Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

U nable to summon any kind of appetite, I push the food around my plate and stare into the flickering flames of the fireplace that fails to warm me despite the heat radiating through the room. The fire does cast a warm, golden glow over the dark wood paneling and plush leather chairs in my—no, Renzo's office. It's cozy now, quieter without him looming over me, but the comfort is hollow. He's back, and with him, every inch of this space is his again. I marvel at how quickly I had made myself at home here, the way I filled the space with my presence, my decisions, my control.

When I first married Renzo, fear gripped me so tightly that drawing a full breath was barely possible. I had wanted to run, to escape the moment the ink dried on the marriage certificate. But when everything went to hell, I stepped up. I took the reins, and for the first time, I felt powerful. No, it felt fucking glorious. My mother, spiteful as she is, was right—I would've made a great leader of the family. She would've been, too, if she'd ever had the chance. But, in accordance with her father's wishes, she married my father and settled for pulling his strings from behind the scenes. I'm cut from the same cloth, tougher than my father ever was. Smarter, too. Running the family didn't terrify me; it exhilarated me. I loved every second of it. It was my birthright, but he gave it away.

I sip my wine, savoring the rich, bold flavor as it coats my tongue. Renzo's earlier warning about alcohol creeps into my mind, making me pause. He said it dulls my senses which makes me vulnerable. But I can't let him control me. Not entirely. I tip the glass back and drain it in one go, defiance burning in my chest. I want to hate him…to challenge him on every level but then he has this control over me. Not just physically but mentally. I lust for him. How do I fight that?

The reality of my situation slams into me once again—Renzo is a vampire. A fucking vampire. The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but not-unreasonable terror clings to my skin like a second layer. This isn't some fantasy where the vampire has a tragic backstory and an unquenchable thirst for love. Renzo is dangerous, unpredictable, and none of the crap from movies will work on him. No garlic, no holy water. I've seen his reflection in mirrors; I've seen him eat garlic without flinching. And though he rarely goes outside during the day, I've caught glimpses of him in the sunlight, and the only part of him that sparkles are his eyes when he's incredibly turned on. He isn't bound by a single goddamn myth, and that terrifies me more than anything.

Images flash through my mind—Renzo's eyes on me in the mirror as he fucked me, his grip tight, possessive. I swallow hard, trying to banish the memory, but it lingers, taunting me. There's no escape. Shooting him doesn't work, so maybe a stake through the heart? But if nothing else about vampires is true, why would that be? I'm running out of ideas, running out of hope.

I think about pouring myself another glass of wine, but fear wraps around my heart, squeezing tight. God, I can't live like this—constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if the man I'm married to is going to be the one who ends me. Running seems like my only option. Australia still sounds good. It's far, isolated, and big enough to lose myself in. Change my name, change my look, disappear.

But I'll need help. And money. Well, the money part is easy. I've had a secret bank account in Luxembourg since I was old enough to understand who my father really was. Unlike the Swiss, Luxembourg is ironclad—discreet and impenetrable. I've been squirreling money away for years, ever since my grandfather died and left me a small fortune. I told my parents I blew it on cars, apartments, and vacations, but instead, I invested it wisely. Now, I've got nearly eight figures tucked away. So, while money isn't a problem. logistics are. Obtaining a fake passport, finding someone trustworthy enough to get me out without alerting Renzo. And so many other tiny details that could trip me up.

I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I text Pippa.

Do you remember our trip to Mexico?

Her response is immediate.

Yes.

I think it's time for another trip like that one. I need some help packing. You up for it?

Yes. I'll need a few days though. Got a few things to do.

Relief floods me, so intense it nearly brings me to tears. Pippa's on board. She can get me a good quality fake passport. The by-product of being a capo's daughter ensures that she knows the right people to create a new identity for me. I blink rapidly, pushing back the sting of tears that I refuse to let fall.

Okay. Let me know what works for you. xx

Will do.

I delete the texts, erasing any trace of my plans. Renzo can't know. He'd be livid, and the thought of his anger sends a shiver of dread through me. But I can't back down. Not now. Vampire or not, I have to stand my ground. If I suddenly start behaving differently, he'll know something's up.

