IF I AM GRATEFUL for anything, it's that the nightgown I have on is black and completely opaque. I wish I could say the same for my emotions, which are transparently, even flagrantly, displaying themselves on my face.

Antonio yanks a drape shut with a clatter of curtain rings against the rod, his gaze unreadable. "Are you sure you want to know the truth, Miss Martell?"

I straighten up, my hair making a damp imprint on the small of my back. "At any cost, Mr. Cavalli."

"Some prices," he says slowly, "are too high to pay."

That, I won't argue with. But the truth has already been revealed to me in a dozen painful ways. I can take another hit. Even if I feel lacerated by his eyes, torn to ribbons then sewn back together again, during the moment that he takes to gaze at me. "I can handle it."

He almost smiles, something like pride in his expression. Approval. It almost warms my chilled body better than the tea. "Of course you can. Sit down, Christina."

Antonio doesn't call me sweetheart. But it's more intimate than Miss Martell. Legs feeling slightly weak, I lower myself onto the couch and sink into it. The leather cocoons me like an embrace, like a funeral shroud. Tilting my head back, I look up at him while he leans against the wall, staring at a spot somewhere behind my head. Like he almost can't admit the truth to me, like only my requests are reluctantly wrenching it from him.

"You were right. I picked you, out of every girl in New York City, to go on a date with me, not just because I thought you were beautiful, or interesting, or something about you caught my eye. I chose you because of who you are--who your father is. I chose you because of your last name. Your father is a crime lord--which you should know if your mother told you--and your mother escaped from him because he was married. She wanted to lead an honest, hardworking life with you, away from the glitz and glamour and blood that stained Charles Martell's hands.

"So she took you, and she left. Martell didn't chase her, because he was already married then and he had his third daughter on the way." He pauses as if giving me a breath to absorb what he's said. I have sisters. Somewhere out in this world, I have sisters. "Or so he thought. Actually, his wife was having an affair with his best friend, and his oldest daughters weren't his."

I frown and ask a question, one my sinking stomach and tense ribcage tell me I'll definitely regret. "But what does that have to do with you?"

He sighs. "My father wanted me to marry one of Charles Martell's daughters, to solidify the business deals between the Martells and the Cavalli's. We don't have the best relationship, so to be completely honest with you, I thought you would be a fun way to tick him off."

Standing up, I fold my arms across my chest. "Take me home."

"Christina," Antonio says, blocking my path immediately.

I can see the shine of a gun at his hip, the leather of a holster in his belt. This man has the word danger written all over him but all I can think, while I smell like him and have tasted his lips and worn his family's clothing, is that I have fool written all over me. I got played. I was worried about playboys and players, but not this kind. I was worried about a guy who would use me for sex. I wasn't thinking about a guy would drag me into his family drama, into his dangerous life, and into his catastrophically enticing grey eyes.

"Get out of my way," I say, more loudly now. "I don't care if it's raining. I don't care if it's the middle of the night. I want to go home."

Tears stinging my eyes, I push against his chest. He grabs my hands and stops me from moving. "You wanted this, sweetheart. You told me you could handle it."

"I thought you would be telling me some long-buried family secret," I say, my voice turning from a whisper into a shout. "I thought you would be telling me about business or family or... anything but the way that you used me, just like you're a spoiled brat, to get back at your father!"

Antonio holds both of my hands in one of his, long fingers encircling both my wrists. "Christina, sweetheart, I like you a lot."

I struggle to get away, struggle to keep my distance. "Tell me another lie. I've heard them all, from you and from him. And don't you dare call me sweetheart one more time."

"I am not your ex-boyfriend, Christina," he says lowly, an edge coming into his voice.

My head snaps up before he uses his other hand to move my chin upwards. "I didn't say you were Lucas."

"Then don't treat me like him," Antonio says, his tone gritty, his teeth clenched. "Don't expect the worst of me."

I struggle to free my hands from his grasp. "You have shown me nothing but the worst, Antonio."

With that, he releases me and I dart into the hall, not caring where I end up as long as it's away from him.