Her dark salvation, p.25
Her Dark Salvation, page 25
“Sophie!” Anna exclaimed and handed a big glass of red to me over my shoulder.
“It’s okay. I think she likes me.”
“She likes anyone who pets her. She’s an absolute attention whore.” Sophie intensified her kneading. “Sorry about your pants.”
I waved it off. “I like cats. They like me. Always have. There was a stray who used to come around our apartment when Gina and I were kids.”
The wine was more acidic than I preferred but the alcohol had an immediate soothing effect. Especially with the cat on my lap and Anna’s warmth at my back. They all conspired to create a sense of comfort and home.
“The wine isn’t nearly as good as the ones I’ve had with you.” She rested her hands on my shoulders and started massaging my stiff muscles. “But I like it. Gets the job done.”
“It’s perfect.” I tipped my head back. “This is perfect.”
She bent over and kissed my forehead. “I’m glad you came over. I thought you might—” Her hands froze. “Marco?”
“Hm?”
“You have… There’s blood on your shirt.”
I glanced down to where Anna fingered my collar. “Huh. Don’t worry. It’s not mine.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d fucked up.
She came around the end of the couch and sat facing me, folding her hands in her lap. Knowing Anna, they’d probably started shaking. “Whose is it?” Her question was small and tentative, and it squeezed my heart.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t lie to her, and I planned on keeping that promise. “Someone’s. I don’t know. I needed to feed.”
Her face fell as if she suspected as much, but hoped I’d come back with a different answer. “Oh.”
That “oh” stabbed me through the heart and nearly killed me. She wasn’t angry or raging or throwing a fit. She just sat there, her hurt and disappointment wrapped up in a sad little “oh.”
I was the biggest fucking asshole on the planet.
“Who—Who is she?”
“It’s not important.”
“It’s important to me.”
“I really don’t know. I didn’t use a Source. It came from a bag.”
She lifted her eyes, and they were glassy with unshed tears. My heart broke, the look on her face twisting the knife.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly. “You could have fed from me. I would have let you.”
Goddammit. I ran a hand down my face. The day was already fucked. Might as well finish it off. “No, Anna. No, I couldn’t.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “I don’t understand. I gave you permission.”
“I already told you. I don’t feed from people I’m fucking.”
She blinked and gave her head a quick shake, a flash of anger visible through the hurt in her eyes. “Is that what we’re doing? Fucking?”
I winced. “No. I mean, yes, but that came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
What a nightmare. My capacity to deal was already hanging by a thread after watching my tightly controlled world unravel. This conversation was sure to make it snap.
“You’re human,” I said.
“Last time I checked.”
“I’m a blood demon. An immortal blood demon. An immortal blood demon connected to the Mafia.”
“And?”
I ground my teeth. “I don’t feed for pleasure.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because it’s one or the other for me. Always has been.”
Because I’d never been able to get the image of a stranger drinking from Mamma’s neck out of my head. Because separating feeding from pleasure was the only way I’d been able to live with the guilt of her sacrifice. Because tearing down that wall meant committing to Anna, and committing Anna to risking her life. For me. I couldn’t allow her to make that sacrifice.
“If I start feeding from you, I won’t want to stop. I won’t want to feed from anyone else, and I can’t depend on you for blood. You don’t belong in this world.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” A sharp edge entered her voice, but there was no stopping this avalanche. It was barreling down the mountain at full speed.
I rested my elbows on my knees, shoved my hands into my hair, and stared at the carpet. “My life is dangerous. The only way I can protect you is to keep my distance, and I’ve already fucked that up. I was reckless at the gala. I risked your safety parading you around. Put a target on your back. The feds went after you for information even before the gala. They’ll be more aggressive now. I seized all the pictures of us, but I can’t erase people’s memories. People talk, and I have enemies.”
I shook my head in my hands. “You don’t want a future with me. You don’t want to give up your life as a human and bind yourself to a blood demon. You don’t want to be a pawn in this game, leverage the feds or the Irish can use to get to me. You deserve better than that. You deserve safety and security. If I failed you, if I failed to protect you…”
My voice broke saying those words out loud, and I didn’t have the strength to finish the thought. I’d failed so many people. If I failed her, it would kill me.
“You’re too precious to be a part of my world, Anna. I can’t allow it.”
I turned my head in my hands, finally able to face her.
All traces of sadness were gone. Red splotches of fury crept up her neck and her eyes flashed with anger. “You won’t allow it?”
Her heated tone snapped the final thread of my control. “No,” I clapped back. “I won’t allow it!”
She stood and shoved a finger in my face. “Fuck you, Marco DeVita!” Her face turned a fiery red. “You’ve got a lot of goddamned nerve.” She stalked to the other side of the room, fuming.
Before I could explain all the reasons she was better off without me, she threw her hands in the air and laughed hysterically at the ceiling. “What is it with people telling me what I can and can’t handle?”
