His brows shot up, and the deep furrows carved across his forehead made her stomach twist with dread.

“You hate me, do you?” he murmured, voice dipped in sardonic amusement.

She tried to nod, but his grip on her face held her still. His fingers pressed into her tender skin like iron clamps.

Marcello leaned closer only to freeze, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he caught Ruggiero’s scent clinging to her.

“Fck,” he spat, recoiling slightly. “You reek of him.”

The bitterness in ...