Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

Sabella

Christmas comes and goes. My family and Colin's spend a quiet New Year's evening in Great Brak River. I go to the beach and swim every day, but the cave brings back memories, so I return to my comfortable villa in Cape Town before the year is one week old.

Mom wanted me to stay until after my birthday. She suggested organizing a cocktail party. Disappointment was etched on her features when I declined. I made up an excuse of going out with my university friends in the city. The truth is that I'm scared. I'm scared Angelo will return. If he does, it's best I don't lure him to my family.

The closer the day of my nineteenth birthday gets, the more anxious I grow. Healing takes time, but I haven't healed much since my dad's murder. I started getting nightmares. As my birthday draws nearer, those horrific dreams become more frequent.

Guilt eats me alive. The lies and secrets are killing me. Keeping up a front is becoming more difficult with each passing day. The acting is exhausting.

For the world, I'm happy and carefree. For anyone looking in from the outside, I'm just another spoiled rich girl who lives in a fancy villa in Camps Bay and who drives a brand-new electric car every year. They're not sports cars. However, the brands are reliable and on the upper end of the scale. Ryan insists it's for my safety. He won't let me buy a smaller, second-hand car, and I'm too worn-out to fight him on this.

I don't want for anything. Ryan makes sure of that. He covers all my expenses, including my grocery and clothing bills. The allowance he gives me for entertainment goes straight into a savings account. Next year, my lecture hours will decrease. Having more time available will allow me to get a part-time job. There are many restaurants in Camps Bay, and the staff turnover is high. They're always looking for waitresses. I'll save every penny until I can afford plastic surgery to remove the brand on my skin.

Colin calls and offers to take me out for my birthday, knowing how much I dread the day, but I don't have the energy to sit through a dinner in a fancy restaurant and pretend to be okay. I don't want to cry on his shoulder either. I'd rather be alone. It takes a lot of convincing before he backs down, but he buys my lie of needing some pampering me-time and going out for a girls' night on the town.

When the day finally dawns, I get up early and go for a long jog on the beach followed by a strenuous swim far out to sea. The exercise leaves me exhausted, which is exactly what I aimed for. If I'm too tired to think, the thoughts surrounding my birthday can't harass me.

I climb up the path to the villa, pressing a hand over the stitch in my side while catching my breath. It's a glorious day with not a cloud in the sky. The sun hangs big and yellow overhead, warming my wet skin.

After a rinse-down in the outdoor shower, I relax in the Jacuzzi while sipping coconut water to replenish my energy. I'm a healthy eater, but today I need comfort food. I have peanut butter and banana toast with pancakes and cream, enjoying my meal on the veranda. I even indulge in a brunch cocktail of champagne and orange juice. The air is clean, smelling like salt and sea. The lap of the waves on the shore is the best music. If not for my nerves, this would've been the perfect birthday.

When the temperature gets too hot, I go inside and switch on the AC. To help me relax, I opt for a bath instead of a shower and add my favorite lavender bath salt. While the tub is filling, I double-check the wall panel to ensure the security gate and the doors are locked and that the alarm is on. I'm always vigilant and on the lookout for people following me or hanging around the villa. Although I never notice anyone, I always get a creepy feeling that someone is watching me. To be on the safe side, I lower the window shutters before I strip and get into the bath.

The warm water soothes my muscles, and the lavender helps to relieve the ache after the physical exertion. The tub is built into a corner of the bathroom on the lower level of the house where the shrubs on the side of the rocky garden provide privacy. Without any neighbors in front of me, I can enjoy the view of the waves crashing on the beach from the large window that walls in one side of the tub, but I feel safer with the shutter down. It's dark inside with the sun blocked out. I feel as if I'm tucked into a cocoon where no one and nothing can reach me.

I wash my hair and rinse the shampoo and conditioner with clean water, using the hand-held nozzle. Before the water has cooled completely, I pull the plug and take a towel from the hook on the wall. I step onto the bath rug and wrap the towel around me, and then I take a smaller towel to twist around my hair. Stripes of light fall through the grooves in the metal shutter onto the floor and fan over the mirror. I flip on the light switch and brush my teeth.

