine. “I’m aware of that, gattina. But that’s not an option.”

Kitten. He always calls me kitten, and every time, it feels more like a collar than an endearment.

“I need a break. I’ve been through a lot.” I say, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavers.

The way he moves closer tells me I didn’t come across as confident as I wished to. His fingers trail lightly down my back, brushing against the bruises on my hip with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the hard glint in his eyes.

“You have,” he acknowledges, his tone almost tender. “But you’re strong, Mia. And you don’t get to hide from this. You don’t get to hide fromme.”

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear his words. His touch sends familiar heat curling through my body, and I hate myself for the way I react to him…the way his presence consumes me. “Renzo, I just need one night. Alone.”

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch is firm, possessive. “No, gattina. You will not be alone. Not ever again. I’ll be with you, always. You need a good night’s sleep, and the best way to get that is if you’re relaxed. Let me help you relax.”

His words are a command wrapped in the thin veneer of an offer, and the unspoken threat lingers in the space between us. I tremble, caught between fear and a twisted kind of longing. Renzo is a monster, but he’s my monster, and tonight, there’s no escaping him.

Renzo grabs the soap, working it between his hands until it foams, thick and rich. He lathers my shoulders first, his touch both firm and oddly soothing as the warm water cascades over us. My skin tingles under his hands, but panic is clawing its way up my throat, suffocating me. He moves slowly, deliberately, washing me as if I’m something precious and fragile, his fingers sliding down my arms and tracing every line and curve of my body.

I try to focus on the feeling of his touch, but my chest tightens, andthe weight of everything crashes back down. Renzo’s hands move to my neck, then lower, skimming over my collarbone and working down to my breasts. The soap stings as it seeps into the scratches Angelo left on me, and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath that escapes my lips.

Renzo pauses, his gaze piercing. “What is it, gattina?” he asks, voice low and edged with concern.

“It’s…the scratches,” I manage, my voice strained. “The soap makes them sting.”

He doesn’t say anything, just gently turns me under the warm spray, letting the water rinse the suds from my chest. The heat soothes my skin, but before I can catch my breath, Renzo bends his head, his mouth hovering dangerously close to my scored flesh. His tongue flicks out, warm and wet, tracing the angry red lines with deliberate care. A shiver runs through me; my body caught between fear and an undeniable heat that coils in my stomach.

Renzo’s hands continue their slow, torturous path, roaming over my skin, leaving a trail of soap and bubbles that feel far too intimate, too possessive. I try to keep my breathing steady, but it’s no use. My mind keeps flashing back to Angelo—his hands grabbing at me, rough and unwanted. The memory taints every touch, and I feel filthy, unclean no matter how much I try to scrub it away. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I bring my arms up, shoving Renzo away with all the strength I can muster.

“No. I can’t. Just… No.” My voice cracks, a mix of anger and desperation.

Renzo’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing to emerald slits. There’s a flicker of something dangerous there, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “You’re upset.” His voice is cold enough to frost the water cascading over us. “You need to get over it, Mia. I am a vampire. I cannot change that. You will adapt.” He moves to lower his head again, intent on reclaiming my body, but a strangled cry bursts from my lips, and I try to slip past him. His hands clamp down on my arms, pinning me against the cool, unforgiving tiles.