God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

Lying in bed, I struggle to fall asleep, my mind filled with the past two days’ events.

I saw another side of Damiano today. When he held me on his lap, I actually felt safe.

I felt more than safe.

Whenever I’m near him, there’s a constant fluttering in my stomach and my heart beats a mile a minute.

I’m becoming more and more aware of how attractive he is. The way he moves. The domineering air he carries himself with. The brisk way he talks.

Even the silence.

It feels like he says so much without him saying anything at all.

He held me tight, which means he does have a caring side. He hasn’t hurt me since the incident where he slammed me down on the floor.

He pressed kisses to my hair like he does with Aunt Aida, and it felt indescribably good.

For the first time in my life, a man has shown me kindness. I never in a million years expected it to be Damiano Falco.

My eyes start to burn with tears because now that I’ve felt some form of affection, it shines a glaring light on the cold and lonely childhood I had to endure.

It hurts.

I suck in a slow breath, trying to force the negative feelings down.

I never have to go home again.

I’ll never see my parents again.

They’ll never hurt me again.

Slowly, I start to feel calmer, and my thoughts turn to when Damiano kissed me.

It felt like he wanted me, and he made emotions I’ve never experienced burst in my chest.

A smile curves my lips, and I snuggle into my pillow.

The kisses were perfect.

While thinking about the upcoming shopping trip, I finally drift off to sleep.

My mother’s nails dig into my skin as she drags me to the living room. I hear voices rumble, and when we enter the room, my eyes dart over the men.

My father stands next to Santo, and they’re both looking at me with sneering smiles.

Stefano steps closer to Damiano, who doesn’t even look at me.

“Will you give your blessing, cousin?”

My heart thunders in my chest.

Mother shoves me forward, and I fall to my hands and knees.

Damiano pours himself a tumbler of bourbon before he turns to face me.

His eyes sweep over me with disgust, then he mutters, “Yes.”

The single word, sealing my fate, echoes around me.

Stefano closes in on me, and before I can scramble to my feet, he’s on top of me.

Suddenly, my parents pin my arms to the floor while Stefano crawls over my body.

“No!” I scream as I thrash against their hold.

When Damiano crouches beside us, I cry, “You were supposed to say no.”

His voice is a low rumble of thunder as he says, “You’re not strong enough to survive by my side.”

“No!” I sob as Stefano’s hands tear my clothes from my body. Everywhere he touches me, awful bruises appear, and blood starts to seep from my pores.

I scream, the taste of blood filling my throat.

Waking up with one hell of a start, I scramble off the bed, and running to the closet, I crawl into the farthest corner.

Wrapping my arms around my shins, I sit in the dark. I hold still as I try to stop the breaths from rushing over my lips.

Hiding in the closet is something I used to do to escape my parents. It’s been years since I’ve done it, but it’s the only thing I can think of while the nightmare’s still fresh in my mind.

A sob sputters over my lips, and I quickly press a hand to my mouth.

Shh…

What doesn’t break you makes you stronger.

Shh…

I can still feel Stefano’s hands on my body, and it makes my stomach churn.

“Gabriella!” Carlo’s voice cracks like thunder through the room.

Shh…

“Christ,” I hear him snap.

“Where is she?” I hear Damiano ask, his tone sounding very aggressive.

“No fucking idea,” Carlo mutters. “I heard her scream, and when I came into the bedroom, she was already gone.”

Suddenly, light fills the walk-in closet, and I let out a panicked sound. I desperately try to squeeze tighter into the corner, covering my mouth with both hands so I don’t make another sound.

“Fuck,” I hear Damiano growl. “You can go. I’ve got this.”

When my eyes fly up, I see Damiano towering in front of the closet with his gun in his hand. He’s only wearing sweatpants, but it doesn’t take away from how dangerous he looks right now as his eyes burn on me.

I start to shake my head and suppress the sob that’s threatening to choke me.

I struggle to get air into my lungs, and when he crouches beside me, my heart almost stops.

His tone is much gentler than I expect when he murmurs, “Breathe, principessa.”

Reaching for my hands, he pulls them away from my mouth. “You’re fucking smothering yourself.”

When he pulls me out of the closet, panic flares hot in my chest.

“No!” Instinct takes over and like hundreds of times before, I start to fight back.

My fists connect with bare skin, and I strain to get free, but strong arms wrap around me. I’m pinned to a solid chest, and it rips a cry from me.

“It’s okay, Gabriella. I’m here. You’re safe. No one can hurt you anymore,” I hear Damiano repeat over and over, and at some point, the words get through to me.

The fight drains from my body, and I sag against him as I suck in desperate breaths of air.

His hand brushes over my hair, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m here.”

He didn’t say yes.

It was just a nightmare.

When my breathing starts to slow down, he asks, “Feeling better?”

Nodding, I push away from him, and as I climb to my feet, a wave of intense embarrassment floods me.

Why did I react like that?

Dio. Damiano’s going to think I’m weak.

“I…I…” I stammer, my eyes flitting over the walk-in closet, the doorway to the bathroom, and just about everywhere but Damiano.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone deceptively soft.

Unable to avoid him, I lift my eyes to his face. His features are tense with anger, and it makes my heart sink.

Caro Dio.

“It was a nightmare,” I whisper. Disappointment trickles into my chest. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

He moves closer, and taking my hand, he pulls me into the dark sitting area in my suite. He sets his gun down on a side table and takes a seat on the floral-print sofa.

He pats his thigh. “Come.”

I brace my knee beside his thigh as I climb onto his lap and place my hand on his shoulder. He grips hold of my hips and tugs me flush with his body.

When the heat of his muscled chest seeps through the satin fabric of the cami I’m wearing, it sinks in that Damiano’s not wearing a shirt.

Holy crap.

My cheeks heat up, but I still manage to meet his eyes.

“What was the nightmare about?” he asks.

Once again, I feel embarrassed, as I admit, “You said yes.” My stomach churns when the awful remnants of the nightmare shudder through me. “You gave your permission for Stefano to marry me. My parents held me down, and he…he…” I can’t finish the sentence and just shake my head.

Damiano lifts his hand to my face, and when his palm cups my cheek, it feels so comforting my eyes drift shut.

His hand moves to the back of my head, and he nudges me to rest my cheek against his chest.

Silence wraps around us, and it soothes me.

For the second time today, I find safety in his arms, and it makes it so much harder not to cry.