Despite the sinister significance of the date, I'm floating in a comfortable space after the endorphins of the exercise and the relaxing effect of the bath. As long as I stay inside, I feel safe. I make a mental note to thank Ryan for that. He went out of his way to find a place with every possible security precaution, and I've never been more grateful than today.

Since I have nothing planned and I'm not in a mindset to study, I'll make popcorn and binge-watch television. I haven't had time to do that in ages. It will be my birthday treat.

The idea perks me up as I saunter into the bedroom, heading for the closet. As soon as I enter the somber darkness, the hair stands up in my nape. A shiver crawls through me, contracting my skin.

I'm not alone.

I know it in an instant.

My heart starts pounding, every thud reverberating in my ears. My palms turn clammy where I grip the edges of the towel between my breasts. I look for a weapon even as I scan the dark corners of the room. And then I jerk to a standstill.

A man sits in the armchair in front of the sliding doors. With the shutters in front of the doors down, I can't make out more than the black outline of his shape, but I already know who broke into my house. I know from the tension emanating from his relaxed pose and the bulkiness of his frame. I know from the smell of citrus and cedar that hangs faintly in the air.

I stop breathing. I stop looking for a weapon and focus on escaping, because I can't beat the man who sits in my chair in strength.

His deep, disturbing voice washes over my senses. "Hallo, Sabella."

His accent is fainter than I remember. Or maybe he got more practice in speaking English.

I back up a step, choosing anger as my armor. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Don't I get a hello? A, how was your flight?" His voice drops an octave. "A kiss?" When I don't reply, he chuckles. "I guess not."

I hate that I can't press the panic button or call the police. I don't want to endanger my family by phoning Ryan. I hate how helpless I am. The only weapon I have is pretending not to be scared. Men like Angelo feed on people's fear. All I can do is act as if I have the situation under control.

"Get out of my house," I say, keeping my voice as calm as I can. "You're trespassing."

"It's been a long time," he drawls. "Let me have a look at you."

A click sounds. The lamp on the table goes on. The light spills around him, bringing the features etched into my mind to life. He's broader. Stronger. I can see it even with him sitting. More dangerous than ever. Ominous energy rolls off him in waves. The light doesn't dispel the darkness coming from within him. His hair is longer and messier. The scruff on his jaw must be two days old. He's wearing a white shirt, smart black slacks, and dress shoes, but he looks less polished. Rougher.

The last few months haven't been good to him.

"As pretty as always," he says. "Even more beautiful as a woman than as an innocent girl."

The innocent part isn't lost on me. He took that from me, but only emotionally. He introduced me to betrayal, pain, and grief and taught me that no one can be trusted. Least of all him. That part of my innocence he stole violently.

The physical part, the part that has only known one man? That part, I gave to him. I'm still not sure why. I want to believe it was the alcohol or that I just wanted to give him a last first to stop his warped game. Yet I know that's not true. I wanted it to be him. The girl who fell in love with him was still living somewhere in my chest, but he killed her when he murdered my father.

He straightens, taking his time. I can't read the expression in his eyes, but his laser stare burns into my soul. I swallow when he slowly crosses the floor and stops in front of me.

I was right. He's large in physical form and in presence. The room is too small for him. His muscles bunch under his clothes. Where his sleeves are folded back, his skin is tanned and embossed with veins. Angelo Russo has always been a tough, hardened man, even at twenty. I think he was already a man when he was only a boy. Now, he's a god. A powerful one. Nothing short of a monster.

He reaches out and dips a finger under the towel where it covers my breasts. I try to pull back, but he's too fast. Too strong. With a single tug, he yanks me against him. My belly heats with fear and something else, something like a distant echo of a forbidden pleasure.

