“Bastian is going to get Emma alone? He can’t! He’s out of control!”
“Only when it comes to you, Dandelion.”
“But—”
“You’ll talk to Emma as soon as he has her secured on the plane back.”
“Secured. Kidnapped, you mean. She’s going to be terrified.”
“She’ll get over it, and she’ll be with you. Endgame, Vittoria. Remember it.”
“What’s your endgame, Amadeo?” I don’t know why I ask because I don’t want to know. His eyes hold mine captive, and I feel the inequity between us again. That imbalance of power. He has it all.
“Does he have her already?”
“Not yet. It’ll happen in a few hours, though. At her appointment.”
“How?”
“It’s handled. Nothing to discuss.”
While I’m not thrilled about this because she will be terrified, he’s right about the result. I have to remember that. She will be safer here with me. That is a fact. And this is the price she and I will both pay.
“I’ll need to FaceTime her. Not just a call. She’ll need to see my face, and I need to see hers.”
“Why?”
“Emma was traumatized. It’s like you don’t get it. At all.” I pick up my wineglass, stand, and walk to the counter. I tilt the glass into the sink to empty it, then fill it with water from the faucet. It turns pink from the little bit of wine left inside. I take a sip, then set it down. Keeping my back to him, I push the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the warm flush of tears. I hear him push his chair back, and moments later, he’s behind me, hands on my shoulders to turn me. He takes my wrists and pulls my hands from my face. I look up at him, tears flowing freely now.
It's too much. All of it is too much, and I can’t stop the tears from coming. I can’t stand upright and challenge him, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to somehow save Emma and myself.
Amadeo watches me for a long, long time, then he cups my face. There’s that softening of his eyes again. A reprieve from everything, a moment when hate and vengeance are set aside. When I inhale, I smell his clean scent. Soap and aftershave. Leather and spice and strength. I breathe it in.
“She’ll be safe here,” he tells me, tone softer than it’s been. He touches his thumbs to the soft skin beneath my eyes to wipe away the tears, and a part of me wants to melt into his touch. His warmth. The solidity of him. A part of me that needs the relief of it.
“It’s too much,” I mutter.
“You’re tired, Dandelion.”
I am. I’m so tired. I lean my face into his hand and look into his dark eyes. I remember that kiss we shared when he was so angry after finding out I’d taken my father’s ring. I remember the intensity of his eyes. Remember how I felt when he broke that kiss. And I find my lips parting as his gaze drops to them. As he dips his head and touches his mouth to mine in so tender a kiss that I hear myself whimper.
But everything changes the instant he hears that. He breaks off the kiss and pulls me into him, burying my face against his shirt as the hand cradling my head turns into a fist in my hair. I hear the rumble inside his chest, the low growl, and I feel his hardness against my stomach. He feels whatever this is, too. I know he does. But he’s stopping it. Cutting himself off. Like it’s too much for him, too.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, princess,” he says, drawing back to look down at me.
I blink. The words make my heart stop beating, my blood turning to ice.
Looking up at him, I make myself see him, the real him. Not the face of the man whose warm hands held me so gently, whose lips kissed mine so tenderly, but the true man beneath. And I don’t know if it’s what he sees in my eyes that has his grow darker, colder or if he’s just discarding the mask he’d slipped on for my benefit as his eyes burn into mine.
Princess. My dad’s name for me. Not Amadeo’s. To him, I’m Dandelion. A weed to be crushed out. I feel the blood drain from my head, and my knees wobble. I clutch at his shoulders to remain upright, and he shifts his grip to my arms.
How much did he witness while I lay trapped in that nightmare? What did I say? What does he know that I can’t ever remember after?
Footsteps coming toward the kitchen distract me. He’s unsurprised, clearly expecting whoever it is because he keeps his gaze locked on me. A soldier clears his throat in the entryway.
“Car’s ready, sir,” he says. “Everyone’s in place.”
I watch Amadeo nod to the man. “We’ll be right out.”