Chapter 8

EIGHT

Angelo

"I'm not avoiding her," I tell Heidi who corners me in the kitchen after dinner.

It's true. I'm not avoiding my wife. I'm simply delaying facing her until I've decided how to deal with this new situation.

Heidi dumps a pot in the sink. "Sophie misses her. She misses Sophie too." Turning, she leans on the counter. "She asked about you, you know."

"Did she now?" I doubt that very much. I switch on the espresso machine. "What did she want to know?"

"She didn't ask directly, per se, but she wanted to know."

That's what I thought.

"You've always been stubborn," she says. "Just like your father. Don't wait until it's too late."

I chuck a lump of sugar in a cup. "Too late for what?"

"For making amends."

I push the green button, cutting her blabbering off with the noise. She doesn't say more when I carry my coffee from the kitchen. I glance upstairs to where the children are sleeping. The worry refuses to settle. I'm not concerned about the boys. At least not much. They're progressing. Surprisingly well, actually. It's Sophie who's regressing. I don't want to send her to the boarding school, but if things carry on like this, I won't have a choice.

I shut myself in my study and sink down in my chair. These last few days have been taxing. I rub the muscles in my neck where a permanent tension has settled. I never realized children could be such hard work, not that I'd exchange my nephews and niece for anything. Thank fuck I have Heidi. I don't know what I would've done without her. That's why I'm being soft on her, letting her put her nose in matters that don't concern her. It doesn't help that I'm running on four hours of sleep a night, trying to keep my business safe. Because there's more at stake now. Children. A baby, perhaps. Not if Sabella has her way, it seems.

That she doesn't want to have my children bothers me more than I care to admit. Can I blame her? Yet I'm anxious to put this plan into action so that I can tie her to me irrevocably and finally get some damn rest. She'll move back here when she's pregnant. I already instructed Heidi to keep the bedroom ready without telling her why. I'm not taking chances with Sabella's health. I started interviewing midwives. I'll employ one to live with us for the duration of the pregnancy. I also secured the most reputable ob-gyn in the country and determined which private clinic is the best. Except for spending hours poring over online articles about pregnancy and birth, I also studied the five books I ordered from front to back. Yeah. The prospect of letting my wife push out that baby scares me, but the midwife I spoke to reminded me that millions of women who gave birth are still alive.

Yet there's always a chance of complications.

I push the thought aside. It makes me too anxious. Too restless. Too damn petrified, and I never feared anything in my life. I don't even want to start on security. My wife and children will have my top men for protection. I'll never take them anywhere without a convoy of guards and an arsenal of weapons.

The resolution calms me somewhat. It soothes me enough to drink my coffee so that the caffeine can keep me awake. I should focus on the numbers in front of me. Investments. Stock exchange. I'll need several cups to stay alert. Instead, I reach for the Scotch. I haven't touched that bottle in a long time. Tonight, I need the alcohol to numb the concern and the uncertainties churning in my gut.

By midnight, I've had one glass too many. I know it. I know I shouldn't be driving as I stand and pull on my jacket. I know I'm making a mistake when I walk outside and get into my car, but I can't stop myself. I tell myself I'm only going there because I have to get her pregnant and I've been slacking in that particular husbandly duty, but the truth is that I need her.

The windows of the new house are dark. I park and let myself in with my key. The noise of my car must've woken Sabella, because she walks onto the landing, tying a robe around her waist as I lock the door behind me.

Her tone is cold. "What are you doing here?"

Her animosity gets my hackles up. In turn, my tone is hard. "It's my house, isn't it?"

"It's late."

"I was working." It's a lie. I haven't focused on work for the last two hours. I stalk up the stairs. "Shouldn't you be on your knees?"

"I tried that." She doesn't retreat, not even when I stop so close to her that she has to crane her neck to look at me. "It didn't work."

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.

The time has come to reel Lavigne in.

Gripping her chin, I tilt her face up. I home in on her luscious lips before I claim them. Instead of returning the kiss, she pushes me away.

My voice is thick with lust. "I want you, cara."

"What you did… It's so wrong." She looks at me with disappointment burning like golden flames in the depth of her eyes. "What you did is unforgivable."

I frame her face between my palms and hold her fast. I don't want to remind her of her promise or her duty. What I want most is her own sweet, free will. "I won't come inside you. I'll pull out."

She leans back, trying to escape me. "What happened to wanting to make me pregnant?"

"You're right." I didn't mean to say that. It wasn't my plan. I have no idea where that impulsive declaration sprang from. I only know the words come from deep inside me. "It's a decision we should make together."

She blinks. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

She studies me with a skeptical look. "What changed your mind?"

