His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (sneezy the snowman read aloud TXT) 📕

pain in your life. Apparently, neither do you. But what I can do is make your last moments as good as I can. I'm willing to give that to you.”

Closing my eyes, I will the tears not to fall. I breathe deep, once, twice. I lose track of time. Stevie Ray Vaughan is stranded and caught in a crossfire. I’m stranded in a hell of my own making. Tony is offering me a way out without getting burned. Without pain. The tears are gone. I open my eyes and look at the small bag. I pick it up. It’s maybe two inches by two inches.

I put it down on the table, and I slide it across to him. “No. Somebody said that death should be easy because life is hard. I appreciate the offer. But if you’re going to kill me, I'm going to make it hard on you.”

A bitter laugh wells up out of me. “And maybe it won't be hard for someone like you. What? It will take five seconds to pull out the gun and pull the trigger. Will you even think of it for as long as it takes? By the time my body hits the floor, will you already have forgotten me? How many people have you killed? I’m curious. Do you know? Or do they all just blend together?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word. I reach out and grab the bottle. I don’t even bother with a glass; I drink from the bottle. When I’m done, I use it to point at him.

“I'm not going to make it easy on you. Because when I thought of killing you, despite what you think—it was never easy on me. Not for a single second. I know killing you doesn't solve any problems in this world, let alone mine. Now. I know it wasn't your fault Danny killed himself. I know it wasn't your fault my mom hurt me. I’m pretty sure I always knew none of it was your fault. I made it your fault because it was easier than admitting what my mom was, what Danny was, what my father was.”

I take another swig of the wine. For a moment, my head swims as the alcohol hits me. Damn, it’s gone.

Fuck, where did the tears come from? Fuck it, there’s no coming back from them now. “You were this big, strong, powerful, completely untouchable thing. You were everything I wanted to be but knew I never could be. And I resented the fuck out of you for it. I wanted to make somebody pay for all the pain. Almost twenty years later and you were still free from all the pain.  You were still this formidable, powerful, thing and I still wasn’t. It made me angrier than it did when I was ten years old.”

I slam the bottle on the table. “But I know it's wrong. Now. I get it. Killing you would be the same thing as killing me. And I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I don’t want to die. It would be easier. Easier for you and me. If you were to let me walk out the front door. I have no idea how I’ll get through tomorrow or the day after that. But I know I want to figure it out. I don’t want to kill you. It was never you I wanted to kill. I’m not sure why I couldn’t figure it out until today.”

Giving in, I look up to meet his eyes. They are impenetrable ice, he doesn't believe me. He still thinks I want to kill him. He still thinks I'm somebody to worry about.

I take a deep breath, wondering what happens now. His eyes flick to my chest, I feel them instantly. Even cold, his eyes affect me like a touch. It flashes instantly, the memory of what happened. He knew I wanted to kill him when I walked into the room. It hadn’t mattered to him, he wanted me. Tony Sabatini still wants me.

I want him too. Not just want him, that’s too soft a word. I need him, ache for him in a way I’ve never known before. If he does kill me, I want him to be the last thing I feel. I'm pretty sure I could die happy with Tony Sabatini as my last everything. I’ll take that. If it’s the only thing I can have, I’ll be happy with that.

“If you're going to kill me, I have one last request.”

An eyebrow goes up, yet he says nothing.

Meeting those cold blue eyes, I take a deep breath. “I want you to be the last thing I have. The French call it la petite mort. I would like a little death before the big one. From you.”

His jaw hardens, his hands go into fists on the table. It’s the moment in the room all over again. But he doesn’t say a word.

“Can you not deliver? Lisa said you could deliver.” I’m intent on getting a response, on getting what I want. I stand and take off my shirt, his eyes are on my breasts. The clasp of my bra is in the front, I flick it open. “It doesn’t seem fair. I took your cock down my throat, and you left me wet and aching, feeling so empty, Tony. I wanted your cock inside me—”

He moves so fucking fast I swear I never see it. One moment he’s sitting, unmoving, the next, his hands are on my arms, pulling me across the table. The clatter of the plates and glasses falling to the floor are dim against the roaring of the blood in my ears as his mouth crashes down on mine. It’s back, that painful electricity explodes throughout my entire body. So powerful that it’s painful. And it hurts so fucking good.

My hands are around his neck, needing to hold onto something. His tongue is velvet soft yet hot and hungry as it ravages mine. Taking, demanding, owning