Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
My laugh is full of spite. “Were you trying to make something work?”
Hurt flashes in her beautiful brown eyes. “Yes. What a pity you didn’t notice.”
I grab her around the nape and yank her against me. “I did notice.” Taking in her gorgeous features, I lower my head and breathe over her lips, “That’s the problem. You’re fucking with my head.”
She places her palms on my chest, but she’s not pushing me away. She answers me in a breathless voice. “Why is that a problem? Why would you think I’m trying to fuck with you?”
Tension flows through my body and branches out into every direction until I feel it in my fingers. They tighten with an involuntarily force on the soft skin in my grip.
My honesty is raw. “Because you’re going to sell me out.”
Fuck.
It hurts to say it out loud, not only admitting the fact in so many words but also letting her in on the truth—that it’s eating like acid into my gut.
“Oh, Mr. Russo.” She reaches up and cups my cheek in a pitying rather than a gentle gesture. “How wrong you are. Why won’t you believe me? Do you honestly think I’ll endanger my family?”
I lock my free hand around her wrist and press my cheek against her palm. “I have the intel, Sabella.” The intense disappointment of that betrayal makes my words hard. “It’s time to admit the truth. Stop fucking lying to me.”
“It’s you who can’t see the truth. Perhaps you don’t want to. Is it simply easier for you to hate me?”
“Hate you?” The alcohol makes me too honest again. “You know I never hated you.”
Sadness washes into her expression. “Not even a little?”
I remember when she asked me that question the first time. I thought I did then. I wanted to punish her. But everything is different now. She apologized. She’s going to be the mother of my child, and all I want to do is take care of her. Yet she’s not giving me the forever she owes me.
“What makes you so certain of your facts?” she asks. “What proof do you have?”
I release her wrist and brush my hand up her arm. “The night Lavigne interrogated you isn’t on record. Someone wiped out the camera feed.”
She looks surprised. If she’s acting, she’s acing it. “Why?”
“Come on, bella.” I huff a laugh. “It’s not hard to guess. He cut you a deal.”
“He did.”
Her easy admittance takes me aback.
“But I refused,” she continues.
I stop stroking her arm and rest my hand on her shoulder. “That’s not what my intel says.”
“What intel?” she exclaims. “There was no one else in the room.”
A muscle ticks in my temple. “Exactly. No witnesses. Convenient, no?”
“So it’s someone who spoke to Lavigne, a partner or a colleague, and you trust someone who’ll betray his own team?”
I think about it. Saying it like that, it gives me pause. But no. The force is full of rats, people who honor money more than loyalty. However, I can’t ignore the fact that the informant, Hugo, may be a fake. He is my uncles’ contact, and my uncles are up to something. Undermining me, no doubt. I’m yet to prove it, but I will.
Her soft voice is cajoling. So fucking tempting. “Why do you refuse to give us a chance, Mr. Russo?”
“Why don’t you say my name?” I deadpan.
She drops her hand from my cheek. “You know why.”
I squeeze her nape. “Why?”
Rebellion sparks in her eyes. “You told me not to say it.”
“Unless you come.”
“That night, I made myself an oath.” She meets my gaze squarely, even at the disadvantage of her height. “And I won’t break it.”
Fuck. That cuts into me like glass shards and steel knives. I can’t say I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a prick. I’ve just been so fucking angry, so self-consumed.
“Say it.” I have to try. “Forget about what I said then. Say it now.”
She gives a sad little shake of her head. “A promise is a promise, Mr. Russo. I can’t go back on my word. Not to myself.”
I exhale through my nose as I deal with that blow. I can’t say I didn’t bring that one on myself either.
Securing her with my hand around the back of her neck, I pull her closer until the length of her body is pressed against mine. I inhale the smell of the cherry blossom shampoo in her hair, and suddenly, I miss the salt of the sea on her skin and the look on her face when she comes out of the water. Happy. Carefree. And I realize with a start I only saw her like that once. On the day I met her.
“What will it take for you to believe me?” she asks, her expression empty. Devoid of hope.
It guts me that it’s me who put that look on her face. I want to believe her so damn much. She has no idea. Under the numbing influence of the alcohol, I’m honest enough with myself to admit that what stalls me in killing Lavigne isn’t the kids or the war Marziale started. No. Those are mere excuses. What’s stalling me is the fear of finally facing the truth. To have proof beyond a doubt of what Sabella is planning. But I can’t live in fear and denial forever. I can’t carry on like this. I’m at the end of my tether.