Page 117 of King of Ashes
Deep down, I knew. Perks of knowing her and the fact that I put a tracking chip inside her.
It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots, especially after her return, when she swung from one extreme to the other—her desire to kill me masked beneath a playful game, then surrendering to her need for me.
The two sides of her wreak havoc—her indelible love for me, the one I thought would drive her insane, and her misplaced anger.
Her eyes glow with a hatred so intense it butchers my insides.
I erased myself from her thoughts so she could live. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, knowing she loved me but would go mad.
I tried to explain, time and time again, yet it only triggered another episode until she turned completely numb—no reactions, and that horrified me.
She pins me with a deadly glare burning with betrayal. “I hate you.”
I drag a hand down my face, undecided which course of action would be best this time. I am rooted in place, knowing one wrong move could cost me everything.
“I’ve heard this before. Hate me all you want. Hate me for the rest of your life, but I won’t lose you a second time. If you want to get rid of me, then kill me, but I refuse to let you go. I’ll take your hate, or you can take my life. There is no middle ground.”
I step forward when she snatches something from her purse. The gun trembles in her hands as she points it at me.
She could very well shoot me, and I wouldn’t care. “What’s it going to be, mi sol?”
“Don’t call me that,” she shouts, fat tears brimming in her eyes.
I don’t stop, driven by the need to reach and soothe her. The muzzle digs into my chest, and I lift my hand to overpower her, but she backs away, shaking her head. “You must have had a good laugh at my expense.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, balling them into fists, and let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, I’ve laughed so fucking much I contemplated ending my life a hundred times over the course of these years.”
Silence drops like a hammer on a crystal floor, shattering the frail foundation we tiptoe on.
Her pain is my pain, and what I feel threatens to destroy me. All I’ve ever wanted was to love this woman, make her happy, and bring her joy, but our world intervened. Mafia love stories aren’t supposed to be sweet; they spill blood, wear sin, and carry betrayal.
It takes everything in me not to erase the distance between us, claim her lips, remind her we’re inescapable, unavoidable, unstoppable.
I will die loving her. She will live hating me.
She wipes her cheeks, attempting to erase her vulnerability, and my focus redirects to the loaded gun that could go off any second. “I’ve been so stupid.”
“Not stupid, just in love. Please, lower the gun.”
“In love?” A shout wrenches from her throat, piercing my chest, and she swings the gun between us. “Do you call this love? Then you’re a sick, twisted man.”
“So be it. It won’t change a thing.”
“I hope you rot in hell, asshole.”
“You’d join me, baby. Because you can’t live without me either. We’re that fucking mad for each other.”
Fury strikes her face, pulling her features taut, and I know what she wants to do long before she does. She rushes to the first frame.
“Don’t,” I plead, but my words fall on deaf ears.
She yanks the first picture off the wall and throws it at me. I catch it midair and stare at it before the next one hits my shoulder and breaks at my feet.
“I will destroy every single one of them, and then I will burn this house down with you in it.”
I let her, sensing she needs to dispel her anger by giving in to a destructive impulse, even though it hurts me. That’s why she does it, forcing me to witness our past lying in shards at my feet.
She breathes heavily by the time she finishes crushing every single one.
