Page 99 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
Grabbing at my waistband, he curses, “Fucking belts,” as he pulls a knife from his pocket, flipping it open. My belt clunks to the floor as terror paralyzes me.
You’re going to be afraid, Ford. Do it afraid.
Grateful for Anthony’s softly reassuring voice in my head, I stomp the hell out of Ciaran’s ankle, winning a few inches of daylight between him and me.
“Luca!”I scream, even though I know it’s useless to do so.
He yanks me back by the scruff of my neck and slams my face into the mirror again. “Your mobster can’t hear you, little virgin.”
Warm blood drips into my eye, and time moves backward.“Luca!”
“Wait. Are you still a virgin, or did that filthy mobster get up inside you?”
He would only know that if Fallon said something to him, and it makes me feel so fucking gross. And mad.
I think about all the years I lost to this man, and it makes my blood boil. I try to shimmy out of his grip, but it’s impossible. He’s like an octopus, hands everywhere, forcing me against the mirror. I stomp my foot again and miss, jarring my ankle.
Before my brain can process what’s happening, his body is violently ripped away from mine. I tuck against the mirror, bringing my hands up to my face.
At the sound of a man struggling to breathe, I peek through my fingers. No one is in the lounge, so I look past the mirror into the toilet area.Luca. He’s dragging Ciaran in front of the sinks, using a chokehold so vicious the older man’s face turns a violent purple.
Without hesitation, Luca grabs a handful of the thick, silver-gray hair at the back of Ciaran’s head. I throw my hands up, covering my eyes so I can’t see it.
“You don’t fuck with what’s mine,”Luca growls.
An aborted scream is followed by the sound of a skull crunching against enameled cast iron. It’s followed by a second, wetter crunch. And a third.
Like an egg.
Then a body hitting the floor.
I fall to my knees and lean forward, vomiting the contents of my stomach onto the lovingly restored original oyster tile.
I’m still on my hands and knees, staring at the pool of vomit when a pair of Louboutins covered in spats comes into view. Luca kneels next to me and places a gentle hand between my shoulder blades.
“Ford?”
“He almost did it again,” I say, unable to keep the shivering out of my voice.
"I know,” he says, his voice just as unsteady. “Please, baby, let’s get you off of this floor.”
I nod and Luca helps me up. He supports me as we make our way to the couch, then sits and pulls me into his lap.
“He will never hurt you again,” he promises, gently rocking me. “You are safe, you are safe, you are safe.”
He takes a deep breath, and I do too. Then another. I note, vaguely, that he’s not wearing his jacket and that his white vest is spotless.
After another moment of just…breathing, he gives me a gentle command. “Ford? Baby? Let me see your face.”
Helpfully numb, I tilt my face to the side, meeting his eyes.
His face falls and tears appear. “Jesus Christ, little bird. I am so, so sorry that fucking asshole put his hands on you again.”
I snort a ragged laugh and wince at the pain around my eye socket. Fingering the perfectly starched point of his black collar, I croak out, “You got here right on time.”
“Your voice…”
“I was screaming your name.”
