3. Liliana

Chapter 3

Liliana

TWO DAYS LATER

I don't know what woke me up, but I stared at the ceiling, my heart racing, and this sense of dread settling deep within me. I laid there for a moment, listening, trying to calm this sudden fear.

When I heard nothing but my body refused to calm down, I pushed myself up on the bed and looked around. My breathing increased, my heart kept racing, and sleep wasn't going to happen. After scrubbing a hand over my eyes, I stared out my bedroom window. The glass was old and foggy, with a crack in the corner that I'd had to repair with a strip of duct tape.

I figured my father and brother had broken in… again. Although I saw them infrequently anymore unless they had nowhere else to go… or hide from the problems chasing them. If they weren't drunk as skunks or higher than kites and stumbling in, they were hiding from someone they owed money to.

Changing the locks or trying to keep my home mine wasn't fixing my problems or keeping them away.

Once again, irritability consumed me for trying to help my father and Logan.

My thoughts became even more annoyed when I realized how foolish I'd been to go see Matteo. He could've killed me, or worse. He could've done anything he wanted to me, and I would have been at the mercy of whatever twisted desires he had.

But he let me go.

And for days, I'd been thinking about the why of it all. I sat here for hours on end contemplating all my life's decisions where my father and brother were concerned… where Matteo was concerned.

And it was in the middle of the night that I realized I had to make a change for myself. I couldn't stay in this shitty city any longer. I couldn't risk being brought down even further.

I wanted to swim to the surface. I wanted to see the light for the first time in my life.

So with that plan in mind, I knew I had to leave Desolation. And I had to do it soon.

I finally said fuck them.

I was going to pack up my shit, take the meager amount of money I'd saved, and was going to leave.

So here I was, heading into the kitchen in the middle of the night with a smile on my face because I finally felt good for once in my life. I finally felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do.

I didn't know when I'd leave, didn't know how the outcome would play out. I just knew I would leave, and I'd do it as soon as humanly possible.

Drug addicts, pushers and dealers, and crime lords riddled this shitty town. And if you weren't selling yourself on the street corner just to survive, you worked until your fingers bled and your eyes crossed.

If you weren't lucky enough to get out, the other option to leave Desolation was to be buried, more than likely in a shallow grave on the outskirts of town because you fucked with the wrong person.

And that's what was going to happen to my father and Logan. Sooner rather than later, they'd be nothing but memories of a shitty part of my life. And so, I had to get out to save myself because I'd be damned if I allowed anyone to bring me down with them.

I was just pissed that I had waited so long only to come to that realization. But I'd still tried to find happiness amidst an enormous pile of shit.

I stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, turned on the faucet, and filled it up. The water tasted coppery, but it was all I knew and had gotten used to the flavor of blood filling my mouth.

I just stared down at the sink, the basin showing so much age. The faucet only worked half of the time. And the water took a few seconds to turn clear once the water ran.

It only took a second before I felt this tightening on my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I just knew… knew that I wasn't alone.

I grabbed the dull butcher knife I kept in the top drawer and spun around, my heart already racing as I scanned the small, one room main living area.

At first, I saw nothing, but as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, I sucked in a quick breath when I saw a large body sitting on the single piece of furniture I owned.

The massive figure was clearly male. He sat in the dark on a chair pressed into the shadowed corner, the darkness shrouding him so I couldn't clearly make out who he was. He was big, though, wearing all black; the night wrapped around him, as if it were familiar with the type of man he was.

It was only after a moment that I knew who sat in the seat before me, watching me, able to kill me before I even uttered a word.

Matteo.

For long moments, I couldn't speak, my tongue too thick, my throat too dry and tight. My fingers were curled tightly around the hilt of the knife, painfully so.

I'd never actually hurt someone, never used a weapon for bodily harm ever in my life. And I didn't know if I could start now, didn't know if I could plunge this blade into Matteo if he came after me.

But he just sat there watching me, and although I couldn't make out his expression, I could feel his penetrating gaze locked on me.