I look at his face. His eyes are the color of molasses. The irises are so dark they bleed into the black of his pupils. The intensity in his gaze as he measures me is startling. Frightening. He's only twenty-three, yet he looks like a man with the experience of one of forty. I know the things he's done. I know the things he's seen. No wonder he's too wise and too old for his age.

Pressing my palms on his chest, I try to create distance between us, but he traps me against the steel length of his body with a hand on my lower back, continuing to pull at the towel until it gives way. The edges fall open, revealing my breasts, but he doesn't look away from my eyes. He reads my reaction as if he's curious about what he'll find, whether I'll give him defiance or permission.

Exposed to the cool air in the room, my nipples harden. The towel slips down to my hips, his hand on my back and his body pressed against mine at the front holding it up. I suck in a breath. I have to be clever. If I run, I'm fucked. That's what he wants. I sense it. He wants to hunt and catch me. Isn't that what we've always been doing? I've been hiding, and he's been stalking.

A silent battle rages between us. He breaks our eye contact first, sweeping his gaze down to my naked curves. When he reaches out, I strain in his hold, but he tightens his grip on my back in silent warning. If he was a wolf, I swear he'd growl. Maybe he'd sink his teeth into my shoulder.

Knowing I have no chance of fighting, I keep still. My pulse hammers in my temples as I bide my time. Ever so gently, he brushes his knuckles over a nipple. The hard tip extends, the areola tightening. His cock grows hard against my stomach. It's a size and a fit I remember well, no matter how hard I try to forget.

I can't prevent the tremor that runs through me when he pulls an inch away and lifts his hand from my back. The towel drops to the floor. Goosebumps race over my body. He rakes a path over me with his gaze, all the while rubbing his knuckles over my nipple. When he fixes his attention on the triangle between my legs, his eyes darken with possession and lust.

I don't shave there. I won't ever again. Not as long as I'm branded with his mark. The knowledge of his seal being there seems to be enough for him. His lips tilt with satisfaction as he smooths the palm of his free hand over my stomach and spears his fingers into the curls that cover my sex. When he closes his fingers in a fist, the pull makes me go on tiptoes. It doesn't hurt, not much, but when he uses the leverage to yank me closer, I can't help but yelp.

I catch his shoulders to keep my balance. The knuckle of his middle finger rests on my clit. I try to ignore how it feels. It's impossible when he pulls harder and at the same time finds the right spot. I've lost yet another round even before he loosens his fingers and circles that button with his knuckle—teasing, testing.

He fastens his other hand on my breast, keeping me in place. My body responds to him, and I don't like it. My clit swells, and my folds turn slick. I don't like what that means or what that makes me. I hate that I like how he looks at the work of his hand, studying his own actions with carnal interest.

Needing to stop this before it goes further, I push harder on his chest, but he easily yanks the towel off my hair and weaves his fingers through the long, wet tresses. My neck arches as he pulls my head back and holds me in place. His focus shifts from my sex to my face. The pressure of his knuckle increases as he leans closer and lowers his head.

The softness and warmth of his mouth on mine catches me by surprise. I didn't expect the kiss. At least not one as tender. When he slants his lips over mine and parts them with gentle but insistent pressure, a gasp catches in my throat. The stroke of his tongue lights an instant fire that spreads with languid heat through my veins.

Fisting his hand in my hair, he tears his mouth from mine and stares down at me with an expression so dark it makes me shiver. The touch of his knuckle disappears. I heave a sigh of both disappointment and relief when something cold and hard replaces flesh and bone. I look down. He's rubbing me with his ring, bringing me closer to the edge with the insignia of his family name.

This is wrong. I open my mouth to protest, but when I lift my gaze to his, he's studying me with wicked intention. He wants me to fight. He wants me to lose. He wants to show me how easily he can defeat me. So, I give him the opposite. I relax in his hold. I press my knees together and arch my hips forward, chasing the friction. My eyes drift closed as pleasure slowly spreads, overtaking objections and shame.

He shakes me hard. His command is harsh, angry almost. "Open your eyes."

His tight grip on my hair makes my eyes water when I oblige.

