Page 16 of Impenitent Claim

She chose me.

My molars threatened to crack from the force of my jaw. The plan to kidnap her at the dinner party failed, but in that failure, I saw the fatal flaw with my plan. The Rinaldi Famiglia would move heaven and earth to bring their princess back. The solution? Fake her death so they had no reason to come after her.

That was exactly what I’d done. A new plan set in motion, I had everything in place to create a tragedy.

Only…the siren escaped my clutches at the restaurant.

As with any plan, there had been unpredictable pieces. I was prepared for the various scenarios. But the one piece I was fast learning I couldn’t control was the woman lying in slumber before me. Isabella realized there was a fire, unknowingly made counter moves, and made taking her away impossible.

You little troublemaker.

The scent of green apple lingered in the air. It came from the lotion she applied before bed. The first night I haunted her, I tore the room apart until I discovered the source of the scent. While she spritzed a purple flower water on her pillows, she preferred the sweeter fruity smell on her body. It was a battle not to steal the container and use it as I gave into the primal need for release.

Like everything else about her, the ripe, lush scent was at odds with the image she presented to the world. The polished, royal appearance was a costume she wore in public. But Isabella wasn’t a socialite. She was an ancient soul, who loved all things sweet and cozy, basking in the comfort of those things here in her sanctuary.

The knife descended again, and I hissed as I missed most of the handle.

Viciously, I stabbed the blade back into its holster before I cut myself badly enough to do real damage. I pulled out the strip of cloth I used to cover the lower portion of my face and wrapped it tightly around my hand.

I shouldn’t be here, sneaking into her room night after night. My jaw worked back and forth as I gazed at her slumbering form. As stupid as it was, I couldn’t stay away. She was the one. She might have disappeared from my city, but I found her. I stalked her, and it was just a matter of time before I would take her away.

Her lips, slightly parted, curved into a faint smile, and I wondered what dreams were drifting through her mind. Her hand, delicate and graceful, rested on the edge of the blanket, fingers curled slightly. The white blanket itself seemed to cradle her, highlighting the perfect contours of her form. I was entranced by the simple beauty of her, the serene picture of peace and contentment.

That was what a temptress did best. Most cultures had stories of the terrible beauties who drove men mad before they discarded them.

Well, she wouldn’t succeed. She couldn’t rid herself of me that easily. I found her, and what was the little monster doing? What sirens did best! She was playing with another man’s heart. While it was highly unlikely, there was the possibility that she felt something for her fiancé. No matter. Any thought of another man would be erased and replaced with a craving for me.

It was going to take time to create another scenario where the Italians believed Isabella to have perished. Reaching behind me, I pulled the package of saltwater taffy from the waist of my pants where my backup pistol was normally concealed. This was meant for her to enjoy while we drove to Chicago. Too many days might pass before that could happen, and I wanted her to have it.

Isabella really seemed to enjoy this sticky, gooey crap. In an effort to understand her, I’d tried a piece and it stuck over all my teeth. It took a vigorous brushing to remove it from the recesses of my mouth.

There was one more thing I wanted to do while here tonight. I squatted before her shelves, pulling books from their places. I couldn’t read the titles. English was my second language, and I never learned to understand the written word of my native tongue. I knew a few words by sight, but that was it. Every time I tried to learn to read, I failed miserably. Letters mixed and jumbled, especially in the centers of longer words. My eyes jumped over the page, struggling to track the script in order. And the rules of sounds, which combination made which noise in certain scenarios but not others—that was the stuff that drove students to the brink of despair.

But audiobooks I could consume like wildfire.

Isabella loved books too. These, however, were vastly different from the business tomes, biographies, and historical accounts I devoured.

I can read about these too. Wait…is that a black dragon?A dragon book for a rusalka. Fitting. Well, Isabella had several fancy copies with the same black beast; this story must be important to her. I would start with that one.

On her tablet device, there were more titles, but I recognized some as the same words on the books.

I frowned at the paper white screen. “So…you collect pretty books of the eBooks you already read?”

Odd behavior, but I could learn to adapt. If it was what she liked, it was important to me.

Using my camera on my phone, I took pictures of every title on her shelf, and many of the ones on her eReader. Since there were hundreds and hundreds, nearly two hours passed before I contented myself with the list.

There—a night well spent.

Rising and stretching, tension cracked in my neck and upper back. A smile played on my lips as I glanced at the flower on the side table next to her reading chair. The big, garish brown flower with only a bit of yellow to temper the stagnant hues stood straight and tall in a vase on the same table. Fitting that she put it here to match the others that decorated this space, although those were drawings or stickers.

That means she likes it.

The rusalka liked my offering, simple though it was.

It was hard, daring to hope she was warming to my attention, but the evidence suggested it was true.

I brushed the tips of my fingers over the petals before forcing myself to turn and leave. Retreating the same way I came, I slipped out the window and descended the wall. There were too many mobsters downstairs tonight for my liking. Without a balcony or trellis, scaling a wall was some ninja monkey shit, and my brothers-in-arms would laugh at me if they saw. But they would never know. It was a weakness to admit some woman, one who was a decade younger than me, had driven me half mad.

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