Page 48 of Freed
“You took.”
The word lands between us, heavy and final.
I can see it hit him.
Can see the flash of something raw beneath all that cold control. But I’m too angry to care.
“You took because it was easier than asking why I stayed away. You took because it was easier than facing your ownchoices. You took because somewhere deep down, you still think wanting something badly enough gives you the right to have it.”
My throat burns. My eyes burn. Everything in me feels scraped raw.
“And the worst part?” I laugh once, broken and furious. “You’re so used to people cleaning up after your destruction that you probably assumed the rest would sort itself out.”
He straightens slowly.
When he speaks, his voice is frighteningly even. “Are you finished?”
“No.” I step closer before I can think better of it, anger making me reckless. “What happens when Dante comes for me? Because he will. What happens when your wife asks where you’ve been? What happens when the whole world finds out you flew into Italy like a madman and started a war because you couldn’t stand seeing me with someone else?”
His gaze locks onto mine. “I’ll handle it.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
“Because you don’t know.” The realization hits me with fresh disgust. “You really don’t know. You have no idea what comes next.”
Something savage moves through his face then, quick and hot.
He doesn’t touch me, but he crowds into my space, forcing me to tip my head back to meet his stare.
“I know one thing,” he says, each word clipped. “You are not with him.”
My pulse hammers.
“Congratulations,” I whisper. “You won the immediate crisis. That still doesn’t make you smart.”
His nostrils flare.
And for the first time since the church, I think I’ve truly managed to wound him. Good. Because he deserves to bleed.
“You want honesty?” I say, my voice trembling now from exhaustion as much as rage. “Here it is. Men like Dante plan. Men like you react. He built a life around protecting me. You built a disaster and called it love.”
For one suspended second, I think he might actually explode.
Instead, he leans in until his mouth is near my ear, his voice a dark, controlled murmur that sends a chill down my spine.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Then he steps back just enough to remind me that he’s holding on by a thread too. I swallow hard, refusing to let him see the way my hands are shaking.
He looks at me for a long moment, then says, “Get some sleep.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I almost laugh again. “Amazing. You start a blood feud, kidnap me from my wedding, and now your plan is a nap?”
