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Captured By A Sinner: Chapter 8


I hear footsteps, and when my eyes flick from the monitors to the doorway, it’s to see Dad and Uncle Alexei coming into my study. They take a seat, then proceed to stare at me.

Letting out a sigh, I relax back in my chair. “I’m done discussing the subject.”

“We just want to know if you’re sure about this,” Dad says. “Three years is a long time to take care of a stranger.”

“I know.” I glance from Dad to Uncle Alexei. “But the alternative is not an option.”

“Send her to the Cosa Nostra,” Uncle Alexei says.

“You know the Mannos didn’t part on good terms with the five ruling families of New York.” I inhale deeply, then explain, “I just want to give her a safe space to heal. Once she’s twenty-one, she’ll be more mature and able to face the world.”

“She’s beautiful,” Uncle Alexei mutters, and as direct as always, he asks, “Are you interested in her?”

Yes, there have been moments I’ve felt attracted to her, but I have no intention of pursuing the girl. She’s too broken.

“Her looks have nothing to do with my decision to help her.”

Uncle Alexei raises an eyebrow at me. “If you say so.”

Shaking my head, I let out a chuckle. “Drop the subject. I’ll do what’s best for Rosalie until she’s ready to leave.” I lock eyes with my uncle. “Then I’ll cut all ties with her.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Tapping my fingers on the desk, I ask, “Is Aunt Bella going to be a problem?”

My uncle shakes his head. “I’ve talked to her. She knows you have the girl’s best interest at heart.” He gives me a look of warning. “Just make sure the girl doesn’t cause unnecessary drama. I don’t want our lives disturbed.”

I nod. “Will do.”

They glance at the monitors on the wall, then Uncle Alexei lets out a huff. “Christ, I’m getting old. I don’t know what half that shit means.”

Grinning at him, I chuckle, “I’m checking underground chatter and information on a high-value target I’m keeping track of.”

When it comes to anything technology and hacking related, I’m fucking good. I’ve designed a couple of apps allowing me access to anything I might need to keep an eye on the criminal world.

Dad’s the first to get up. “Your mom will pop in later to check on the girl.”

I nod again. “Rosalie could do with female company, and hopefully, Mom will be able to offer her some comfort.”

I walk my father and uncle out onto the patio and watch as they head back to their homes.

I turn around and take the stairs up to the first floor to check on Rosalie. She’s been quiet for hours, and I want to make sure she’s okay.

Well, as okay as she can be under the circumstances.

I’m just about to knock on the door when it opens. Rosalie startles, instantly taking a step back.

We stare at each other for a moment before I ask, “Are you hungry?”

She has to be starving. Besides the single bite of casserole, she hasn’t eaten anything since the attack.

Her gaze rests cautiously on me as she nods.

I gesture down the hallway. “I’ll fix us an early dinner.”

“I can make myself a sandwich.”

Letting out a heavy breath, I signal for her to walk. Rosalie keeps glancing back as I follow her to the living area. She pauses in the kitchen, looking uncomfortable.

I take a seat at the island and point at the fridge. “Help yourself.”

While she takes tomatoes and cheese from the fridge, she keeps glancing at me, clearly on edge being around me. I watch as she reaches for a knife, the corner of my mouth lifting.

Slowly she cuts slices off the tomato. Her body tenses, her fingers flexing around the handle.

“I’d think twice if I were you,” I murmur softly.

She cuts another slice, and her hand starts to tremble. Tension comes off her in waves, her lips parting so her tongue can nervously dart out to wet them.

The instant she makes her move, I’m up. As she raises her arm, I grab hold of her wrist, and with an easy twist, she’s forced to drop the knife. The sound of it clattering on the tiles mixes with a frustrated cry from her.

I let go of her, and taking a step back, a burst of amused laughter escapes me. “That’s the shitiest attack I’ve ever seen.”

“Screw you,” she mutters, twin flames burning on her cheeks.

Crouching, I pick up the knife and hold the side of the handle out to her. “Let’s try that again. This time pretend you actually want to kill me.”

