Shades of Sins (New York Sinner Series Book 2)

23| Cuts

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

Cuts

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

TW: Blood and gore

Chapter 23: Cuts (Anastasia's POV)

When I woke up the next morning, everything felt like a dream. Not one object was out of place in my bedroom, not one thing that belonged to Dante was left behind, and he himself was gone. 

A small frown settled between my brows as I began to roll over, growing still almost immediately when a hint of pain shot up my side. "Goddamn it," I mumbled, easing myself onto my elbows and then slowly upright, kicking the covers to the side and rising to my feet. 

I paused in confusion, taming my hair, and took another look around for some sign of his presence. Nothing. A light scoff escaped me as I moved to my bathroom. 

Of course, he left... 

It was safe to assume he had run off before I could wake up. With what happened in the past, you couldn't blame me for thinking that either. 

Suspicion and doubt clouded me as I set foot downstairs after freshening up. Kenji rushed to my side, eager for his usual morning pats. Delivering those absentmindedly, I entered the kitchen as the sizzling of fresh food on a pan, and the smell of a warm, Sunday morning kind of breakfast knocked out my senses. 

My lips parted in shock as I halted at the counter, setting my sights on Dante. He maneuvered around the kitchen as if he'd done it a thousand times, almost like he was in his natural element. He was dressed in last night's clothes, his hair more tamed than I imagined it was when he got out of bed, and he slid around the kitchen barefoot, knowing precisely where everything was located. 

Opening cabinets left and right, he grabbed cutlery and plates, salt and pepper, and whatever else he needed. I stood there and watched in silence until he spun around, two plates in hand, and set them on the counter, his eyes drifting to mine. 

A single brow twitched up, amusement settling into his gaze. "Buongiorno," he greeted, the Italian rolling off his tongue as smooth as liquor. 

"What do you think you're doing in my kitchen?" I asked, slowly walking further and rounded off to his side, my arms folded across my chest defensively. 

"Making breakfast," he answered, plucking a strawberry off one of the plates and bringing it to my lips. 

With an agitated click of my tongue, I swatted his hand aside. "I thought you left," I said, meeting his gaze. 

"Did you?" 

"Can you blame me? We both know you're great at running off without goodbye," I said. Was it necessary to take jabs at him that early in the morning? No. Would I do it anyway? Yes. 

He set the untouched strawberry back and released a slow breath, moving forward until he eventually cornered me, trapping me between him and the kitchen island behind me. 

My eyes dipped down to his torso where his shirt was splayed open, every goddamn button left unleashed, ready to undo me. Blinking, I forced my eyes up to his.