Page 66 of Deal with the Devil
She has managed to bring out a deeper, more carnal side of me—tapped into some part intrinsically linked to him—but that’s where it ends.
I am where it ends, because I am always in control. Their connection can’t override my reign and what I’ve set out to do. I’ll prove it not only to them but myself.
I’ll show Portia and the man who is so in love with her why I’m the devil I am.
Sleep normally comes to me dreamlessly. I only need a few hours of dark, uninterrupted silence to be able to function. But lately when I close my eyes, she’s there waiting for me.
She appears sprawled across silk sheets, her limbs bare and glowing in the light from the fireplace. The lacy lingerie she wears is sheer against her brown skin, offering a tease of the curves waiting underneath. Her dark eyes find mine with that demure twinkle she normally reserves for him.
It’s like a temptress, daring me to come closer.
And I do. Every fucking time.
Even in the dream, I know what it is. I’m not delusional enough to believe I’ve conjured some alternate reality. But itfeelsreal—sickeningly, seductively real.
The texture of her skin beneath my hands, the scent of her perfume mingling with the smoke in the air, even the soft breath she takes as I lean in.
Every last detail feels awakens my senses. They crackle to life inside me after so long spent dormant.
I’m not a man who feels often. I’m not a man who cares for the usual kind of thrills and excitement most people enjoy.
My sole purpose is to dominate and rise to power.
But as I lean in and drag her intoxicating perfume into my lungs, I’m indulging for once. My fingers trace her inner thighs and her lips part as our mouths hover inches apart.
She’s inching closer to me like she’s been waiting all night for this too.
Her eyelashes flutter. She’s closed her eyes.
I stroke the inside of her thigh and she moans.
How is it possible to have skin this fucking soft?—
I jerk awake, my body half sitting up in bed. It’s minutes before the alarm I set is about to go off. The curtains are drawn, but hints of dawn slip along the edges.
So it really was a dream.
Did I really expect any less? Did I really think she was lying in my bed? Where did the fucking silk sheets come from?
I scrub a hand over my face, then get out of bed to start the day.
By the time I make it down to breakfast, the sun has already climbed high enough to stain the villa’s marble floors with pale golden light. It streams in through the arching windows, gilding everything it touches, but it does nothing to soften the mood in the dining room. The air always feels lifeless and sterile in a room traditionally reserved for family sharing meals together.
No amount of polished silverware can ever change that.
I enter fully dressed in the uniform they expect from me—charcoal suit and wine-colored tie, the devil’s mask firmly in place. I’m not showing up to breakfast for nourishmentorcompanionship. I’m here for formality’s sake.
For the opportunity to discuss business with Don Vito.
But only two members have bothered to attend breakfast this morning.
Anthony Senior, already elbow-deep in his usual heap of eggs, croissants, and cured meats, chewing with audible satisfaction.
Opposite him sits Olivia, prim and perfect in a pale silk dress, her legs elegantly crossed as she flips through the latest issue ofL’Officiel. Every so often, she takes a sip from her cup of espresso, turning to the next page of her fashion magazine.
Neither says a word as I take my seat.
The silence is brittle and uncomfortable, but what else is new when it concerns this wretched family?
