Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Full sensual lips I should definitely be overly cautious of; those were the type of lips that captured a woman’s mouth and sucked her soul from her body. They gave you both fever dreams and nightmares. The exact outline was sensual from the full bow down to the line of his bottom lip. They looked soft. In direct contrast to his rough interior, his exterior was all smooth lines and beautiful skin.
“No more punching.” I finally found my voice. “As long as you promise no more nightmares.”
His expression darkened. “You asking me to protect you all day, all night, and in your dreams?”
“Are you capable of that?” I clearly stumped him. It was worth a shot though, to ask him to save me from the darkness that crept up every time I closed my eyes.
“I’m capable,” he said simply and then moved away from me and went into his room. The door didn’t shut, though. Instead, he quickly came back with pillows and a blanket, which he threw onto the floor. A meow sounded. “The cat, however, stays in your bed.”
Bagel hissed again at him. He flipped the cat off and started to get the blankets adjusted on the floor.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Singing you a lullaby.” He said it so honestly that I didn’t know how to react.
And then he did exactly what he said he would.
He lay down on his back, hands behind his head.
And he started to sing in Italian.
I had no idea what he was saying.
But it calmed me, and it was beautiful. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard before. His voice was deep and hypnotic; it was solid and firm, just like him, and I could almost imagine him freaking his victims out by singing to them before slaughtering them. But for now, he was using his voice on me to calm me, to make me feel better.
Tears built behind my eyes. My throat started to burn again.
He was singing away the darkness. An assassin for the mafia was sleeping on my floor and singing against the demons, knowing full well the ones that he still kept close lingered in his own body.
Was that not what sacrifice was? Doing something for someone else knowing that if only someone would do it for you, you’d be okay, but choosing to use that gift to help others? Knowing that you would eventually die under the weight of it all?
He continued to sing. I crawled back under my covers and closed my eyes. My arm fell over the mattress just as I was about asleep, and it touched his. I jerked it away, embarrassed.
But he grabbed my fingertips and squeezed.
I squeezed back, my way of saying thank you, and drifted off to sleep, only to dream of a man singing and kissing my pinky finger as if he was making a promise to keep me safe.
His lips moved from my pinky to my next finger. He kissed every single knuckle that had fought against that evil captor.
And then he kissed my wrists. “Tears wash away the dirt, Katya. Let them burn all you want—but I’d prefer if you just let them fall.”
So I did.
I cried in my dream and clung to the man who’d kissed my pain away. When he gently pulled back, I looked into his green eyes.
“Santino,” I whispered.
“Who else,” he said in my dream, “would be scary enough to chase the monsters away?”
“The biggest monster of all?” I guessed.
He flicked my lower lip. “Exactly.”
“You don’t look scary.” I still clung to him.
He tilted his head. “Because you only see what’s on the surface… but rip me open, and you’ll see horrors you’d wish you never knew existed.”
“I’ll hold onto you, then.”
“Do that.”
“No more nightmares.”
“I’ll stay watch.” He held me tighter.
And I swore to myself I’d hold him to it.
No more nightmares.
Only my assassin—Santino Sinacore.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I would have kissed you harder. I would have fought for you more. I don’t know. I would have stolen you away, taken your virtue, made myself so permanently etched on your person that every time you took a breath it was my scent that was permeating the air.” ―Elite
Santino
I hadn’t sung since my mother’s death all those years ago—and I certainly hadn’t planned on opening my mouth and offering comfort to the one girl I was supposed to stay away from.
So far, I wasn’t exactly doing the best job at keeping my hands off her either—not that my hands or body seemed to mind.
She was so smooth and so afraid, and it just seemed like the only way to get her to truly focus was to rein her in by touch. She responded better that way, and I remembered when she was truly terrified, she’d reached for me like she was used to having that anchor.
Her twin.
She was used to being tethered to an anchor, and she’d lost that, and while I was a cruel cold bastard, I found I couldn’t actually live with myself if I didn’t at least try for the next few weeks to suck away her darkness. I had enough darkness of my own for hers to join, and maybe by the end of the month, she’d glow again, even if it meant I was even more labored with the stress of my job.