Sofia
A faded, white ray of consciousness drags me out of the darkness. I hear the noises first. It sounds like a ferocious storm churning outside, the thunder so loud that I imagine it rocking the roof.
I struggle to open my eyes and when I do, I find myself facing a cedar ceiling instead of the one I have gotten used to in the last few weeks. I sit up with a jerk, my head swaying at the sudden movement. Fear clutches my chest in desperate claws, making me draw harsh breaths when I scan the room I am in with my aching eyes.
It is a small room with a cozy ambiance. There is the bed where I am lying, a wardrobe, a bathroom door, and a path through French doors that leads to a balcony where the rain is hitting the panes sharp enough to cause some serious damage.
Panic creeps into my mind as I struggle to recall how I wound up in this place. My last memory is of talking to Gabriel in the graveyard before everything went dark.
I glance downward, alarm bells going off in my head as I notice the change of my outfit. I am in a pale blue T-shirt and shorts. They are made of soft fabrics but the awareness that I didn't dress in them this morning has me crawling down the bed in a hurry.
My bare feet land on the hardwood floor, making light taps as I reach the only door in the room. On stepping outside, the same walls and minimal decor follow me as I climb down a row of stairs, rushing across rooms until I land on a carpeted floor.
I stop, first noticing the news playing on the huge TV where a reporter talks about the descending change in the Big Apple's weather. Below the TV, an electric fireplace is lit up with duplicate flames dancing wildly. Although it is cold outside, the place inside is heated adequately, making it comfortable. The room also serves a kitchen on the other side where a polished island sits with a stove atop it.
Across the TV is a couch where a man sits, spreading himself like a king with arms stretched and his feet crossed at the ankles on top of a coffee table. Gabriel has his shirt unbuttoned all the way, displaying his ripped torso proudly while he swirls a brownish liquid in a glass in one hand. His concentration is glued to the screen.
I walk a few steps, coming into the view of his periphery. He ignores me which makes me the first to speak to grab his attention.
"Where are we?" I ask, hugging myself awkwardly.
Gabriel swallows the drink in his glass, picking up the remote from the coffee table. He mutes the woman on the TV, places the empty glass down with a soft slick, and rises to his full height. He turns to me.
"Senorita," he says, feigning pleasure on seeing me awake. "Did you have a good sleep?"
This sarcastic asshole...
I keep the curses down, fighting the spasms in my jaw. "Where did you bring me?"
Gabriel raises his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just the savior, darling. Don't give me that look."
"What happened to me? And where are my clothes?"
He sighs, scratching the center of his forehead with his thumb like one would do if they were attempting discourse with a pest.
"Long version—" he starts, then shakes his head to himself. "Nope, way too much to tell and I'm not a very talkative person. Short version—you fainted, I carried you to the car like a hero on a battlefield, everybody cheered, we came here and I had a doctor check on you. She changed you."
When I remain unresponsive with an eyebrow arched in doubt, he laughs deeply.
"Sorry for shattering your dreams of painting me as the big, bad guy of your story who'd take advantage of you." He pretends to buff his nails on his shirt, avoiding meeting my eyes.
"You are the big, bad guy in my story," I state.
He squares his gaze with mine, his stare is dark and lingering on my body.
"It's not a debate, wife," he jeers, his face twisting in disgust at the word.
"I'm not your wife yet."
"You'll be soon." His forehead wrinkles as he tilts his head, inspecting my face. "Why are you standing? Have a seat?" He pats the headrest of the couch with a large, veiny hand that has me distracted for a second. "You want me to massage your feet? Maybe give you a head massage? Anything that your majesty would want?"
There is mockery written all over his handsome face. I drop my hands from around me, straightening my spine in an attempt to appear intimidating too.
"Stop mocking me," I say, clenching my fists. "It wasn't my choice to faint."
Gabriel squints his eyes as if in deep thought. "Sitting in the rain reading a book in a lonely graveyard sounds like a very voluntary and active way to faint to me. Do you disagree, wife?"
"You're despicable."
"It's my pleasure to see you worked up."
I smirk. "I thought you wanted to see me worked up in other ways."
That makes him go silent for a while. I see him fighting a twitch in the edge of his jaw, his hands sliding into his dress pockets before he walks around the couch in slow, controlled steps.
He nears me and I stay on my spot, craning my neck to look at him the closer he comes.
He stops when the tips of his toes touch my own. The air crackles between us with an untamed fire licking at the edge of something volatile.
"Is that an invitation, Senorita?" Gabriel coos, lifting a hand to flick a lock of my hair bouncing against my cheekbone. "My cock's ready to indulge in all your demands. I'm feeling quite charitable tonight."
I slap his hand away, irritated by his cockiness.
"You—" I start but his phone buzzes just then, cutting through the sound of the rain beating on all sides of the cottage we are in.
Gabriel draws it out of his pocket, placing a finger on his lips to gesture to me to remain silent.
He receives the call.
"Did he say anything?" he asks the person on the other end. There is a hurriedly spoken response from the other end I don't make out. "Good. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Keep an eye on him tonight. He's an asset. Don't let anyone near him."
