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But I would kill to see her eyes again. My clever little spy. My ally. My… friend.
He already claimed the only thing I care about. My heart. And he squashed it.
Crumbling the sheet of paper, I stuff it into the loud-fucking-breather’s throat. The dickhead shouldn’t have walked by my workout bench. Next time he’ll know. The fuck.
“Because I need you, Zahara.”
it was only after seeing Zahara, that I was finally able to breathe like a truly free man.
Instead of plotting a new way to reach my lifelong goal, every waking second for over three years, I’ve spent thinking about her. My stepsister.
Yeah. Of course it won’t happen again. As if someone like him would ever be attracted to someone like me.
me
“You,” Massimo rasps, tilting my chin up, “are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. And if anyone makes you doubt how fucking gorgeous you are, I’ll make them regret it for the rest of their lives.”
“I slept in front of your door.” My head snaps up. “Why?” “Because I need to know that you’re safe.”
And amid the chaos, the violence, my wrath, there’s her. My Zahara. My peaceful haven. An angel, offering a hand of salvation to a man burning in his own inferno. She’s grace, kindness, and my last hope. The only thing that keeps me tied to this mortal coil.
Zahara is the only person who I can see standing next to me for the rest of my life. As a friend. And my lover. My wife. God, I’ve even imagined her pregnant with my babies. A son. A daughter. Mine, all mine. I want to claim her, join in the most intimate and carnal way until we are one. I need her like I need the fucking air.
“Because none of those women were you, Zahara.” His reply is groaned through his teeth.
She is the missing piece to my soul. My salvation. I want her. Want her in every possible sense. As a friend. And a lover. But most of all, as simply… mine.
I’m all yours anyway. Body. Soul. All yours, Zahara.”
“Because… I love you, baby. With everything in me—good or bad—I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Can’t live without you, Zahara. You’re the air in my lungs,” he mumbles against my skin. “I need you.”
My chest squeezes with emotion while he places the shelled yummies on my palm. When I look up, I find him watching me with a satisfied grin on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know what he’s thinking at this moment. Years ago, I mentioned in one of my letters that pistachios are my favorite snack, prattling on for an entire paragraph about how much I hate taking them out of their shells but keep refusing to buy the already-shelled ones. He responded to me with: we’re all a little nuts.
As if sensing my thoughts, he glances away from his drink, his eyes finding mine. There’s so much ferocity and determination in that dark gaze. I must be a fool for thinking that I could watch the back of a man like Massimo. Protect him by my own strength. Me, a silly little mouse who still prefers to stay on the sidelines so that people won’t stare at her face, the only not-covered part of my skin. But here’s a thing about mice… their teeth may be tiny, yet they are sharp. And I won’t hesitate, even for a second, to sink mine into anyone who dares to harm my man.
It’s her heart, not her appearance that makes her unique. Her strength and kindness that make her captivating and irresistible. And yes, Zahara’s beauty sets her apart, calls to me, but only because it belongs to her. My love. That’s who Zahara Veronese is.
Drago Popov
His choice is me. He’s choosing me over Cosa Nostra.
“Do you have a number for your nutcase of a brother-in-law?” I ask as I carry her across the room. “Yeah. What do you need from Kai?” I stop and look at the love of my life. “I need him to put me in contact with a friend of his.” I crush my lips to hers. “The blond guy who likes to kidnap priests.”
