I take her chin in my hand and tilt her face up to mine. “What’s the matter? Too much truth for you?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and jerks her head away. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. I keep hold of one arm.
“Although I guess if Tilbury was good at what he claimed he could do, you won’t remember. So let’s move on about me stealing your life away. Your father stood between you and your brother. He shielded you from some ugly shit, but he’s dead now.” She shakes her head, opens her mouth, but I continue. “Do you know the man your brother is? Because as bad as Geno Russo was, Lucien is the real demon. Your father’s mistake was that he allowed it to happen again and again and just kept on cleaning up after his boy.”
“Let me go.” She struggles, twisting, not answering my question. “Please.”
“I thought you weren’t going to beg me.” She grits her jaw. I hold tight, leaning my face to hers. “Tell me something. What does it say about me, about Bastian, about your brother that you’re so afraid for your sister that you’re willing to bring her here? Into the enemy’s lair? What does that tell you, Dandelion?”
“She’s safe with me,” she says weakly.
“I told you I’d give you your freedom. I gave you my word.”
“You wouldn’t have to give it to me if you hadn’t taken my freedom in the first place. You wanted to marry me so you could steal my inheritance when you say this isn’t about money.”
“Oh, it’s not, and you know it.”
“I don’t know any such thing. You’ll own a piece of a company you hate and partner with my brother, a man you claim raped your sister!”
Gritting my teeth, I cross the room to refill my glass again. Drink it. Pour myself more, but I find I can’t swallow that one.
Those words spoken aloud. The image they conjure. Hannah. Sweet, young Hannah, whose innocence was stolen. Whose life was snatched. I could have protected her. I should have known. Paid attention. For Vittoria to compare what I’m doing with her to that, it’s an insult. Worse.
“We wouldn’t be partnering. I would never partner with an animal like him. What I plan is the absolute annihilation of the Russo name from this earth.”
“I’m a Russo too, remember?”
“Not anymore. Now you’re my wife. Caballero.”
“My father’s blood runs in my veins. In my sister’s veins. You can’t change that.”
I almost say something then. Almost. But I keep my mouth shut. The truth is, I don’t want to hurt her, and that knowledge will hurt her.
“What about that, Amadeo? Did you think about that when you promised to let me go?”
“You don’t know anything, Vittoria.”
“Or were you lying just to get me to sign those papers?”
“Enough!” I hurl my glass against the wall, smashing it.
Vittoria jumps. I look at her standing there in my shirt, which is too big on her, and all that hair like a tangled crown around her head. Her beauty is distracting. Her damage more so. I need to focus. Do what I need to do.
As I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stalk toward her, I remind myself what this night is about.
Her eyes grow huge. I wonder what she sees in me. She takes a step backward but stops herself. I remember the nightmare and how she woke from it. What I see in her eyes now is the consequence of damage. Damage makes survivors of us. And she’s strong.
I see the moment she makes the decision and steels herself. Standing tall, she faces me, ready for me.
I wrap one arm around her waist, tug my shirt off her in one fell swoop, and grip a handful of hair. I tug her head backward and look down at her. I don’t mean to kiss her. It is not my intention to kiss her because that is dangerous territory for me. Kissing her does something to me.
Her eyes turn into the iciest sapphires, and I don’t have to think about it because it’s she who kisses me. She presses her mouth to mine. I’m stunned for one fleeting moment before I kiss her back, devouring her, wanting to feel what I felt when I kissed her before. Needing that thread of connection. Needing to see the same in her. Feel it from her. And fuck, how I hate myself for that need.
Maybe we’re more alike than I want to admit.
It will be easier for her if I take what I need tonight. It will be easier for me if she makes me do just that. Then we can hate each other like we should. But when she gives herself to me like this, wrapping her arms around me and drawing me down onto the bed, I feel the tables turning again. Feel her maneuvering, somehow gaining power when she should have none.
I pull back, hands on either side of her, and look into her dark eyes, thin rings of blue around the blacks of her pupils. She pants, reaching up to wrap clawed hands around my biceps, dragging me toward her.