My heart aches with a strange sense of loss. I'd begun to hope, stupidly, that Renzo and I could be more than just a power play. That we could have something real. He respected my decisions while he was gone and had praised the way I handled things. I felt proud. I felt valued. But I was a fool to believe it could be anything more than a twisted game. Renzo is a vampire, and worse, he's a male—possessive, controlling, and maddeningly arrogant. I shake my head and rise from the sofa, the weight of my decisions pressing heavily on my shoulders. Just a few more days. Then I'm gone.

I head upstairs slowly, anxiety churning in my stomach with each step I climb. The thought of sharing a room with Renzo tonight is unbearable. I reach the top of the stairs and turn sharply away from his bedroom. There are plenty of other rooms to choose from, and I need space. I choose the one at the end of the hall, the farthest from him. I open the door and step inside, closing it firmly behind me.

The room is simple, almost stark compared to Renzo's. A king-size bed with a white duvet, a small dresser, and a nightstand. The bathroom is modest, with a walk-in shower. It's nothing like the opulence of Renzo's room, but it's enough for tonight. I lock the door, then the bathroom door, shedding my clothes as the water heats up. Steam quickly fills the small space, fogging the mirror. I step into the shower and let the hot water pour over me, washing away the day's grime and stress.

The water stings as it hits the scratches Angelo left on my breasts, and the bruises on my hips throb dully. My gunshot wound aches slightly. I close my eyes, trying to push away the memories. Angelo is dead; I'll never have to worry about him touching me again. There's comfort in that, even if the way it happened still horrifies me.

A sudden gust of cool air chills my skin, and I gasp, spinning around. Renzo is standing in the shower with me, naked and utterly unbothered by my shock. His large form fills the small space, his eyes dark and unyielding as they rake over my body. My breath catches in my throat, and I scramble for words .

"I—I want to be left alone," I stammer, backing away until I hit the cold tiles.

Renzo's lips curl into a lazy, knowing smile, his gaze locking onto mine. "I'm aware of that, gattina. But that's not an option."

Kitten. He always calls me kitten, and every time, it feels more like a collar than an endearment.

"I need a break. I've been through a lot." I say, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavers.

The way he moves closer tells me I didn't come across as confident as I wished to. His fingers trail lightly down my back, brushing against the bruises on my hip with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the hard glint in his eyes.

"You have," he acknowledges, his tone almost tender. "But you're strong, Mia. And you don't get to hide from this. You don't get to hide from me ."

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear his words. His touch sends familiar heat curling through my body, and I hate myself for the way I react to him…the way his presence consumes me. "Renzo, I just need one night. Alone."

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch is firm, possessive. "No, gattina. You will not be alone. Not ever again. I'll be with you, always. You need a good night's sleep, and the best way to get that is if you're relaxed. Let me help you relax."

His words are a command wrapped in the thin veneer of an offer, and the unspoken threat lingers in the space between us. I tremble, caught between fear and a twisted kind of longing. Renzo is a monster, but he's my monster, and tonight, there's no escaping him.

Renzo grabs the soap, working it between his hands until it foams, thick and rich. He lathers my shoulders first, his touch both firm and oddly soothing as the warm water cascades over us. My skin tingles under his hands, but panic is clawing its way up my throat, suffocating me. He moves slowly, deliberately, washing me as if I'm something precious and fragile, his fingers sliding down my arms and tracing every line and curve of my body.

I try to focus on the feeling of his touch, but my chest tightens, and the weight of everything crashes back down. Renzo's hands move to my neck, then lower, skimming over my collarbone and working down to my breasts. The soap stings as it seeps into the scratches Angelo left on me, and I can't stop the sharp intake of breath that escapes my lips.

Renzo pauses, his gaze piercing. "What is it, gattina?" he asks, voice low and edged with concern.

"It's…the scratches," I manage, my voice strained. "The soap makes them sting."

He doesn't say anything, just gently turns me under the warm spray, letting the water rinse the suds from my chest. The heat soothes my skin, but before I can catch my breath, Renzo bends his head, his mouth hovering dangerously close to my scored flesh. His tongue flicks out, warm and wet, tracing the angry red lines with deliberate care. A shiver runs through me; my body caught between fear and an undeniable heat that coils in my stomach.

