Chapter 17
No man has ever made me feel safe, especially not one like him, who probably has the capabilities to do a hell of a lot more damage than most. Yet standing in the crook of his arm, under his protection, I know Demagio has no chance in hell of touching me again, and he's not about to flip out at me for this either.
We are in the female toilets; it's obvious who followed who in this and a bloody nose doesn't normally follow something consensual. Alexi isn't stupid by any means.
It's his sinister low and even tone of inevitable psycho.
Jesus Christ. Demagio is going to get it now.
The withering mess of man behind me is proof that Alexi's reputation isn't just a myth. If the man claiming to have known him a long time having a mental breakdown is anything to go by.
I swear he has started bubbling and out of the corner of my eyes I see him drop to his knees to beg. I catch a glimpse of black from the corner of my eye as one of Alexi's men appears behind him, and he finally looks away from me, breaking his spell but keeping me up close against him protectively. My body shaking and clinging to him for support even though on any normal day of the week I would not be getting up close and personal for anything!
"Take Marcus outside; I'll be a minute. I want to talk to him." He moves me aside, hand still around my waist keeping me pinned to him, so he holds my full weight, still cradling my jaw with a gentle hand and doesn't react when the man sweeps past us at speed.
Demagio is still stammering apologies and avoiding looking my way. Alexi's men are practically dragging him as he offers no resistance. Begging like a little bitch to be spared.
I hope Alexi kicks the utter shit out of him and cuts off his balls.
The last black suit follows, and I can hear the voices stray further down the corridor until they are hushed tones in the distance and Demagio's begging whiny tone is barely audible. I have no idea what he's going to do but I can guarantee it won't happen in the opera house, so publicly. He will have him removed somewhere private instead and deal with him in his own time.
Alexi lets go of my face and puts his hand into his inner pocket, bringing out a white folded handkerchief and presses it to my mouth firmly, stemming the blood that was making its way down my chin. I lift my hand impulsively, to cover it, and hold it instead.
His hand underneath mine feels different, even though it's not the first time we have had physical contact, somehow the intimacy of this pose and what just happened has me feeling out of whack, and his touch right now is doing weird things to my nerves.
He is calming me effortlessly, soothing me, and we just seem to stand for a moment locked in a gaze before he says anything. It's almost as though everything else fades out and all I am aware of in this second is his close proximity and those eyes reaching deep into my soul.
"Here. Compose yourself and fix your appearance, I'll be outside. Take your time, as much as you need. I'll wait." He says it so softly, so non-Alexi and I melt with some weird relief that he's not angry at me and being weirdly human and warm. I feel like we are in another dimension, to be honest. One where Mr Emotionless has a hint of gentleness and care and instead of hating on him I suddenly want to curl up against him and let him make it all better.
I must be drunk! He finally lets me go as I cover the cloth with both my hands, letting me loose on my own shaking legs and pausing for a moment to make sure I can stand unaided. Closing the door behind him when he lets me go, so I'm locked in here alone, back in complete silence and blinking in disbelief at how this just went down.
I know no one else will get in here if he is standing outside and I let out a long slow breath of relief. My life is always drama and violence.
I completely sag against the wall and sink a little. Overcome with adrenaline and yet complete confusion. That moment was almost tender, Alexi was almost kind and it completely threw me. He's the devil incarnate who doesn't have a heart, yet he didn't seem that way right now, he seemed almost nice and genuinely concerned about me.
Who knew he could be so gentle with his touch?
I trace my fingers over where he held my face and can still feel his heat tingling there. No idea why his touch could leave a mark more effectively on my skin than what that arsehole just did to me and I push it away. Unnerved by something so stupid and shake it off.
I straighten myself up and walk back to the vanity, catching sight in the mirror of the chaos I'm in.
My hair is falling down badly, pulled and messy, my face bright red and swelling on the left side. My lip is split and my nose is bleeding from the impact of the punch. I run his handkerchief under cold water and press it to the areas that are swelling trying to get myself under control, and trying not to baulk at the mess that arsehole has made of my face. I'm enraged that he's ripped my new four-thousand-dollar dress and has ruined it completely!
I manage to tuck the torn fabric into my bra, so it at least looks like it's meant to be and not like its hanging off, and pull my hair down, so it falls in soft waves around me, concealing a lot of my injuries instead. I rummage in my bag and use whatever makeup and wipes I can to clean myself up and limit the obvious damage. Hiding and tidying all signs of anything amiss, so I can get out of this building with no one asking questions.