Page 41 of Liberated By Sin
I wasn’t the type of man to chase or court—never had to—yet there I was, inviting a near stranger into my home, one who’d been ready to drop me in some desolate parking garage alongside Ivan and his men. If anything, I would have torn into her for merely contemplating pointing a gun at me with intent.
Letting out a slow huff of air, I sat on the couch, a glass of scotch in hand, and scoffed at my predicament. Everything I stood for and the code I lived and breathed by disintegrated because, damn it all to hell, I was fucking gone for this woman from the moment I saw her. My obsession only deepened now that I knew her heart was just as black as mine.
19
I tiedoff Santino’s sweatpants at my waist, tucked in the oversized tee, then lifted my gaze to the mirror to ask my reflection what the actual fuck was I doing. I’d only known this man for all of two weeks, yet he stumbled upon my darkest secret, somehow convinced me not to kill him, and then brought me to his home. Here I was, in his bathroom, drenched in his clothing and the smell of his body wash.
Trust wasn’t something I granted readily.
Especiallyto a man like Santino, one now privy to the fact that I had a taste for blood. He was a liability. Who was to say he wouldn’t use what he knew against me and blackmail me in exchange for silence? Despite being an accomplice, Santino Leone had sway, money, power—everything he needed to clean his slate. Meanwhile, I was just a stripper.
My eyes drifted to the bag I’d dropped on the floor by the vanity. The Glock called to me, begging me to end his life and avoid the fallout of his inevitable betrayal.
“He wouldn’t see it coming. Not if I play my cards right.”
But what if I was wrong? He’d helped me tonight and risked his life when he could have kept driving without getting involved. My eyes slid to the unlocked bathroom door—one I’d purposefully used as a test.
Shaking my head, I dispersed the traitorous thoughts attempting to cloud my judgment and gripped the sink.
He’d followed me.
Again.
And I didn’t know how to feel or what his intentions were.
“Because you’ve lived inside my head the moment I set eyes on you. And I can’t shake you, preziosa. Every second of every fucking day, I think of you. So even if you kill me, at least I’ll die knowing you’re safe.”
I didn’t know what to do with his admission or how to feel. Men lusting for me wasn’t anything new. But his words, given the circumstances, seemed heartfelt, cutting me deeper than they should. Or had he said them out of self-preservation?
Before I could drive myself crazy, I snatched my bag and headed toward the man in question. As I moved through his spacious bedroom, I noted how every piece of furniture, the decorative pillows on his bed, the artwork on his walls, and every crease and fold in his sheets were meticulously structured and clean. Unlike the rest of the home, which was slightly barren with just enough furniture to seem lived in, there was warmth to this space and even a couple of live plants I didn’t recognize. A woman’s touch, no doubt. The thought ignited a strange ripple in my stomach as I wondered who she could be.
Santino pushed to his feet when he heard me coming, making no effort to hide the perusal of his clothes on my body. Foreign feelings of insecurity surged inside me. My hair was damp, and without products to tame the curls, I was forced to twist it into a high bun.
Why do you care what he thinks?
“That’s better,” he said, motioning for me to sit.
“I should get going.”
“We have a conversation pending.”
“Do we?”
He set down his glass and approached with sure steps, and too fast for me to react, his hand covered the handle of the gun tucked at my waist. Mine came down over his.
Eyes narrowed, I gritted my teeth.
“Let go.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
My nails dug into his skin, but he didn’t waver. “Not going to hurt me?That’s the most overused and abused phrase that ever existed.”
The edges of Santino’s dark eyes creased as he drank me in. “Tell me, who hurt you,preziosa?”
His request was weighted with the burden of a thousand knives and just as many tears.
The words,all of them, hung on my lips. But it was a piece of my soul, of my past he hadn’t earned.