Chapter 5 - Shadows on the Wall
I took the clothes into the adjoining bathroom and locked the door.
The reflection in the mirror was that of a stranger. My dark hair was plastered to my forehead, my mascara was smeared beneath my pale eyes, and my black dress was ruined with brown cemetery mud.
I peeled off the wet clothes and washed my face with warm water.
As I pulled Aleandro’s grey cashmere sweater over my head, the scent of him engulfed me—sandalwood, cedar, and subtle spices. It was oversized, the sleeves falling over my wrists, the hem reaching halfway down my thighs.
When I stepped back into the living room, Aleandro was sitting by the fire, holding a glass of amber scotch.
He looked up as the door opened.
His dark eyes softened instantly, the cold, lethal Don disappearing for a brief second, replaced by the man who used to kiss my shoulders while I made coffee in the morning.
"Come here," he murmured, patting the leather cushion beside him.
I hesitated, then walked over and sat down on the sofa. The heat from the fireplace was comforting, but the tension between us was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Aleandro set his glass down on the table. He reached out, taking my wet hair in his hands, gently fanning it out over my shoulders toward the fire so it would dry.
"You hate me," he whispered, his fingers moving gently through my dark locks.
"I don't hate you," I said, my voice barely audible over the crackling wood. "I’m terrified of you."
His fingers stilled in my hair.
"Why?"
"Because you have the power to destroy me without ever touching a gun," I said, turning my head to look him straight in his dark, scarred face. "You let me believe you were ash, Aleandro. You let me carry a weight that almost broke me. How do I ever trust that you won't disappear again?"
Aleandro looked at me for a long, silent moment.
Then, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the steady, rhythmic pulse of his jugular vein against his neck.
"Listen to me, Emma," he rasped, his hand moving up to cup the back of my neck. "I swear on my mother’s memory, on my father’s grave, on every drop of blood in my body... I will never leave you in the dark again. Tomorrow, Marco dies. The syndicate is restructured. And you will never have to weep at a grave again."
"And if you fail tomorrow?" I whispered, tears filling my eyes again. "If Marco wins?"
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Aleandro’s lips curved into a cold, arrogant, utterly breathtaking smile.
"Marco is a accountant who thinks he’s a wolf," Aleandro whispered, pressing a fierce, possessive kiss against my lips. "He forgot that I built this cage. And tomorrow, I close the door."