I heard thrump-thrump. Thrump-thrump . I looked down to see him tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. He slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and a swatch of the muted yellow street light that came through the living room window showed me his face.

My hand shook, my skin slippery from sweat, and before I knew it, the knife fell to the kitchen floor with a clatter.

All I heard was ringing in my ears. I knew without a doubt Matteo had come here to kill me. There was no other explanation why he was sitting in my living room in the middle of the night.

How long had he been here? Why didn't he kill me while I slept?

You fool. You've heard the rumors. He likes the torture. He likes inflicting pain. He probably wants to hear me scream and beg for my life.

I wish I was strong and could say I wouldn't do any of that. But that was a lie.

"Come here, Liliana."

I shook my head, and he tsked and leaned forward in the chair, bracing his forearms on his knees and staring at me.

"Ah, sweetheart," he all but purred. "You'll come to realize that denying me what I want only makes me harder than fucking steel."

My throat was tight and dry, and my head rushed with this intoxicating high that terrified me.

"Ora, fai la brava ragazza e vieni qui, cazzo."

Moisture pooled between my legs despite the fact I didn't understand a word because he spoke in Italian.

"Now, be my good girl and fucking get over here."

My heart raced, and the sound of that promise and violence all mixed was like a shot of heroin in my veins.

This man was dangerous. He was dominant. Aggressive.

And here I was, obeying him and moving closer.

When I was only a few feet away, my heart started beating so fast and hard that I wondered if he could hear it, if he could smell the sweat pooling between my breasts and sliding down the length of my spine.

My fight-or-flight instinct was strong, my body screaming that I needed to get far away from the danger.

Yet, my feet stayed cemented in place, my hands curled so tightly my nails dug into my palms painfully.

There was this resolve that settled inside of me. I would not back down.

If I was going to die, I would at least do it with my eyes open and my head held high. I might beg. I would probably plead, but I would look him in the eye when he ended me.

"Just do what you're going to do," I whispered those words, not even realizing I said them out loud until they hung in the air between us.

He didn't respond. I didn't even think he breathed as he stared at me.

I moistened my lips and uncurled my fists so I could run my palms up and down my outer thighs.

"And what is it you think I need to get on with, baby?"

I didn't allow myself to think of the endearments. I knew this wasn't a good man. He was playing with me.

A cat-and-mouse game. Tossing me in the air just to watch me fall back down to the ground a broken, limp mess so he could continue to do it repeatedly.

"Just kill me." I bit my lip hard enough I felt the skin break, tasted the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. "I know that's what you want to do anyway," I whispered, feeling my whole body shake but was proud of myself for keeping eye contact with him.

I noticed his jaw clench, his expression hard as he looked at my face, spending extra seconds on where my healing bruise was.

"Because that's what you're going to have to do. I won't let you use me."

He didn't respond, just stared at me with an unreadable expression.

"It's good you see me as a monster," he finally said.

He leaned back and spread his thighs slightly, his body massive in the chair, dwarfing the size of the small piece of furniture.

"Because that's what I am, Liliana. I'm what nightmares are made of. I revel in it, clutch it close to my heart." His nostrils flared, and I saw aflicker of emotion move across his face. "The world will eat you up and spit you out, so being a mean son of a bitch who kills before being killed is the only way to survive."

He started drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair again. The sound would've been hypnotic if I wasn't already trying to calm my racing heart and dry my sweaty palms.

"My death is the only outcome in this situation." I shook my head, but I didn't know what I was denying, didn't know what I was trying to convey.

The rest of the words were right at the tip of my tongue, ready to spew forth like a slap to his face.

"I won't become someone you sell… another whore in your ledger of money-making schemes."

"Liliana dolce e vulnerabile. Non voglio ucciderti." Sweet, vulnerable Liliana. I don't want to kill you. His smile was slow and big, and it terrified me. "Voglio farti mia." I want to make you mine.