Raw Bloody Power

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Rio

Two years ago…

Her scent lingers.

I’m surprised I remember it after so many years, inhaling another deep breath as my fingertips glide over the polished wood of her dorm’s desk. A distant, nearly forgotten version of myself misses it—the poor bastard—but animosity quickly takes hold, drowning the pathetic sentiment in the sweltering depths where hate reigns supreme. My lip curls at the memories, more still when I spot photos of her and her friends enjoying their Ivy League experience here at Harvard.

Photos that shouldn’t exist, photos that should be with me, of us .

Ripping one of the frames off the wall, I examine those ethereal golden eyes and gleaming white smile, my thumb rubbing at the glass over her face involuntarily. She looks the same just…older, the pretty yet innocent features that once drew me in as a boy replaced by a siren-like beauty only a grown woman can possess.

She was a woman I used to envision more times than I can count, planted firmly in some imagined future where the rivalry between our families meant shit and only she and I mattered. A future where I worshipped her, protected her, fucking killed for her by any means necessary.

The Universe said fuck you to that.

A bitter, deep-seated growl builds in my chest and disperses through every limb, leaving a clawing ache in its wake. I rub at it over the thin material of my shirt and make quick work of tossing the picture into the small woven trash can with a heavy hand. Not five seconds later, the door flies open, revealing the woman I drove almost four hours to see.

Ivory-fucking-Belucci.

Her footing falters beneath the threshold, those eyes I was studying moments ago now bulging out of her head.

“Rio…” My name comes on a breath, amplifying the gnawing in my chest. “W-what are you doing here?”

Stare narrowing, I remain rooted to the spot beneath me, wordless and unyielding. I take in every facet of her being, hands balling into fists at my sides. When it’s clear she’s not getting an answer, she sidles further into the room and closes the door, tension festering like a tumultuous storm as the silence continues to stretch.

And stretch .

And stretch.

She saunters right into my personal space, the click of her heels echoing in the small room, and cranes her head back to look me in the eye. The dark, loosely waved tendrils of her hair cascade down her back with the motion, revealing the rose necklace I gave her many moons ago. I’m disarmed at the sight of it, curious as to why she’s still wearing it. And yet I don’t move, don’t speak, just observe and repress every damn feeling that foolishly threatens to rush to the surface in her presence.

This was a bad idea; I see that now. Hating her from a distance was easy, but with only inches separating us in this moment, the line between love and hate blurs into nothingness. Clearly the poor bastard who relished her scent isn’t as detached from my present-day self as I’d led myself to believe.

After a beat or maybe even two, she reaches out for me, setting a soft palm to my cheek as she gauges my reaction. “I’ve missed you, Crow. So much. Even after all this time…”

I immediately resent how much that nickname still affects me, how the urge to wrap her in my arms and melt into her touch is too dire to ignore.

I try.

I can’t.

I fail.

I thought I was stronger than this, but the hold this woman has on me is irreversible. As I suck in a fortifying breath, my hand flies over hers, an arm snaking around her waist to reel her in closer. We’re so close, all I’d have to do is duck and those lush, full lips would be mine for the taking.

“I still love you, Petal,” I whisper senselessly. “I still want you, every last piece of you.”

The corners of her mouth tilt in a hopeful smile, eyes glassy as she wills back unbidden tears. “Are you for real right now? Is this real?”

Guiding her arms around my neck, I crush her against me, swallowing her in my embrace. She feels different—curvier, more supple, softer, and thicker than I remember, yet oddly the same.

She feels like home.

“It’s real, baby girl. It’s so fucking real . I’m right here, begging for forgiveness on my proverbial knees. You don’t understand the regret I feel?—”

“Sh, sh, sh…” She sets a finger to my lips. “It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. We were young, there was a lot at stake. Of course I forgive you. How could I not? It’s you, Rio… it’ll always be you. No one compares.”

Red.

I see pure, flaming red as wrath swiftly unfurls from the marrow of my bones. I knew it.

I fucking knew it. She’s had ages to realize what she did, to own up to it and take responsibility for how badly she screwed up…but she forgives me?

Is she delusional?

Does she think I forgot the dirty little details?

Does she really and truly think an epic second chance is possible after the vow I made her? One I most certainly did not utter in vain.

My temper flares with such speed and such ferocity, I have zero seconds to think my next move through. Then again, Impulsive has always been my middle name.

Locking a hand around her throat, I slam her into the nearest wall as the vision of that night, our last night, replays right before my very eyes. I’ve come to learn that no matter the time that passes, no matter what the fuck I do—I’ll never be able to scrub that shit from my mind. Her betrayal left a scar so deep, nothing will solder it back together, and now… I’m going to return the favor.

I want her to hurt.

Want her to bleed.

Want her to suffer in equal measure.

“Foolish girl,” I grit through my teeth, reveling in the alarmed expression now staring back at me. Just like the old days, before I loved her. “The fact you believed even a moment of that is pathetic.”

Her dainty fingers curl around my wrist as she struggles to breathe. “Rio, please.”

“Please, what?” I slam her against the wall again. “Did you really think I was here to make amends?”

Her silence thereafter says it all.

“Let me be very clear in case my last fuck you got lost in translation… I don’t want you, Ivory, and I sure as shit don’t love you. You mean nothing to me. Nothing. Of all the mistakes I’ve made in life, you have proven to be the worst one yet, a memory I wish I could forget.”

Tears leak down her cheeks, but I don’t ease up, bringing myself closer, tightening my hold.

“I’m only here to warn you…when you’re done walking that stage and getting your little diploma, find somewhere else to go. If I see so much as a glimpse of you walking the streets of New York, you’ll reap the consequences in one way or another. That’s my city, and I promise you—once my father takes his last breath and I claim my place on the throne—I will wipe out every last Belucci—you included, if it comes down to that.”