“I feel nothing for you, Cillian. I hate the sight of you. Hate your touch. Your smell. I hate everything about you.”
“Good.” He purred the word as he moved on top of me, forcing my back into the vanity. I yelped from the pain shooting down my tailbone, and he smirked. “Cry for me, little one. Scream. Beg. No one will save you from me.”
I threw my palms into his chest and pushed with all my might. “My father will kill you!”
“Your dad wants to get rid of you,” he taunted. “He’s in talks to marry you off to the son of a rival family to settle his debts.”
I narrowed my eyes at the smug bastard. “Who?”
“Sean Donnelly.” He flashed a wicked smile. “You remember Sean, don’t you?”
My entire body trembled at the thought of marrying one of the cruelest men I had ever known. When we were kids, he dragged me through his mansion by my hair like an animal. As an adult, he did unspeakable things to me while his brothers watched. I told no one about those awful moments in my life, not even Marcello.
How did Cillian know the truth?
“Of course.” I straightened my stance and tried to look unaffected by his words, despite my racing heart. “I’ve known Sean for a long time. We’re friends.”
“Not quite.”
I was too good at acting as if nothing bothered me. It pissed my father off to no end, and Sean Donnelly sure as hell hated when I refused to shed a single tear for him. But that was what men like them wanted. To see a woman plead for her life and get down on her knees. So whatever they expected of me, I did the opposite to make them angry. I knew they would bend me to their will—because they always did. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“My dad will notice if I don’t return to the ballroom.” I stepped to the side, headed toward the door. Cillian moved with me, blocking my path. Undeterred, I held his dark gaze, and my lips stretched into a tight line. “Let me leave without a fight. I will meet you later tonight.”
It was a lie, but I was used to doing that.
He fisted a lock of my hair and squeezed so hard I thought he would rip it from my scalp. With his mouth inches from mine, he leaned down and spoke against my lips. “I’ll send a car for you at midnight. Don’t fuck with me, Rhiannon, or I will end you.”
“No, you won’t, Cillian. Remember, you enjoy fucking me too much to let me go. Tell me where to meet you. I don’t want anyone to see your driver near my house.”
“If I were to demand you become my mistress, your father would hand you over willingly. Anything to get rid of you. Do you think he gives a damn about you?”
“I don’t care about my dad. But I still don’t want anyone to know about us.”
“Are you ashamed of me?”
“You’re too old for me. What we’re doing is improper… and disgusting. I went to high school with your sons.”
“How do you think I noticed you?” Cillian adjusted his hard cock that tented his pants. “The first time you came over to my brother’s house, wearing that paper-thin yellow sundress with your tits falling out of the top, I knew I would have you someday.”
“I was a teenager, you sick fuck. And you’re my uncle’s brother.”
“We’re not related,” he said in his defense. “Our relationship is consensual.”
“You’re Sonny’s godfather. He would kill you if he knew what you’re doing to me. For the record, this is no longer consensual. In the beginning, yes, because I needed money. But not anymore.”
He fisted my hair, teeth clenched. “Are you going to cause problems? Because we can forget about meeting tonight.” He grabbed my shoulder and backed me into the wall. “I’ll fuck you right here, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it, Rhiannon.”
“You are so gross.” I ripped my hair out of his hand and stormed toward the door. “Midnight,” I said, with my back facing him. “At our usual spot.”
I had every intention of meeting him that night.
But I wouldn’t fuck him.
I planned to take out the trash.
Chapter Four
Marcello
My father leveled me with a cold, calculated stare from across the ballroom. He could communicate a lot without words. His anger practically radiated off him, those deep brown irises burning a hole through me. And here I thought the text message Luca sent was a real urgent matter.
Nope, this was about Rhiannon O'Shea. He must have seen me follow her out of the ballroom. Arlo Salvatore never missed a fucking beat.
Dad raised his hand, beckoning me with his index finger. Though his face remained expressionless, years of his cruelty allowed me to see through the mask. And not the red and black mask that obscured half of his face. The one he wore to intimidate everyone. He was like Medusa—he could turn you to stone with one look.