Her eyes dart to mine, shadows of fear dancing in the depths of her irises. Cautiously, she takes hold of the handle.

I step back and hold my arms up in a surrendering gesture. “Go on. Try to stab me.”

Her gaze flits between my face and chest, her body wound so tight, I’m worried she might strain a muscle.

Rosalie lunges forward, and wanting to build her confidence, I hold still and only move at the last second. Again I grab her wrist, but this time I don’t twist it to force the knife out of her hold. Instead, I yank her against me, and as her head tilts back, I lean down. Our faces are an inch apart, and I can feel her breaths rushing over my lips.

Blyadʹ, she’s breathtakingly stunning.

Attraction flames up inside me, making me overly aware of her. I take in the golden flecks hiding between the soft brown of her eyes. Her button nose makes her look cute as fuck, and her heart-shaped lips beg to be kissed.

When she tries to put some space between us, I wrap my right arm around her to keep her in place. I stare into her eyes until they start to burn with anger.

“Now take that anger and use it. Let it make you stronger,” I order, my tone too low and intimate.

She yanks against my hold, trying to free her hand.

“Come on, Little Rose,” I taunt her with a smirk. “I’m barely using any strength.”

She lets out a growl then stomps on my foot. It rips laughter from me, but I let her go.

“This isn’t funny!” she screams, throwing the knife at me.

The blade nicks the side of my arm before hitting the floor and skidding to a stop.

Rosalie’s eyes are wide as saucers, her body frozen in shock.

I lift my hand to the wound, and my finger comes away with drops of blood. Giving Rosalie an impressed smile, I nod. “That’s much better.”

Her features tighten with disbelief. “I just hurt you, and you praise me for it? Are you insane?”

I shake my head and lock eyes with her. “I’m relieved. With training, you’ll be able to stand up for yourself when you leave. I won’t have to worry about you once you’re gone.”

Her eyebrows draw together. “Are you really going to let me go?”

I pick up the knife and rinse it off before I continue making the sandwiches.

“Yes, Little Rose.” My eyes flick to hers. “Once you’re twenty-one.”

When I’m placing slices of cheese on the bread, Rosalie says, “You’re bleeding.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to treat the wound?”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to clean up after you.” Using the knife, I point to a cupboard. “You’ll find a first aid kit in there.”

“I’m not touching you with a ten-foot pole,” she grumbles.

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m starting to think you’re defying me, so I’ll spank you.” I set the knife down on the counter and prowl closer to her. “Is that what you want, Little Rose?”

She takes a faltering step backward, shaking her head so hard, the strands of hair fly around her shoulders.

My hand darts out, and I capture the back of her neck. With a tug, I have her body crashing into mine. Her lips part with a gasp, her hands coming up to grip my sides so she won’t lose her balance from the sudden movement.

Lowering my voice and lacing the words with seduction, I say, “You don’t have to test my patience to get my attention. All you have to do is ask.”

Anger wars with uncertainty on her face, then she whispers, “Let go.”

I tilt my head, and leaning closer, I allow my lips to brush over her flushed cheek. “Is that really what you want?”

Her breaths are coming hard and fast, and for a moment, I feel her grip on my sides tighten. The word wooshes from her, “Yes.”

I let go of her so fast that she stumbles backward.

I nod toward the cupboard. “Get the first aid kit and clean the mess you made on my arm.”

This time she doesn’t argue and quickly retrieves the box.

While I place the sandwiches on plates, Rosalie tears open an antiseptic wipe. She scowls at me as she moves closer and dabs up the drying blood.

“I wish the knife hit your neck,” she mutters under her breath.

I give her a playful grin. “There’s always next time.”

She lets out an annoyed huff. “You’re insufferable.”

I chuckle, and while Rosalie disposes of the wipe and puts the first aid kit away, I carry the plates out onto the patio.

When she comes to the patio, she doesn’t take a seat at the wrought iron table but picks up her plate and heads back into the house.

With a broad smile on my face, my teeth sink into the sandwich.

There’s hope for you yet, Little Rose.


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