Falling for the Devil

She was sent to bury him. She forgot to bring a shovel for herself.

Ishani Shekhawat didn't come to Salvatore Moretti's world to fall in love. She came with a name, a face, and eleven years of practice not flinching.

"You've been staring at me for four minutes," he says, not looking up from his glass. "Are you deciding how to kill me, or how to kiss me?"

"Can't it be both?"

"With you? I'd be disappointed if it wasn't."

He knows exactly who sent her. He let her in the door anyway, because he was bored of people who were scared of him - and she isn't.

"Say it," he tells her, close enough that she can count the seconds between his breaths. "Tell me you don't think about it."

"I think about a lot of things, Salvatore. Doesn't mean I'll let myself have them."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes, either."

But some truths don't stay buried under good sex and better lies. When Ishani finally learns what he did - and what his father did before him - there's no version of "sorry" that fixes it.

"Say something," she says, and her voice doesn't shake, even though everything else does.

"There's nothing I can say that won't sound like an excuse."

"Then don't. Just tell me if you'd do it again."

He doesn't answer fast enough. That's the answer.

He was the devil, She was never supposed to want this much.