Page 49 of Brutal Crown
It’s not worth it. Feeling this… torn, dirty, unsure of who I even am anymore.
The soreness between my thighs is mostly gone, but I still feel him there. Every time I move, sit, or stretch, I remember. That pressure, the fullness, the ache.
And the worst part is that a piece of me still misses it. I never knew pain could be so beautiful.
I also almost didn’t go. I almost ignored the folded note Allegra slipped under my door—the one that told me to go to the infirmary after dinner. To ask for Luisa. To tell her I needed to be “taken care of.”
But I went. Because I had to. Because even if I hate him now, even if I wish I could scrub him out of me, I can’t risk?—
My stomach turns. Francesco didn’t even tell me himself. He sent someone. Of course he did. Everything with him is planned, controlled, hidden. Even this.
My face heats at the memory as I stir the pot in front of me half-heartedly. The aroma of garlic and fried tomatoes clings to the air. I’m helping Allegra prep some of the leftovers she wants to eat. It’s quiet in the kitchen, save for the sizzle of oil and my shallow breathing. Most of the maids are retired to the quarters. There are only about three of us still in the main house.
Then I hear them.
Their voices float in from the dining hall—low, masculine, and textured like expensive whiskey. Some of the Romanos are having a late dinner. I hear Marco first, and as usual, he’s saying something funny. I hear Francesco’s voice cut through, deeper and quieter. My pussy clenches.
I frown at my reaction.
“Why are you staring at the stew like it insulted your mother?” Allegra mutters, smirking as she moves past me. “Are you all right?”
I nod quickly.
Before she can say anything, another maid rushes in and gives Allegra a message. Allegra turns toward me with a sigh, handing me a small tray.
“Marco wants this brought to the table. A bottle of the Syrah and that bowl of olives he likes. Be a dear and take it in?”
I blink. “Why me?”
“Because my hands are full, and he asked for you.” She gives me a pointed look. “Don’t look like that. They don’t bite.”
They do, actually.
I wipe my palms on my dress, trying to still the tremble in them. My heart thuds hard against my ribs as I take the tray. I don’t want to face them, especially not when they are together. Not when my body still burns for one and guilt won’t let me breathe around the other.
The hallway feels longer than usual. I can hear the quiet clinking of silverware and the murmur of casual conversation. I push open the heavy double doors.
They’re seated at the long table. Only the three brothers are present tonight. I don’t know if I should feel better or worse about that.
Marco sees me first, and his eyes light up like he’s been waiting for me.
Francesco doesn’t move or speak, but I feel his attention shift toward me. I feel it like flames against my skin.
I walk to the table with careful, deliberate steps and set the tray down near Marco. My hands are steady, unlike my pulse, which is beating rapidly.
“Where have you been?” Marco drawls. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.”
“Around,” I say casually, but I can feel Francesco’s gaze burning into the side of my face.
I look up, and our eyes meet.
It’s just for a second, but something twists in my gut. I wait for a flicker of something, anything… to remind me he still thinks about that night.
But all I see is ice.
My jaw tightens. Fury burns in my chest as I look away.
“Stay,” Marco says suddenly, pulling out the chair beside him. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