Renzo's hands continue their slow, torturous path, roaming over my skin, leaving a trail of soap and bubbles that feel far too intimate, too possessive. I try to keep my breathing steady, but it's no use. My mind keeps flashing back to Angelo—his hands grabbing at me, rough and unwanted. The memory taints every touch, and I feel filthy, unclean no matter how much I try to scrub it away. I can't breathe. I can't think. I bring my arms up, shoving Renzo away with all the strength I can muster.

"No. I can't. Just… No." My voice cracks, a mix of anger and desperation.

Renzo's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing to emerald slits. There's a flicker of something dangerous there, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. "You're upset." His voice is cold enough to frost the water cascading over us. "You need to get over it, Mia. I am a vampire. I cannot change that. You will adapt." He moves to lower his head again, intent on reclaiming my body, but a strangled cry bursts from my lips, and I try to slip past him. His hands clamp down on my arms, pinning me against the cool, unforgiving tiles .

"You will obey me, Mia." His voice rumbles low and threatening. "You will welcome my touch, vampire or not."

My breath comes in frantic, shallow gasps, and my vision blurs as tears sting my eyes. I'm spiraling, lost between fear, anger, and the remnants of my own desire. "It's… it's not the vampire thing," I gasp, my voice barely audible over the rush of the water. And I realize I've spoken the truth.

"Then what is it, my gattina?" Renzo demands, his voice sharp, cutting through the steam like a blade. "Why are you so upset? Why are you fighting me?"

I swallow hard, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I just… I just don't want to be touched. Angelo, he—he grabbed at me, and I feel dirty." My voice breaks, raw and unfiltered, as I finally give voice to the shame and fear that have been suffocating me. No matter how many showers I take, I feel like the filth will never wash away.

Renzo's face hardens, his eyes glittering with a fury so intense it makes my heart skip a beat. Rage radiates off him in dark, violent waves, and for a moment, I think he might snap. I shrink back into the corner of the shower, bracing myself for the worst, my whole body tensing as I wait for his inevitable wrath.

"Mia," he snarls, his voice rough and edged with a barely restrained anger. "Look at me." He grabs my chin, his grip unyielding as he forces me to meet his gaze. His eyes burn with a fierce intensity, but there's something else there, too—something raw and unspoken. "Angelo is dead. If I could raise him from the dead, I would delight in killing him a second time, but much more slowly and painfully. He is beyond ever touching you. I will never let any man hurt you ever again. You are safe with me. Do you understand?"

His words are like a lifeline, cutting through the chaos in my mind, and I blink back the tears that blur my vision. Renzo's voice softens, his grip on my chin loosening slightly as he leans closer, his breath warm against my face. "I will not force you to do anything you don't want to do," he says, his lips curling into a brief, almost teasing smile. "At least not in the bedroom." His face goes serious again, his expression hardening with the weight of his words. "I can't change what happened, but you need to know that you are safe. None of this was your fault. You hear me? You are not dirty. You are mine, and no one will ever touch you without my permission."

I want to tell him that words don't fix anything, that his promises are just empty comfort, but somehow, his voice cuts through my doubt. It's as if he's reached inside me and anchored me to something solid, something real. My whole world has been turned upside down, and I'm still trying to make sense of it, but when Renzo tells me I'm safe, I believe him.

I don't understand why, but I do.

Renzo picks up the soap again, building a thick lather between his strong hands. He starts at my shoulders, his touch slow and deliberate, and I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the feeling of his hands on me. He moves in smooth, rhythmic circles, washing away the remnants of my fear with each gentle stroke, covering every inch of my skin in soapy bubbles. I feel his strength, his unspoken promise, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to relax just a little.

I'm still afraid, still uncertain of what comes next, but as Renzo continues to wash me, the edge of my panic recedes. The water beats down on us, hot and cleansing, and I lean into the sensation, into the quiet comfort of his touch. Renzo is a monster—I know that now more than ever—but right here, in this moment, he's my monster, and for tonight, that's enough.