Sold by Clarissa Wild

Marcello

My heart poundsin my chest as I stare into Harper’s eyes. My hand rests on her cheek, where her skin has flushed beneath my touch. Her breath matches mine, inhale for inhale, exhale for exhale, like we are two halves of the same whole.

She is the light to my darkness. The pleasure to my pain.

I could lose myself in her. The anger I feel swirling in me when she snoops, when she taunts, when she resists? That’s just a cover-up for what I’m truly feeling for her. A way of ignoring the truth.

Because the truth is, I’m frightened by the thought of baring my soul. The things I carry with me are for my shoulders only. No one else can help me bear the weight.

At least, that’s what I used to think.

But now, I know I was wrong.

I never intended for Harper to see me at my mother’s bedside. But she doesn’t give a flying fuck about boundaries. She sees them for what they are—walls, put up in a futile effort to protect myself from the darkness of my past.

And as I look into her eyes, still dilated from the passion we just shared, I can feel those walls crumbling.

Brick by brick.

“You are dangerous, kitten,” I whisper in a deep rasp.

“Says the don,” she retorts with a sassy tilt to her lips. “Talk about throwing rocks in a glass house.”

I laugh softly and shake my head. “I’m dangerous to the men who cross me, yes. But you are dangerous in a different way.”

“How’s that?”

I clench my jaw as I caress her lips with my thumb once more. So plump and ripe, so perfect. They’re still red and swollen from the force of our lovemaking, and I’m tempted to devour them again. I want to see them wrapped around my cock. It’s been hardly a minute since I erupted inside her, yet I already want more. It’s never enough with her.

That’s why she’s dangerous. Because she makes it seem like her kiss is the only worthwhile thing left to earn in this world. “You’re dangerous because you make me—”

“Marcello!”

An unexpected voice echoes down the hallway. We quickly rise to put our clothes on before anyone sees us naked.

Harper’s eyes bore into me. “Make you what?” she demands.

But I press my thumb on her lips to silence her. “Not now.”

Footsteps slap against the stones, and Claudio emerges, panting as though he’s just run a marathon. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him looking this rattled.

Something bad has happened.

Something very fucking bad.

“What is it?” I ask him.

He sighs again and straightens his tie. Even at this late hour, he is still wearing the finest Italian suit. I spy a spot of blood on the cuff before he straightens it.

“We found something,” he begins. He glances at Harper as if he’s waiting for her to leave.

“Tell me,” I order. He arches an eyebrow. I grit my teeth and growl it again. “I said tell me, Claudio.”

“It’s Giovanni,” he finally says.

“You found him?” After the taunting call yesterday, I assumed I’d never see that traitorous bastard again. “I want to speak to him now.”

“That won’t be easy, sir,” Claudio says with a grimace. “He’s dead.”

Dead? Goddammit. I wanted to put a bullet through his head myself, and now that chance has slipped from my fingers.

“And also …”

His eyes flit over to Harper as though he doesn’t trust her to hear what he has to say. I lose my patience. The roller coaster of emotions over the past few days has sapped what little patience I had left.

“Stop beating around the fucking bush and tell me what else!” I roar. My voice echoes in the room.

“It’ll be better to show you,” Claudio replies firmly. “You’re going to want to see it yourself.”

I sigh. So be it. I turn and look at Harper, who hasn’t moved a muscle. She’s looking back at me with wide eyes. To my surprise, there’s no fear in them. She knows who I am and what I’m capable of. The things I deal with.

But there is something else in her, too: icy steel. She doesn’t belong to my world, but she isn’t shying away from it. She isn’t flinching as my consigliere, and I talk about dead traitors in the middle of the night.

I realize with a jolt that I love that about her. She is a whole host of contradictions. Pure innocence and endless decadence. Submissive and defiant. A delicate flower and an iron fist, all at once.

I trace my thumb down the curve of her jaw once more. I want her to say something, anything at all. Say she loves me or say she hates me. Even a simple goodbye. Make this a moment to remember.

But she remains silent. She stares at me with level eyes, and I look back at her, wishing I knew how to express all the feelings raging inside me. Then the moment passes, and I turn to leave with Claudio.

He and I march down the hallway. Just before we disappear around the corner, I glance back over my shoulder.

She’s still looking at me, green eyes glinting with chaos, her perfect body clothed in shadows.

Claudio leadsme out front and down the long drive to the guardhouse. We approach a black body bag, partially unzipped. Giovanni’s horrified, petrified gaze stares up at us from below.

“We found him outside the gates, sir,” one of my soldiers explains to me.

“What did the cameras show?” I demand.

To his credit, the guard does not seem overly flustered. “Unfortunately, nothing we can use, sir. A black sedan with no license plates stopped. Two men in hoodies and ski masks pulled the bag out of the trunk and left before we could pursue them. We didn’t know if it was a bomb, so we had to approach cautiously. By the time we made the identification, it was too late.”

I growl in frustration, but the man is right—there wasn’t much that could’ve been done. “Fuck,” I mutter, looking down at Giovanni. A rat is a bad thing, but a dead rat isn’t much better if I can’t do the killing myself. Giovanni was nothing more than a pawn in a bigger game.

I reach down to unzip the bag the rest of the way so I can see what killed him. The soldier shifts uncomfortably. “Sir … it is not a pretty sight.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “I’ve seen worse. I promise you that much.”

I pull down the zipper, and when the wound in Giovanni’s torso is revealed, I suck in a sharp breath.

Giovanni’s chest is a crater of blood and bone. Whoever killed him wanted to send a message. This will be messy if you do not cooperate.

“There was a message with him, wasn’t there?” I ask Claudio.

He sighs and rubs his face. He looks exhausted, and for the first time ever, I worry about him. He’s been an anxious man for as long as I can remember. But this is more than anxiety—this is fear surging through him like poison.

“What did it say, Claudio?” I demand.

He grimaces and withdraws a bloodstained index card from his inner jacket pocket. I take it from him and take a look.

Printed on the card is a message.

Time to strike a deal. The docks. Tomorrow at midnight. This ends now. –Igor.”

Igor. That fucking Russian bastard.

I turn to look at the silhouette of the mansion out of the guardhouse window. The stars are bright above the roof. Harper’s window is illuminated, and as I watch, her shadow passes across it.

This ends now, Igor wrote. Part of me craves that. I was once so certain about everything in my life.

But that certainty is gone. Peace is gone. All that’s left is chaos.

I have to find a way through. Not just for myself but also for her.

“You know this is a trap, Marcello,” Claudio says, stating the obvious.

“Of course,” I say, making a fist. “But if it’s a war he wants, it’s a war I’ll fucking give him.”

I have something to lose that I will fight like hell for now. Harper.

I keep my eyes trained on Harper’s window, hoping to see her shadow once more. Just give me one sign of life and let me know she’s still there. But there’s nothing. My eyes lower to my consigliere in front of me.

Claudio sighs and rubs his eyes. For once, all his nervous tics have calmed. Silence and stillness reign.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks.

“Gather all our best men,” I respond. “We’re going to stop the Russians and put an end to this, once and for all.”