Whatever he says piques my curiosity. He cuts the call, and I am quick to ask.
"Who was it?"
Gabriel shoves his phone back into his pocket.
"None of your concern," he answers.
"That's not fair."
"What?"
I cross my arms defiantly, hating the fact that he treats me like a teenager sometimes.
I am only four years younger than him!
"Helene says I need to know everything about your life as the Don. If you don't share things with me, it makes things difficult. I can't bring myself to trust you."
He snorts at my response, followed by a click of his tongue.
"Who says I trust you, Senorita?" he counters, inclining an eyebrow.
I blink at the strangeness of the question. He doesn't appear to be joking. The lines on his face are set firmly, not giving any hint of humor.
"I don't understand," I say.
He stalks closer, making me press my back to the wall behind me. He raises a hand to press on the spot above my head. The heat from his body licks my frame.
"You take me for a fool," he begins. "Do you think you can easily replace your sister as my bride, and I won't try to dig into your intentions? Here's the thing, Miss Bianchi..." he draws my name out like he is testing to see how it sounds on his tongue. He doesn't seem to like the result because his nose scrunches a little. "I'm always two steps ahead of you. So, if you want to get into my head, you've got to try harder. Maybe start with forgetting that lover of yours. Even dead he's a grating pain in my ass."
I don't know where he got that assumption that I want anything to do with his head. For all I know, his brain is home to all the wicked thoughts one could find in the world. What disturbs me, however, is hearing him refer to Dante again. Dante doesn't deserve to be connected with this man ever.
"My lover shouldn't concern you," I sneer. "As much as I would prefer to, I can't go back to him. He's gone."
"And yet he remains in that selfless heart of yours," Gabriel says, pulling away.
He turns his back to me, his shoulders tense and a thought strikes my mind. It is a far-fetched one, but it makes a certain wave of rush prick my chest.
"Are you jealous?" I ask, biting my tongue when I realize how insane that sounds.
Why would he be jealous? It's not he who came to ask for my hand. I served him myself on a golden platter.
Gabriel spins on his heels.
"Say that again," he commands in a grave tone, no trace of amusement in his expression.
"Are you jealous of Dante? Is that it?"
He is on me in the next second, so fast that I blink, and I find myself looking at his bare chest, my fingers on his abs, my eyes on his, my lips inches from his jaw. He has me standing on my toes with how close we are.
Danger and lust dance in his pupils as he leans into me, his breath hot on my neck as he drags his nose behind my ear, inhaling deeply. I stifle the moan that pushes to leave my throat. I grab his shirt, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
"I'm a man who treasures what belongs to him," he whispers, biting my earlobe, and licking it salaciously in a way that has goosebumps blooming all over my skin. "And as much as I hate to say this, you're one of my treasures now. And I have a possessiveness for things that are mine."
He brings a hand to my throat enclosing his fingers around me, squeezing lightly. I find it difficult to breathe, not because of his hold on me but because my breath gets trapped when his eyes land on mine. The hunger in them is something new. I haven't seen it before. It is a hunger just for me.
"Things that are like you..." he continues in that low, husky baritone. "...fragile...weak...insolent...disobedient...beautiful."
His thumb traces the shape of my bottom lip, dragging it out from between my teeth with a pop that echoes in my brain. I am solely focused on his presence, fighting the heat that clouds my body, makes me arch, and makes my core throb as I imagine his rough, blood-marred hand, his sinful mouth, all of him between my legs, giving me what I need.
I shake my head, fighting the vision he is creating in my brain.
Him and me. Silk sheets. Heavy groans. Sweaty bodies sticking together. His powerful thrusts—
No! Dante. Just Dante. Just think of Dante.
Gabriel's moans in my ear. His arms around me...
"I could do whatever I want with you, Senorita." Gabriel pushes his hips toward mine, making me feel the outline of a thick length inside his pants. I gasp at the feel of it while he stares me down shamelessly. "I can force you to be mine, I can make you bend to any of my wills, I can make you mine, fuck a baby into you and you won't stop me. But this damn heart of yours will always be his and that?" he snarls into my ear. "That I cannot bear. So yes, I'm jealous."
Just like that, he lets me go. He pulls himself away so quickly that I feel a sensation of the ground being ripped from underneath me. I catch my breath, wondering when I started to pant instead of breathing normally. His confession rings in my ears like a mantra being embedded into my brain.
He is jealous of Dante.
He is jealous because I love Dante.
His lips curl to a vicious smirk as he takes in my flustered face.
"Careful," I say when I manage to collect myself. "I might start to think you love me or something."
He scoffs. "Think whatever you want. Only what I know matters. You're nothing."
Now that I know the reason behind his behavior, I don't mind the insults.
"You're shameless."
"And yet you fear me," he says in a sing-song voice.
"I fear nothing."
Barely a second passes post my brave declaration when the TV flickers off, followed by the fireplace, then the ceiling lights.
I widen my eyes as pitch black darkness baths us.
I fear nothing...except the dark.