Chapter 6: The Claiming
“Aren’t you?”
His hand slid up to cup her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about me every day. Tell me you don’t feel this thing between us—this pull. Tell me when you close your eyes at night, you don’t imagine what it would be like if I touched you. Really touched you.”
She couldn’t.
Because he was right. Because for three weeks, she’d been falling into something she didn’t have a name for. Something that felt like obsession and salvation mixed into one addictive poison.
“This is crazy,” she whispered.
“Yes. You’re twice my age. Yes, you’re a criminal, a killer, everything I should run from.”
“Yes.”
His other hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back. His eyes burning into hers.
“Tell me to stop, Lily. Tell me you want nothing to do with me, and I’ll walk away. I’ll make sure you’re protected. Make sure you have everything you need. And I’ll never contact you again. Say the word.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
This was the moment. The choice. The cliff edge where she could still step back. Still save herself.
“And if I don’t?”
The words came out barely audible.
“If I don’t want you to stop?”
The sound he made was something between a growl and a groan.
“Then God help us both.”
He kissed her.
Not gentle. Not tentative. But with weeks of restraint shattering into something fierce and desperate and utterly consuming. His mouth claimed hers like he was drowning and she was air. His hands pulling her against him until there was no space left between them.
She’d been kissed before.
Sweet kisses. Fumbling kisses. Forgettable kisses with forgettable boys.
This was something else entirely.
This was fire and possession and a hunger that threatened to devour them both. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting, claiming. She met him with equal desperation, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against hers.
“You should have told me to stop,” he said roughly. “I know this won’t be easy. Being with me means danger. Means looking over your shoulder. Means trusting men with guns to keep you safe because I’ve made enemies who’d use you to destroy me.”
His hands framed her face.
“I know I’m selfish enough to keep you anyway. I’m selfish enough to lock you away where nothing can touch you and pretend that’s love instead of obsession.”
“And if I’m selfish enough to want to be kept?”
She met his eyes, seeing her own recklessness reflected there.
“What then?”
His smile was sharp and dark and full of promise.
“Then I’ll give you everything. Every dark, damaged, dangerous piece of me. And I’ll take everything you offer in return. Until we can’t tell where you end and I begin.”
“Sal—”
“But first.”
He interrupted, his expression hardening into something lethal.
“I have to handle Dmitri. I have to make sure you’re safe. Really safe. Not just hidden away, but protected by the kind of reputation that makes men think twice before even breathing your name.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done years ago.”
He kissed her again. Softer this time. Almost tender.
“End this war on my terms. Make an example that will echo through every family, every organization, every criminal enterprise in this city.”
Fear spiked through her.
“You’re going to kill him.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No remorse. Just cold, simple fact.
“Him and anyone else who thought they could use you against me. I’ll paint the streets red if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”
She should have been horrified.
Should have pulled away. Called the police. Done something.
Instead, she kissed him back, tasting danger and devotion on his tongue.
And whispered against his mouth, “Come back to me.”
“Always.”
He promised.
“No matter what it costs. No matter who I have to bury—I’ll always come back to you.”
He left then.
Taking his security detail and his cold fury with him. Leaving her alone in the safe house with two guards and the terrible, exhilarating knowledge that she’d just sealed her fate.
She’d chosen the beast.
And now she’d have to live with the blood on his hands. Blood spilled in her name. For her safety. Because she’d become the one thing a man like Salvatore Constantino could never afford.
His weakness.
His obsession.
His reason to make the world burn.
