Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Angelo

Ijust bared my soul to Sabella, flayed myself wide open and laid my heart at her feet, and still she doesn't choose me.

Instead, she gives me silence.

I didn't expect otherwise, but I hoped.

And fuck, her rejection stings.

I turn away from her, hiding the feelings that must be written all over my face. I made myself vulnerable enough for one evening. More than I ever have in my lifetime.

Why?

We're running out of time.

Lavigne is on his way. Soon, he'll be the instrument I use to expose her betrayal.

This was our last chance. It was my final opportunity to change the way things are between us, the way we live. The way it'll be.

Fuck.

Needing space, I walk to the guest bathroom and get rid of the condom. After cleaning up, I go back to the lounge. The spot where I left Sabella is empty. Like a caveman, I took her right there on the hard floor. What can I say? I panicked. I know her physical limits. She's a good swimmer. Free-diving is second nature to her. She can hold her breath far longer than the few seconds I made her swallow my cock. I was damn sure I didn't push her too far. Seeing her simply give up and fade away like that fucked with my mind. And when she didn't respond to the air I fed with my brutal kisses, I did the only thing I knew would pull her back to me.

Our bodies have always been tuned to one another. Drawn to each other. They've never known another touch. Mine answers to hers just as hers reacts to mine. We're bound together physically, and yet, our time has run out. The knowledge is like a block of cement chained to my ankle and dragging me down into the darkest pit of despair.

Pushing away the sinking dejection, I pick my clothes up from the floor. My phone is a solid weight in the pocket of my pants. I'm growing careless. Sabella could've gotten hold of it by now. But what does it matter? Who can she call? Lavigne has already taken the bait. She has no one else to turn to. Her embassy won't save her. My political connections run too deep. Her family can't come to her aid. She struck a deal when she agreed to marry me. No, she's stuck here with me forever. Against her will. Which means my forever will consist of always looking over my shoulder, always mistrusting her, always banishing her.

So be it.

I'll pay the price if the prize is her.

I bundle my clothes in a fist and go upstairs to throw them in the hamper. Sabella steps out of the shower when I enter the bathroom. Drops of water run over her golden skin. I take in her firm breasts and flat stomach, those long, slender legs, and the soft curve of her hips. My mark on her pussy. She averts her gaze and grabs a towel from the rack that she wraps around her body.

I dump my clothes in the basket. She faces the mirror and picks up a hairbrush. I study her features as she drags the brush through her hair. I notice everything. That beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. She's not the girl I met at the age of sixteen. Her face has matured. It's as if she's grown into her own skin. If anything, her fine bone structure seems more delicate. She's never been more beautiful to me.

It's not only superficial. Her beauty goes much deeper. I've seen how she is with the kids, how much she cares. I've seen her kindness and her courage. I've seen her strength. I'm as drawn to the beauty that shines from within her as to her face and body. I'm as in love with who she is as with the perfect size of her tits and the tight fit of her pussy.

My cock is growing hard again. She has that effect on me. I take a towel and wrap it around my waist.

She cuts a look my way, catching me staring in the reflection of the mirror.

"The old man is dead," I say.

She freezes halfway through brushing a lock of dark, silky hair. "What?" She turns to face me. "Your grandfather?"

"I found the body two days ago. A herder from the valley alerted me when the goats wandered onto a neighboring farmer's property."

She puts the brush on the vanity. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." I still don't feel a thing. "I'm not."

Compassion softens her honey-brown eyes. "I'm sorry that you had to make such a terrible discovery."

She has no idea. I don't burden her with the gory details.

"What did he die from?" she asks.

"According to the autopsy, it was cardiac arrest." My tone is dry. "Apparently, he went peacefully in his sleep."

"You say it like you wish it wasn't peacefully."

"It's more than he deserved."

She utters a shocked gasp.

"It's true," I say. "The stingy old bastard deserved a violent death for how he treated those kids alone."

"Don't say that," she whispers. "It's bad karma."

The comment makes me smile. "You're cute. And funny."

"Don't joke about things like that," she says with a chastising frown. "How are the kids taking the news?"

"It's hard to say. Johan seems angry. étienne listened with half an ear and asked if he could go outside to play soccer. Guillaume cried."

"And Sophie?" she asks.

"Sophie clammed up. She just continued talking to her dolls."

Chewing her lip, she fixes her gaze unseeingly on the wall. "I'm worried about them. So many changes happened only recently in their lives, and now this."

"I consulted a child psychiatrist."

She looks at me quickly. "What did he say?"

"She."

"What?"

"It's a she. She said I should take the children to the funeral to help give them a sense of closure. We're also having weekly sessions. After the marijuana incident at the school, the principal thought it may be a good idea."

Imagine that—the crime lord who tortures people for a living taking his niece and nephews for psychological counseling.

She blows out a sigh. "I'm glad you're doing this for them. When is the funeral?"

"Tomorrow. The death certificate has been issued. There's no reason to drag it out."

"Are you going to bury him here?"

The mere sound of that makes me grind my teeth together. My reply is harsh. "I'm going to bury him in the valley." I add in a cynical tone, "I brought him here, and that's where he went back to. That's what he chose."

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and gives a small nod.

When I open the tap in the shower, she says in an uncertain voice, "I'd like to be there for them."

The idea of taking her to the valley turns my stomach. Everything inside me objects at that suggestion. I face her, my muscles tense at the thought of dragging her into that cesspool and exposing her to my shame.

Whatever she sees in my expression makes her stammer. "For the funeral."

The single word I utter carries the finality of my decision. "No."

Her shoulders sag. Disappointment washes over her features. I don't explain. I can't. I can't tell her things she'd rather not remember. I can't soil someone as beautiful as Sabella with mud and stink. I can't spoil the only thing we have by showing her where I come from. If she witnesses where I have my roots, she'll never want to touch me again.

She accepts the verdict with the same passive compliance she's shown me since I moved her into this house. She kneels and submits. The goal was to make her suffer. Instead, it's become my punishment. I resent that she shakes my decisions off so effectively. I hate seeing her on her knees. And I hate that it turns me on.

Gripping her face, I splay my fingers over her cheek. The touch isn't rough, but my words are hard. Raw. "You won't greet me naked and kneeling any longer." Why the fuck am I making it sound as if it's her fault, as if it was her idea? "Do you understand?"

She tries to shake her head, but my tight hold doesn't allow her movement. Instead, she settles for a frown. "No."

"Just don't do it," I say, letting her go with a gentle shove lest I'm tempted to lift her onto the vanity and push my cock inside her again. A part of me has to prove that I own her, and sex is such an effective method. Yet now is hardly the moment. Not after my words about death and decay are not even cold and the ugly picture must still be fresh in her mind.

I don't look at her for fear of acting on the temptation. I hide by turning toward the shower where the water is already steaming.

"I don't understand," she whispers to my back.

I don't either.

"Are you punishing me?" she asks. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," I bite out, closing the tap.

She does what she does so well. She shuts her mouth and keeps the peace. And me, I do what I do best. I get the hell out of there and walk away.