She planted her hands on her hips and leveled me with a heated stare, tears spilling down her flushed cheeks. “Guess what, Marco? You do not get to make my decisions for me. In one day”—she held up a finger and started counting—“I found out supernatural beings existed, the man I’m falling in love with is one of them, and he’s in the Mafia! In one day! Barring the fainting spell, I think I handled it pretty fucking well.” Her chest heaved with the ferocity of her temper.
I got off the couch and gave her a slice of my own. “This isn’t a game,” I roared. “I’m looking out for you. Be reasonable. You could get hurt.”
“Don’t tell me to be reasonable! Don’t tell me what to do or how to feel or what I want! Don’t tell me what I can’t handle!” Her voice went shrill, shaking through each declaration. Hot, angry tears streamed down her face.
God, I’d fucked up. Pressed the worst possible button. And I was too exhausted from the ring and Luca and the shitstorm that was my life to figure out what to do about it. I opened my arms, needing to hold her, but she held up her hands.
“Why did you come here tonight?” Her voice went quiet. “If you never saw a future for us, why did you come here?”
“I wanted to see you. I need you.”
She nodded. “But not enough to bite me.” She canted her head. “Right?”
“That’s not fair,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
She hiccupped on a sob and swiped the tears from beneath her glasses. “You don’t get to come in here and dictate the terms of our relationship. There are two people standing here, and we both get a say.” She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let out a shaky exhale. “Well, here’s mine.
“It’s taken me years to figure this out, but now that I have, there’s no going back. I’m done compromising what I want. I’m done short-changing myself because I’ve bought into someone else’s rhetoric. I know what I want, Marco. I want this.” She waved a finger between us. “I want you. And you might not feel the clock ticking, because you’re immortal, but I sure as hell do. My life’s too short to waste a single precious moment on something that’s not going anywhere.
“You need to decide what you want. Do you want to continue playing the martyr? The noble hero who sacrifices his own happiness for the sake of others? Or are you ready to start living your life for a reason other than making up for past wrongs?”
My jaw clenched and so did my fists, my temper rising to a vicious peak. I needed to get out of there before I exploded and made the entire fucked-up situation even worse. I grabbed my suit jacket and coat off the hook. “This conversation isn’t over,” I growled and put on my coat.
She wrapped her arms around her middle, and her face fell, the hurt and disappointment returning to drive the knife deeper into my heart. “Isn’t it? What’s left to say? You want this to end. I don’t.”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I don’t want this to end. Not at all.” I opened the door. “But what I want will change your life and put you in danger. And more than anything, I want to protect you.”
Tears fell and her lip quivered, and I couldn’t handle her pain on top of my broken heart. I walked out the door before I lost my resolve and put the life of one more person I loved in jeopardy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anna
My Saturday night was going about as well as expected given Marco’s latest and most infuriating foray into tyranny. It took nearly an hour for me to finish my slice of reheated pizza and Caesar salad between sporadic bouts of crying, the latest spell triggered by the Mike’s Pastry box still sitting on the counter. That one dragged every last tear out of me. Deflated, I poured myself a glass of Chianti and sank into the corner of my couch to watch my fake fireplace dance to Dean Martin and stroke Sophie’s long, soft fur.
More than sadness or even frustration, I was disappointed, in the situation and in Marco. As much as I wanted to diminish my feelings and relegate them to lust, I couldn’t lie to myself. I’d finished lying to myself when I’d gone on sabbatical, and I wasn’t going to start up again now. We were good together. We had the chemistry and the connection to build a solid, fulfilling future, and he’d ruined it with his over-protective, caveman bullshit.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table, a short, intense earthquake that made me jump and spill wine on my sweatshirt. “Shit!” The screen lit up, and I craned my neck to see the number, hoping it was Marco and hoping it wasn’t.
I sighed, heavy with disappointment and relief. I set my wine down and picked up the phone. “Hey, Siobhán. What’s up?”
“What are you doing?”
“Not thinking about Marco.”
She snorted. “Right. And I’m not thinking about Luca.”
I chewed the side of my fingernail. Siobhán didn’t have a clue about the whole Luca debacle yet. What a mess.
“Wanna go out? Not think about them together?”
“Sure. I could use a girl’s night. Where to?”
“Duh. Vesuvio.”
I groaned.
“Don’t worry. Marco won’t be there. He’s at Terme hosting a dinner for some big muckety-mucks. Come ooon.” The long whine of her on made me laugh. “I don’t want to pay for drinks.”
“All right, all right. Vesuvio it is. Gimme like thirty minutes to get dressed.” I fingered the messy pile of hair on top of my head. “And do something with this mop.”
“Yes! Thank you! I’ll grab a cab and pick you up.”
“See you soon.”
I curled my hair and brushed mascara onto my eyelashes, but it failed to hide the puffiness from crying. I decided on the low-cut red sweater that always drew Marco’s eye, a new pair of faux leather leggings, and heels high enough even Siobhán would raise her eyebrows, determined to feel fabulous regardless of how miserable I felt. Thirty minutes later, I walked out of my condo on a mission to have fun and stop brooding over unapproachable blood demons with a foot in the Italian Mafia.