"That's right," he says, increasing the pressure of his ring on my clit. "Show me how you come for me."

A wave of pleasure rushes through me, contracting my muscles. My orgasm is sweet and agonizing at the same time. He's not smiling with satisfaction now. Victory is shining like a burning flame in his eyes as he drags his ring down the length of my slit, gathering my arousal.

Watching me, he presses his ring on his mouth before licking his lips clean in a slow, fluent motion. He tilts my head to the side and draws his nose along the arch of my neck to the shell of my ear, inhaling deeply.

"Happy birthday, cara," he whispers, planting a kiss on my temple.

As soon as I can stand on my wobbly legs, I step away from him. He allows me to escape, letting my hair slip through his fingers. Turning my back on him, I walk to the dressing room and pull underwear on. His huge form fills the doorframe as I dress in a sweater and stretch pants. He's studying me with narrowed eyes and his arms crossed over his chest as I brush out my hair.

When I'm done, I walk back to him, stop, and wait. He doesn't budge. I'm acutely aware of the bulge in his pants and the tension radiating from him.

"If you're waiting for me to return the favor, you'll wait a long time," I say.

His lips curve into a humorless smile. "You reckon? I can make you go down on your knees right this moment and swallow my cock."

I lift my chin to meet his gaze. "Why don't you?"

He clenches his jaw, regarding me with a broody expression.

I'm not sure what changed. Making me come shifted something between us. I'm still scared, but I'm no longer terrified. I don't think he'll kill me. On the other hand, I'm never sure what to expect from him.

"I want you to tell me how you got into my house," I say. "And then you can leave."

A cruel glint sparks in his eyes. "You're not going to bite the hand that feeds you, are you?"

My pulse flutters in my neck. "I don't know what you're implying. This has to stop, Angelo. You got what you wanted a long time ago. I need you to leave me alone. I want you to get the hell out of my house. Now."

His smile is calculated. "You can't kick me out of my own house."

His words are like a slap in my face. I reel from the impact. I can only look at him, shaking my head, because he can't mean what I think he does.

He raises a brow. "Didn't your brother tell you?"

A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. "Tell me what?"

"This house, your car, your bills, your studies…you didn't think Ryan was paying for everything?"

I stare at him in horror.

"That's right, cara." He drops his arms at his sides. "I've been taking care of you for a long time already." He advances a step, putting us toe to toe. "As is my duty." He adds with a mocking tilt of his lips, "However, showing a little gratitude won't hurt you."

Gasping for air, I fight an urge to hyperventilate. It can't be true. Why would Ryan do that to me? I can't handle more lies from someone in my family I trusted.

"That's right," he says, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. "You're mine to feed and clothe and keep safe. I hope the house pleases you. I thought you'd like it, knowing how much you love the beach and the sea."

It's too much to process. My head spins. Placing a palm over my stomach where the betrayal burns like a flaming torch, I back up to the center of the room. All this time, I lived on Angelo Russo's money. The worst is that Ryan let me.

Why?

"I can see this comes as a shock to you," Angelo says, stalking after me. "So I'll give you a little time to get over it." He takes something from his pocket. "Twenty-four hours, bella." Gripping my left hand in his, he slides a ring over my finger. "Then you're mine in every way."

My hand trembles in his hold. I look down. A huge solitaire diamond sparkles on my ring finger.

"No," I say, breathless, shaking my head again.

"I promised you." His tone carries a warning. "I told you I'd put that ring on your finger. Tomorrow, Sabella. In twenty-four hours, we'll get married in front of a magistrate." He drops my hand. "That should give you enough time to get your things in order."

I sound like a robot. "Married? My things in order?"

The lines of his face turn hard. "You're coming back to Corsica with me."

The statement sounds more like a threat. The declaration takes the wind out of my sails.

"What about my studies?" I exclaim. "I can't just pack up and leave."

"I already informed the university that you're dropping out."

I'm at a loss for words. I have no ammunition or defenses. Once more, I can only stand there on shaky legs and stare at him as he turns and leaves.