Cora Reilly

“I won’t hit you again, Matteo,” I ground out, though the words tasted foul in my mouth. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Both men turned to me in surprise. Matteo relaxed his stance. Luca didn’t.

“I’m sorry if I hurt or scared you,” Matteo said. I couldn’t tell if he meant it or not. He had the emotionless mask down just like his brother.

“You didn’t.”

I shifted away from his hand that had moved on from my hair to my throat.

“Always,” Luca said.

Enemies always aim where they can hurt you most.”

This had to be wrong, but it felt too good.

“When I claim your body I want you writhing beneath me in pleasure and not fear.”

Black shirt, black tie, black jacket. Black like his soul.

Luca had marked me as his possession.

“Fuck, Luca, did you tell your men you’d cut their dicks off if they looked at that girl? You aren’t even married to her.”

“She’s mine,” Luca said quietly, sending a chill down my back with his voice, not to mention his eyes.

looked like a Chihuahua pup trying to impress a Bengal tiger.