Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

15 | Nina

I think that finally, I'm just as insane as my captor.

My runs with Santo become something I look forward to with unexpected fervor. It's my only opportunity to get out, yes, but it's also indescribably satisfying to get under the man's skin. I know he avoided them for a few days, but he's stupid if he thinks he can get rid of me that fast.

After that night, I've become convinced that he won't hurt me.

I don't know if it was the deep shuddering breaths of his chest against mine or the pure agony in him when I left. But I'm placing my faith in the assurance I have that he will let me remain unharmed, and it's either the most idiotic or the cleverest thing I've done.

Because I can see it slowly unraveling him.

I've seen it though, that when he's pushed to his breaking point, he doesn't hurt me. I don't think he can bring himself to.

I don't think we're ever going to be civil, but I do think that I like the way my body comes alive when he looks at me in that way he's so inclined to. Hooded eyes, a dangerous tilt to his brows. It feels like a million little champagne bubbles are floating around in my gut.

Even if he's absolutely crazy. One second he's almost making me feel like I can have a backbone, and the next he's stomping on it while he laughs in my face and reminds me that he can easily kill me. And perhaps I'm crazy too, for the things I'm feeling towards him. For the way I think back on that night in Seattle and let it reassure me.

He's made me think—about my life and what I expect from it. For some reason, it's stuck in my head that he doesn't call me 'princess' anymore. Because I told him, in a rare show of confidence, that I didn't like it. That very first day, all those weeks ago.

And he listened.

I'm painfully confused. Sometimes I'm frightened. I'm constantly in a state of uncertainty. But I feel... alive. Somehow. Some way. So I chase that feeling.

It's weird, looking back on that week in the cabin, there's almost a part of me that... misses it. And when I try to unpack that, I realize it's because I could see and feel myself getting under his skin.

And that made me feel powerful. It does my head in but despite his domineering, asshole tendencies, I feel like I don't have to care about the way I come across with him. About how I express myself. He doesn't perceive me differently because of it—he perceives me the very same way no matter what.

Not that I know how that is. And not that he does either.

So, as if my mere presence isn't enough to make his bulky shoulders tense and irritation slither into those mocha eyes, I make it a goal of mine to mess with him in other ways. Santo has thick skin and I can mostly say whatever I want. Nothing bothers him—except that tattoo, I mentally note.

And me nearly getting killed.

So, I decide to keep doing that. I did make that promise to myself that if he wanted me to just deal with this life he's kidnapped me into, he'd have to learn to deal with me.

In the following days, I insist on coming on Santo's runs. I purposefully maintain the pace of a snail, until he leans down and snarls in my ear that if I don't move faster, he'll haul me up and hand deliver my "dolce culo"—whatever that means—to Luciano's doorstep. Sometimes, I slip into coffee shops and wait for his large and imposing figure to darken the doorway, eyes sweeping the room for me.

When I'm at the house, I'm either reading or engaging in some off-base conversation with Tommaso or Nico. Those two, mainly the latter, are starting to grow on me. Tommaso is still an arrogant jerk. But I can tell Nico isn't sure how to interact with me, considering the circumstances behind why I'm here. I don't hold the sins of his brothers against him. And Tommaso... well, at least I don't bat an eye anymore if I walk into the room, and he happens to be buried in some prostitute, mid-thrust.