Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
I got my first look at the two Italian men who’d arrived first to interrogate Massimo. They were almost identical—clearly related. Both men were model-handsome and almost as imposing as my dark savior, even though Massimo was a few inches taller. He faced away from me, but I could clearly see the other two men in profile as they fixed him with twin glowers. The only discernible difference between them was their choice of hairstyle—one military short and the other in loose black waves that framed his granite face.
The clean-cut man barked something else in Italian, and Massimo rolled his shoulders as though shaking off irritation. Then, he grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head to reveal the gory wound at his side.
He was even more powerful than I’d realized, muscles rippling as he moved with shocking grace despite the pain he must be enduring. Blood coated his right side, and a darker gash scored his ribs.
The doctor went to work, inspecting and cleaning the damaged flesh. I swallowed down my nausea at the sight and focused on the Italians, who had resumed speaking to each other in their native language.
Amidst the indecipherable words, I caught on to one that they repeated several times: Crawford.
They did know George, then.
My heart skipped a beat. Did they know he was corrupt? Were they taking bribes from the cartel too?
Then Massimo spoke to the doctor in Spanish, and my whole world crumbled. “It’s not serious. Barely a graze.”
My stomach dropped. I recognized that oddly accented voice.
Is she innocent?
Massimo had been in that basement with me on the night of my terrible ordeal. He’d been the one to save me from the cartel.
He’d killed my kidnappers.
He’d murdered them to save me.
Now you’ll have to taste broken glass too. I will make you lick it up like the dog you are.
His macabre threat to the man who’d tried to roofie me played through my mind. In that moment, I’d known he was dangerous, but I hadn’t truly considered his capacity for such brutal violence.
And the way he’d handled himself when he’d jumped in front of the barrel of that gun to save me…
Someone had screamed in that alley, and Massimo had been the only man to emerge. In the aftermath of the fight, his heartbeat had been steady.
My chest convulsed, and an awful choking sound caught in my constricted throat. The bedroom spun around me, and I stumbled back, desperate to put distance between myself and the lethal man in the next room. The world tilted, and my knees hit the plush carpet.
My heart slammed against my ribcage with bruising force, and my lungs burned.
I couldn’t breathe.
A tinny ringing pierced my eardrums, smothering the heaving sound of my failed breaths. They stuck in my tight throat, the air never reaching my oxygen-starved lungs.
“Evelyn.” I recognized that accented voice. It was the first time he’d ever said my name.
How did he know my name?
Massimo wasn’t an Interpol agent. He didn’t work with George.
He shouldn’t know my name.
Big hands reached for me—the same hands that’d scooped me up and carried me away from danger.
The hands that’d murdered the two men who’d kidnapped and brutalized me.
I tried to scramble away, releasing a whimper like a cornered animal.
His dark brows were dangerous slashes over his stunning wolf’s eyes, and his full lips twisted in distaste.
“Please…” My mouth formed the desperate plea for mercy, but no sound came out.
Strong arms closed around me, dragging me close to his bare chest. He was massive, so much more powerful than I could ever hope to be. I’d never be capable of fighting him off, even if I were skilled in self-defense. As it was, George had always promised to keep me safe, so I’d focused on running to keep fit rather than building muscle.
Massimo’s corded arms enfolded me, caging me against him in a careful but firm hold. One of his big hands lifted to the center of my chest, applying pressure over my racing heart.
“Breathe,” he rumbled, a low command. His deep voice rolled through my body, compelling my obedience.
My chest loosened, and I managed to suck in a deep breath.
“That’s it,” he praised. “Another. Keep breathing.”
I heaved in another ragged breath. My chest convulsed, but I managed to take in the oxygen I so desperately needed. I forced down another.
One hand remained firmly on my chest, applying that grounding pressure against my heart as its erratic beats slowed to a more regular rhythm. His other hand brushed over my scalp, thick fingers trailing through my hair in a soothing motion.
“You’re doing so well, farfallina,” he said, warm and coaxing. “You’re safe.”
I tensed again, and he shushed me, cradling my face so that my cheek pressed against his chest. I inhaled the scent of leather and amber, and something deeper that was purely masculine and unique to Massimo. Every time my lungs expanded, I breathed him in. With his warm, sure hands soothing me, the scent became heady, and the world turned slightly surreal.