Page 204 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

I quietly push open the door and find her twisting around on the bed, her hair a mess of tangled strands around her face. She’s at battle with something as she sleeps very fitfully. Her mouth moves, only the faintest of sounds emerging, different than the whimpers I just heard from the kitchen. I can see the tears streak her cheeks as she flips left and right, seemingly trying to escape whatever is corrupting her mind.

I move toward the headboard, my fingers fumbling in my pocket for the handcuff key. I slip it into the lock and twist it to release the cuff. Her hand drops to the mattress and with a loud gasp, she sits straight up, bringing her hand to her heaving chest.

She looks around, her eyes unfocused as she takes in her surroundings.

That dream must have really fucked with her since she doesn’t seem to have any recollection that she’s here.

It isn’t until she turns her red-rimmed eyes toward me that I see what’s lurking within the depths. My breath hitches. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without the protective mask, the one that keeps everyone out and all of the pain inside.

She uses her free hand to wipe her eyes, her lips still trembling. Her labored breaths sound like shallow rasps, and she trembles as she sits in the center of the mattress, still staring at me.

I can see the anguish.

I can feel the grief.

And so I don’t think much in this moment.

I just act.

No questions, no lies.

I hold out my arms and she falls into them, the whimpers becoming full-fledged cries…pleas for forgiveness and mercy, apologies for not being the daughter they deserved.

My throat tightens as I stroke the back of her head.

This is bad. This is very fucking bad!

She’s still chained to the bed. I haven’t let her go completely, not that she seems to be in any shape to make false moves on me.

But I can’t be comforting her like this! Her brother tried to kill me, for fuck’s sake!

As far as I’m concerned, any ploy to bring me in here is one that’s gonna put my whole plan at risk.

I should let her go.

I should re-cuff her.

I should walk right out of this room and let her drown in her tears, dammit!

But I don’t do any of those things.

I stay right where I am as she nestles as far as she can into my chest, her other arm still suspended above the bed.

And this kind of shit is exactly the kind of thing Matteo would jump on me for because he doesn’t have blood running through his veins.

He has cyanide.

Pure poison.

Completely lethal.

We sit together as the minutes drag on, neither one of us making any moves, which, I guess for me, is good since both times I got too close, she nailed me with her flying limbs. This time she doesn’t seem too anxious to let go or to sterilize me.

Both are good signs, in my opinion.

It feels like we’ve been molded together for days by the time she lifts her head and pulls away to look up at me. Her eyes are still watery and a little bit puffy and her face is dotted with red splotches.

She’s never looked so gorgeous.

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