I scooted into the back seat of the cab, and Siobhán, effortlessly stunning as usual, scanned my ensemble. “Damn, girl! Let’s do this!”
The line to enter Vesuvio extended the entire city block. We climbed out of the cab, and Siobhán led us straight to the entrance, bypassing the velvet-roped line of patrons.
“Matteo,” she purred and flashed her starlet smile at the bouncer, one of Marco’s immovable centurions complete with sunglasses.
He nodded. “Ms. Connelly.” He addressed me with an equally formal nod. “Ms. Barone.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised he knew my name. In fact, knowing Marco, every bouncer, chauffeur, and doorman on the DEI payroll probably knew my name, blood type, and shoe size.
He held the door open, and we crossed the threshold into a wall of bodies and heat.
A DJ spun house music from turntables in front of the empty fireplace. Men and women in cocktail attire sipped drinks as expensive as their clothes and gyrated to the hypnotic beat under a dizzying array of dancing lights.
Eric the bartender spotted us above the crowd in front of the bar. Siobhán flashed a ruby-red-manicured peace sign, and he lifted his chin and winked.
“Can’t beat the service,” I shouted over the music.
She smiled mischievously. “Now you know why I come here.”
Eric raised two martini glasses filled with a hazy, clear liquid and garnished with fat olives. I licked my lips. Siobhán wedged her way through the crowd and reached between heads to grab our drinks. She handed one to me, and I almost groaned with my first sip of dirty martini. Salty, smooth, top-shelf perfection.
She led us to the back of the bar near the roped-off winding staircase. A bar top protruded from the wall in the tucked away corner where the speakers faced away from us and gave us a reprieve from the heavy bass.
Siobhán swigged her martini and set it on the counter. “Talk to me. What’s going on with Marco? That’s an all-men-can-fuck-right-off outfit if I’ve ever seen one.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wanted to look fabulous, that’s all.”
“Mission accomplished,” she said dryly.
“As for Marco? He’s just being Marco, I suppose.”
“Lemme guess—over-protective, over-bearing, and unreasonable?” She raised an eyebrow and bent her mouth in a look that said, “I told you so.”
I avoided her eyes and sipped my drink.
“Well, the damage is done. But…” She sighed. “It’s cause he’s into you, Anna. Really into you. And…” She looked askance, as if weighing her words.
“And what?”
“And men like Marco don’t do dating lightly.”
I snorted. “Understatement. I don’t think he does anything lightly.”
She tipped her martini glass toward me before taking another sip.
“He doesn’t…” Siobhán knew about Marco and Luca’s Mafia connections. That much was clear. But the existence of blood demons? Doubtful. “He doesn’t want to pursue a long-term relationship.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in so many words, but he thinks his life is too dangerous for me.”
“Uh…” Siobhán looked around as if she was missing something. “Isn’t that up to you to decide?”
I threw my arms in the air. “Thank you!”
“Made men. They’re all the same. They think because they run their little empires, they get to run our lives, too.” She scoffed and slammed back half of her drink.
“How do you know so much about this?”
“Let’s just say I wasn’t always the refined businesswoman you see standing in front of you. Luca may be an asshole, but he’s right about one thing. There’s a lot of truth and history wrapped up in this accent.” She let her guard down with that last statement, and the harsh vowels of Southie emerged from beneath their polished, vaguely British veneer.
She hid it well, but Siobhán had the hard accent that came along with a hard upbringing in a hard neighborhood. Knowing the tension between the Italians and the Irish, I wondered how much that had played a role in Luca and Siobhán’s volatile relationship.
“Was that the problem with you and Luca?”
“Him being over-protective and wanting to run my life?” She scoffed. “No. It was never like that with us,” she said, and a sad smile took over her face.
She stared into her drink for a moment before pulling one of the olives off the toothpick with her teeth, careful not to mar her bright red lipstick.
“I thought he was someone different. He thought the same about me. I flew off the handle. So did he.” She shrugged. “And now we have a completely dysfunctional relationship.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast before taking a hefty swig.
I took another drink myself, and the vodka burned as it trailed down my throat and settled in my stomach. The martini was going down way too fast and way too easy.
“It’s okay you have a thing for him, Siobhán.”
“No, it’s not. Who has a thing for players?” She took the toothpick and remaining olive out of her drink and pointed it at me. “Players who don’t even like you. Players who actively dislike everything about you.” She ate the olive and drained her drink. “That’s messed up.”
“Consider you’re talking to someone pining after a man who told her they had no future together.” God, that hurt to say out loud. Siobhán winced, and I finished my martini. “You know what’s the worst part about the whole thing?”
“What?”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll have to go back to having boring sex.”
“Oh God.” She grabbed my arm, and a horrified expression crossed her face. “Was that what you were doing before Marco? Having boring sex?”
“Terrible! I can’t go back to that any more than I can go back to teaching. I can’t.” I shook my head. “I won’t!”
Her eyes widened. “This requires more alcohol.”
The second martini went down as easily as the first, and responsible middle-aged adults that we were, we slowed our roll with the third. I had enough trouble standing in high heels, I didn’t need any added challenges.
