Page 142 of The Ache That Stayed
My stomach dipped because he was right.
“I can send those pictures to Marcello,” he continued, almost casually. “Let him decide what to believe.”
“They’re out of context.”
“Are they?”
The warehouse felt entirely drained of air.
“What do you want?” I asked again.
“Transfer everything.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “That’s everything we have.”
“And I thought you’d be smarter.”
“Didn’t you make me suffer enough?”
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest, mock hurt twisting his mouth.
“I’m hurt, Pumpkin,” he said lightly. “I thought you enjoyed our little games.”
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“No,” he said slowly, his gaze dragging over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “You’re not.”
“Sit,” he said firmly.
When I didn’t move, the hand holding the knife came up. He caught the top button of my shirt between his thumb and knife and ripped it. The sound snapped through the silence. My body reacted instantly. My lungs forgot how to work. My hands went numb.
“You sit and sign,” he continued, almost conversational, “or maybe I let them”—his chin lifted slightly toward the two men on the upper level— “get a better look.”
The blade slowly slid lower, tracing the exposed skin beneath my collarbone. Close enough to steal whatever air I had left. Because my body remembered.
Nausea rolled through me. My shoulders locked, spine going rigid as acid surged up my throat. Not here. Not again.
“Maybe, this time, I record it,” he added, voice lowering just enough to turn filthy. “Send it to your man. Let him see what you really are.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to ground me.
“You’re disgusting.”
A soft laugh left him. “You think this is only about you?”
His tone shifted. Darkened. He began circling me slowly.
“No,” he said. “If it was just you, I wouldn’t have waited this long.”
He continued, voice sharpening slightly, “Your man has been interfering in things that don’t concern him. Costing me money. Territory.”
He stopped in front of me again.
“So I thought…” he murmured, almost thoughtful. “Why not take something from him instead?”
My blood ran cold.
“Break the one thing he actually cares about.”
