given when you were twelve?”
His lip curled, and he looked pissed. “I fucked you because you needed to be fucked,” he growled. “You had been out of your mind with violent emotions you couldn’t control or understand, Fiore. And since I didn’t have another body handy for you to destroy, I gave you another way to exercise those vicious emotions.” He stepped to me, and anger lined every curve of his stunning face. “And don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he snapped. “You came all over my dick even after you were bleeding all over it.” I wanted to rail at him, but he wasn’t lying. I had cum all over him, and more than once. “You let me fuck you like an animal because you trusted me to give you what you needed. Don’t downplay what happened between us.”
I was hurt.
I was angry.
I felt betrayed and insignificant.
I was enraged, and I was nowhere close to done.
“Really?” I sneered. “Well, then, if I’m yours and what we did that night was so damn special, where have you been since then, when other men have been fucking me?”
I never saw it coming.
His hand was around my throat and my body was bent over the back of the couch. My hands shot up and latched onto his wrist, wondering if he was going to kill me.
But, instead, he went right for where it hurts most for women. “I’ve been busy fucking other women.”
The bottom of my stomach fell out, and, in that moment, I knew true hate. Francisco Benetti was a fucking asshole, and there was no way I was going to marry him.
Tears sprang up behind my eyes, and they were a combination of everything I was feeling. “Get out,” I spewed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Benetti.”
“Not on your life, Fiore,” he flung back.
He had no idea who he was messing with.
Chapter 8
Francisco~
The words had felt like poison on my tongue, but it hurt like a sonofabitch to be reminded that other men have experienced her when it should have only been me. And it hurt like a motherfucker to know that it was all by my own hand. I should have stepped up to our parents and done the right thing for us instead of the sensible thing for them.
“You are mine,” I repeated. “And it doesn’t matter if you want to be or not, Fiore. It’s been decided.” And because I seemed to be the only one who didn’t underestimate this woman, I let go of her neck and caught her fist coming at me from the right.
But it didn’t stop there.
Saveria came after me with everything our fathers had ever taught her, and I was doing my best to deflect every debilitating blow without hurting her. There was no crying or screaming or carrying on. Saveria was fighting me like the skilled fighter she was.
She was fucking glorious.
Furniture turned over. Lamps shattered across the floor. Paintings fell from the walls. And the only reason Mica wasn’t in here putting a bullet through my head was because I had met with him before knocking on the door, letting him know things might get ugly. I knew Dante wasn’t home, so I wasn’t worried about us dancing around on his ceiling, causing him concern.
It wasn’t until I noticed the glass everywhere that I finally put a stop to it. She was going to get hurt, and I couldn’t have that.
I caught her wrist and wrapped my other arm around her waist. I slammed her on the couch, and because I was twice her height and probably three times her weight, she was no match for me once I covered her body with mine, pinning her to the cushions.
Saveria still fought like a wildcat, but she couldn’t buck me with all my weight pressed down on top of her. I waited her out, and soon she quit struggling. Her chest was heaving, and her face was red, but I’d bet that was more from anger than physical exertion. Like the rest of us, she’d been trained to fight proper, and she had the stamina to back up the moves.
I looked down into a face too beautiful to be mortal and asked, “Are you done?”
“Get off me,” she seethed.
I knew it was a wrong move, but I was still pissed, and this girl was a warrior. If I didn’t exert my dominance on her, she’d walk all over me. “I don’t think so,” I replied. “And you should