Page 89 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
"I do." I grab his wrists, trying to pull his hands away even though part of me wants to lean into the touch, wants to let him hold me together. "I do not need you or Dante or Luca. I do not need any of this. I should have just—I should have stayed in my room and kept my mouth shut and not gotten involved with any of you."
"You don’t mean that," he repeats, and there is certainty in his voice that makes me want to scream.
"Yes, I do!" I wrench myself out of his grip, anger flooding through me hot and sharp. "This was a mistake. All of it. The marriage, the sharing, letting myself care about you—it was all a mistake and now I am trapped and I cannot?—"
I do not get to finish because Gabriel moves, backing me up against the wall with his body, his hands braced on either side of my head, caging me in.
"No," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to push me away with lies just because you are scared."
"I am not scared," I snap, even though we both know it is bullshit.
"You are terrified," he counters. "Something happened at that estate. Something Patrick said or did that has you spiraling. And instead of telling us—instead of letting us help—you are down here trying to beat your hands bloody."
"So what?" I shove at his chest again, but he doesn’t budge. "What does it matter? Why do you care?"
"Because I love you!" The words explode out of him, raw and fierce, and they land between us like a bomb.
I freeze, staring at him, my brain trying to process what he just said.
"What?" The word comes out barely above a whisper.
"I love you," he repeats, softer this time but no less intense. "I am in love with you, Rosalina. And I am not going to stand here and let you destroy yourself."
"You do not—" I shake my head, tears streaming down my face now. "You cannot?—"
"I can and I do." His hand comes up to cup my face again, thumb brushing away tears. "I love you. Dante loves you. Luca loves you. And whatever is happening, whatever you are dealing with, we will figure it out together."
“It does not matter, because I love you,” he says breathlessly and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is not gentle. It is fierce and desperate and tastes like salt from my tears and blood from my split knuckles that must have brushed against his face. I try to push him away, try to maintain some semblance of control, but he kisses me deeper and my resistance crumbles like paper on fire.
I kiss him back with all the rage and fear and desperation churning inside me, my bloody hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as part of me screams to push him away.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grip my thighs and lift me, pinning me against the wall with his hips, and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct, my body making decisions my brain has abandoned trying to control.
"Tell me to stop," he says against my mouth, his voice rough. "If you want me to stop, tell me now."
I should tell him to stop. Should push him away. Should maintain the distance I need to keep the lies intact, but I can’t keep this rage in me alone any longer.
"Don’t stop," I breathe. "Please, Gabriel, do not stop."
He groans, the sound vibrating through both of us, and then his mouth is on my neck, teeth grazing skin, and I arch into him, my head falling back against the wall.
"I hate you," I gasp out, even though we both know it is a lie.
"No, you don’t." His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin. "Try again."
"I hate that I spent every day loving you when I could have seen my father one last time.."
"Good." He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to make me gasp. "Keep it coming."
"I can’t believe I was so selfish," I whisper, and fresh tears leak from my eyes. "I hate myself so much for?—"
He kisses me again, cutting off the spiral of panic with his mouth, and this time when I kiss him back it is not just rage and desperation—it is relief. His hands slide down to my hips, grinding me against him, and I moan into his mouth, my fingers threading through his hair and tugging the way I know he likes.
“Don’t you ever say you hate my girl,” he growls against my lips. “Understand me?”
I shake my head, the movement desperate, my cheek scraping against his stubble. “But I--.”
