Page 10 of Broken Wolf Heart
The house is opulent. Immaculate. A museum for a legacy built on blood and control. And even though Franco lived here, even though my father would have grown up here, it feels nothing like a home.
It feels like a tomb.
My stomach churns as Toros leads the way up a grand, winding staircase. At the second-floor landing, we turn left, and I follow him down an endless hallway to a large ornate door at the very end. He pushes it open then steps back, ushering me inside with a scowl.
The animal inside me cringes at showing this man our back. But I do it, too afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t play along. Rather than leave me alone, he steps in behind me, and my heart squeezes with fear as I turn to face him.
This is it.
This is where I die.
On an expensive rug where generations of Giovanni blood has probably already been spilled before me. Where more will undoubtedly be spilled again.
The bedroom is cavernous, the furniture dark and heavy. A four-poster bed looms in the center, too big, too gaudy. There are no personal touches, no warmth, just expensive things meant to impress. The air is too cold. The scent of polished wood and leather mixes with something fainter—something rotten.
Franco lived here.
And now he’s dead.
A fact that should bring me some kind of relief, but instead,all I feel is the sick, pulsing weight of my future pressing down on my shoulders. I’m hyper-aware of the fact that my future might only last me the next ten seconds.
Toros takes a menacing step toward me. There’s no trace of welcome or civility. Only calculated ice.
“What are you doing?” I blurt, hating that I take a step back. But it’s either that or let him invade my space, and I refuse to allow that kind of violation.
He ignores my words—and me—and brushes past me to fling open another door behind me. Through the opening, I glimpse a walk-in closet full of suits. I inhale the scent of Franco. He’s everywhere in here. Reminding me I’m the intruder.
“Closet’s here, bathroom’s through there,” Toros says flatly. He sweeps a pointed gaze down the length of my wedding dress. “Get changed, and meet me downstairs.”
“Where am I supposed to get changed?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’m a complete moron then flings his arm out to gesture to the space. “Here.”
“Here?” I echo.
“This is your room now.”
My room.
Right.
Toros turns for the door. “You have ten minutes.”
The way he says it sends a cold shiver down my spine.
Ten minutes for what? To live? To explain how I killed a man I didn’t actually kill? I don’t ask, don’t let myself react, but even as he shuts the door behind him, my body betrays me.
Suddenly, every nerve is on fire, every hair on my arms and neck standing on end. My senses come rushing in with a roar in my ears. From up here, I can sense six others inside the house. More than that, I can smell their breath, hear the way their heartbeats thud slow and steady in their chests. The lacefabric of my dress scratches at my skin like needles. My mouth is dry. My lungs feel too tight.
Panic claws at my insides, a sharp and sudden fear that I’m about to come undone right here, right now. My wolf is close to the surface. I can feel her teeth in my skin, the low, rumbling growl curling inside my ribs, demanding release.
With a strangled snarl, I tear at my dress. The buttons and snaps are impossible to reach, which only makes me more desperate to be free of the stifling layers against my skin. My nails lengthen into claws, and I tear through the lace and tulle, shredding it until I stand in only my bra and panties with a pile of luxury fabric at my feet.
My chest heaves with breath after breath as my blood swims hot inside me.
I’ve traded the dress for my wolf. A husband for a pack. Happiness for duty. Somehow, I always knew this was how it would go. Even before Ramsey forced me to spy on Grey, I understood nothing would ever be so easy as remaining in Jericho Grey Diavolo’s arms.
Ramsey.
