The bloody knife flashed into my mind. Then the gash on Luca’s right side as he crumbled to the ground in front of me. How could that have been real? It looked so raw as his blood dripped onto the cement.
Had I imagined everything, even the hot sex with Luca? He was such a savage, ripping off my clothes like a caveman. And the way he fucked me… so rough and hard, the way I liked it. Heat rushed between my legs until the bad memories flashed before my eyes.
The Serpents.
The blood.
The knife.
Biting my nails, I stared into the expanse of the room. “I stabbed Luca,” I mumbled, still in disbelief at my actions. “That was real, right?”
He nodded. “My brother almost died. He lost a lot of blood.”
I covered my face with my hands, and tears fell from my eyes. Marcello slid his arm behind my back and hugged me. His fingers tapped my hip in a soothing motion. I liked when he touched me.
“I could have killed Luca,” I choked out. “What the fuck was I thinking?”
Marcello dragged me closer to him and rested his hand on my thigh. “You weren’t.”
“Luca always says you can’t kill the Devil.” I laughed. “Guess he’s right.”
For as much as I wanted to hate Luca, I cared about him. He’d made my life miserable for years. But when he lowered his defenses, I saw another side to him. My scarred boy. The Devil in all of my dirty fantasies.
I glanced at Marcello. “Did I have sex with Luca last night?”
Another nod.
Of course, he knew. He was probably watching us from the creepy spy shed in the backyard.
“You guys chased me through Beacon Bay,” I said. “That was real, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But the blood…” I shook my head. “How did Luca make it look like I stabbed him? It seemed so real.”
“We had help from a Hollywood makeup artist,” he admitted.
“How about the blood?”
He rolled his broad shoulders. “Easy to make. It’s just corn syrup, water, and food coloring.”
“Like in the movies.” My eyes widened. “But why would you do all of that?”
“To help you remember.”
Someone knocked on the door, interrupting our conversation.
Marcello grabbed a tray from Roman and set my breakfast on the bed in front of me. “Eat up, princess.”
He sat beside me, his dress shoe dangling off the side of the mattress. Mornings like this one were becoming normal for us. And I feared the day when I would lose him. It was inevitable. His job forced him to travel around the world, often keeping him away from home for months at a time.
Sometimes, I wondered if my life would have been different if he were the oldest Salvatore. Marcello cared about rules and structure. If his father had commanded him to marry me, it would have happened already. But Luca was a rebel. Even as a boy, his father couldn’t force his hand. He’d rather bleed at his father’s cruel hands than submit to his demands.
I buttered a slice of toast and added a heaping spoonful of raspberry jam. “Why are you so nice to me? You should hate me after what I did to Luca.”
Marcello sighed as our eyes met. “I could never hate my queen.”
Parts of my memory were still fuzzy with The Devil’s Knights. They were the bankers for the criminal underworld, which gave them a tremendous amount of power. Because no one fucked with bankers. But why did I have to join them? Why would dangerous men like the Salvatores care about having a queen?
After I chewed the first slice of toast, I grabbed Marcello’s wrist, forcing him to look at me. “Why am I your queen?”
“Not my queen,” he corrected. “Our queen.”
I hated losing pieces of time, years' worth of memories, and stolen moments. And knowing I forgot shit made it worse. It made me feel like I was losing my mind. Maybe I should have let the doctors commit me until I sorted this shit out.
“Why me?” I bit into another piece of toast. “I’m nobody special.”
He shook his head, a smirk forming. “You’re important to us, Alex.”
“Tell me, Marcello.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “If I knew all of this before Aiden’s disappearance, I can’t remember.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this…” He bit his lip, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You need to remember on your own. The doctor said…”
I gave him my best pouty face. “Please. I’m sick of people treating me like a patient. Just tell me the truth.”
He studied my face, then groaned. “You’re the only legitimate female heir from a Founding Family.”
“Oh,” I stammered. “But that’s not possible.”
He didn’t mean the founders of Devil’s Creek. No, he was referring to the ones with real power. My ancestors. But was I really the only one?
“Sonny has a younger sister,” I pointed out.