Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3), Lana Sky [summer reading list txt] 📗

My heart skips, my palms moistening with an unmistakable response—fight or flight. He has a way about him unlike anyone else. An ability to switch from patient to predatory within the blink of an eye.

From vulnerable to vicious.

“Do you want to know what Mateo Saleri sees when he looks at you?” he asks as I stop just beyond his reach.

Sighing, he pulls away from the wall, easily bridging the distance between us. His hand returns to my chin, cupping my jaw entirely. Tension makes his fingers shake, betraying the restraint he’s using to keep from gripping a fraction harder. From hurting me.

But he can’t. Without warning, his nail bites a hair’s width deeper.

“Do you?” he murmurs, staring deep into me. Through me. “He sees a commodity. A body he can buy and sell. A rabbit ripe for the slaughter. But do you want to know what I see?” He draws his hand away, his brow furrowed, and swipes at his own chin, disrupting the stubble there. “I see a little wolf, snarling, snarling… Too angry to decide whether or not to bite. Attack. So, I give you permission—bite me.”

His tone is so earnest I think he meant that. Hit him. Hurt him. Give him anything he can use to fight against. He wants more from me than he ever gave.

He craves violence—when I don’t even have a scar to show for what he’s done.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says offhandedly, returning to the bar cart. “When I made you that offer. Atonement. Have you made up your mind yet?” He picks up the drink, bringing it to his lips. “How to best make me suffer—”

I reach out before I even realize it just as he tilts the rim, intending to drink from it. My hand is on his, the tension like lightning. Each ripple and coil of muscle plays through my skin, and I’m painfully aware of just how tightly he’s gripping this glass.

He badly wants to drink the alcohol within. Not out of habit, or to relax. No. He just wants to hide from me. This is his newest version of drowning me out—altering his mental state if he has to.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist as I pull away, taking the glass in my hand. I can see in his gaze what he thinks I’ll do. Set it down so he can take it again. Play keep-away like Fabio does. Try to save Donatello from himself.

Because this vice? It’s his chosen weapon. Punishment via self-destruction.

Him. Him. Him.

It’s always about him.

Until I make it about me. I picture his reaction to Mateo Saleri, and it’s the only thing I see as I throw my head back and swallow everything in the glass.

It’s fire. I sputter as my throat contorts to expel every drop while my lips clamp together, selfishly trying to keep it down. As my heartbeat thunders against my eardrums, I realize why they’re ringing so painfully—someone is shouting directly into them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Everything. Being near him destroys everything I thought I knew about the person I’d become. My entire being narrows down to a shadow he seems determined to ignore. Denying him is the only way I have to make him see me.

I would laugh if I could as I wrench away from him, stumbling toward the balcony, my eyes burning, teeth bared with malice. My thoughts are a jumble, dangerously impulsive.

If I jumped, would he see me then?

Or would he still find a way to make himself the victim?

“Stop.” His voice is in my ear, his arms around me, and my body goes limp.

For a rare, painful second, it’s as if I’m the center of the universe—just as long as his focus is on me. Every little thing I do is under a microscope, nothing missed by him. Every breath. Every shudder. Every dangerous thought I’m only partially aware of thinking.

He smells so good, a stench that merges with the distant hints of smoke…

Abruptly, he pulls away, and I’m cold again. The wind mercilessly batters my flesh as if to punish me for relishing his warmth at all. For wanting his notice even if I have to claw and scrape to get it.

I can’t scream.

So, I just snarl soundlessly like the little wolf he accused me of being.

“Get inside.” He grabs for my hand, but I pull away and make him chase me to the corner of the balcony. Suddenly drained, I lean over the railing and watch the world sway below.

Tears prickle my eyes, but I can’t even begin to decipher why. My emotions are alien, wild things crawling through me with whims of their own.

I feel heavy. Weightless. Like nothing matters but seeking my own stability—the only thing capable of grounding me.

And it’s him.

I hate that it’s him. Piercing, hollow eyes that make me feel alive even when I’m dangling over a devastating drop. His alarmed shout spurs my heart into beating faster, his attention a drug more consuming than any amount of alcohol. I’ve been denied it for so long…

And I’m owed it. Every piece of him I can take.

I meet his gaze and hold it, advancing step by step until I’m the one chasing him inside. All he can do is grit his teeth, unsure of my motives. I don’t even know my own aim. Relentless, I just keep coming until he’s backed against the wall with nowhere to move.

But I don’t stop.

I crash into the wall of his body as though I intend to go right through him. I think it’s his heat I’m after. His nearness should be repulsive, overwhelming…

But it isn’t.

It’s intoxicating.

There is no way he can’t see me now. Feel me. I don’t have to say a single damn word to gain his notice. I only have to touch him, running my hands along his chest, to know everything there is to learn about Donatello Vanici. And for once, he can’t block me out. I can’t be overlooked.

“Stop it!” He snatches at my wrist as my fingers