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Hail was my age. If I didn’t know a thing about him, I’d think he was hot. Beyond hot. Blond hair. Muscles, a panty-soaking smirk. Blue eyes.
Vincent’s dark eyes held that sparkle in them we were used to. Playful and easygoing, he was the one I went to if I needed to lighten the mood. If I wanted to darken the mood, Levin, my American-born German friend was the one I sought.
“A king. There are three here. Dominic De Santis, Vincent Valentino, and Levin Seeley. They rule this campus. Of course, they have their little squad they roll with, the people who want to be on their side.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a turf war, really. The kings fight with the lords all the time.”
“Why do we hang out with this fucking nut job?” I jerked my thumb at Levin. Dominic shook his head. “Because he’s good at killing things. People. Moods. Dreams. I like that about him. Keeps shit exciting.”
If she was going to suffer, it would be at mine. Who said romance was dead?
I found it funny he had to wear glasses to read. Big, bad mafia boy needed glasses. Of course, the asshole had to wear the thick, black framed ones that he rocked. Fucker looked good in anything.
Dead. He was fucking dead. And I’d fuck her in his blood after I gutted him.
The words of Matteo De Santis played on repeat in my head. “Kill Bianca D’Angelou. Don’t let her marry Mikhail Ivanov. Kill her, and we’ll release your sister.”
One cannot blame a monster for doing monster things, and I was the scariest monster of all.
and the blonde passed out in my arms. I knew what it was. Fuck me, I knew. I gave a damn about my wasp. More than anyone else before her. And that was going to be a bit of a problem.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Bianca,” he whispered. “I’d do anything not to. You. . .matter to me.” My heart fluttered at his words. I mattered.