The truth? I have no fucking idea why I just said what I did. The only logical explanation I can give her is something the kids made me realize. "Being a parent isn't easy." I utter a wry laugh. "I never gave my parents enough credit."

Concern passes over her face. "How are the children?"

"Fine," I say, aiming for her mouth again.

She turns her face away. "Sophie?"

A growl of frustration reverberates in my chest. "Forget about them." When she leans farther backward, I negotiate like I've never negotiated in my life. "Just for a few moments." Because let's be honest. I know how to negotiate multi-million-euro deals, but when it comes to my relationship with my wife, I'm out of my depth. Working my fingers into the knot of the belt that ties her robe, I breathe against her neck, "Just until I can get inside you."

"You mean this," she says, holding me at bay with her hands on my shoulders and driving me insane. "About not forcing my hand."

I drag my nose along the arch of her neck, inhaling the womanly scent of her skin before nipping the soft spot on the curve of her shoulder where her robe has fallen open. "Yes, dammit." The knot of her belt comes loose. "I don't say things I don't mean."

Still, she relents. "I'm going back on the pill."

"Yes," I say, catching her and planting a kiss full on her lips.

"What if it's too late? What if I'm pregnant?"

"Then you are." Sensing her withdrawal, I say quickly, "It's highly unlikely that you'll become pregnant so quickly."

She raises a brow. "Oh yes?"

"It takes time for your hormones to stabilize when you go off the pill. I did some reading."

"Ah-ha. So you're an expert now."

"Only in this," I say, sliding my hand down the front of her pajama bottoms.

She's not wearing panties. I skim my fingers over the triangle of hair she keeps trimmed and trace her slit. She gasps. She's wet already. Gathering her slickness, I sink my finger deep enough to make her go on tiptoes. She's so fucking tight and hot. I want inside her. Now.

My actions are wild as I tear my hand from her pajama bottoms to unbuckle my belt. Before she can drag in another breath, my cock is free. I twist her around and bend her over the rail. My need is too fierce. I'll never make it to the bedroom. A week without having her is torture. Two weeks is hell. She grips the rail for purchase when I flick her robe up and rip down her pajama bottoms to expose her ass.

I stroke a hand over the satin skin of her globes before parting her with both hands, aiming loosely, and sinking my cock deep inside her pussy.

The sounds falling from her lips echo in the space. I love those moans, those little gasps of ecstasy. Just to hear more, I fuck her viciously. I slam into her, over and over, remembering at the last minute my promise to pull out.

Gripping the root of my cock hard, I squeeze to hold back. I kick her legs apart and rub the button at the apex of her sex until her lower body clenches and violent breathing racks her chest.

She's still coming down from her orgasm when I turn her around and push her to her knees. She goes down obediently, parting her lips for me just as release tears through my body. Ribbons of cum coat her lips, chin, and neck. The sight of my seed marking her sparks a primal satisfaction inside me. When she licks my seed off her lips, my soft cock twitches.

I help her to her feet and carry her to the bathroom to clean us in the shower. It wasn't my intention to spend another night, but I'm in no state to drive home.

In bed, I tug her close, wrap my arms around her, and bury my face in her neck. The next thing I know, it's morning, and the sunlight that filters through the windows is blinding me. I must've slept like the dead because it's the first time in weeks that I got more than four hours of sleep.

The space next to me is empty. The first feeling that hits me is disappointment. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. Music comes from downstairs. The smell of coffee. And laughter.

In a blink, I'm wide awake. I grab my phone from the nightstand. Two notifications show on the locked screen. One is from the guard in charge of watching the new house and the other from Gianni, assumably informing me of the visitor.

I don't bother to read the messages. I get up and dress in a clean pair of jeans, a cashmere sweater, and my favorite Italian shoes before going downstairs.

My wife and Fabien are deep in discussion in the kitchen, standing close together with their heads bent over a wrapper in Sabella's hand. At least Sabella is dressed. She exchanged her pajamas for a sweater and yoga pants. She chose fluffy socks over sneakers. Fabien wears his favorite attire—a suit tailored to the latest French fashion. You'd swear he was on a date, trying to impress his companion.

"Good morning," I say with enough hostility to make Fabien jump.

"Jesus," he says, placing a hand over his heart. "You scared me."

I eye the stack of waffles on the table. "That'll happen when you sneak around."

Sabella slaps my arm. "Fabien brought waffles. We're reading the heating instructions."

I grab a waffle and drop it in the toaster. "Simple."

Sabella narrows her eyes at me. Cute. "They're gourmet waffles. You're supposed to cover them and heat them at a low temperature in the oven."

"Duh," Fabien says, at which both burst out laughing like fucking teenagers.

I'm jealous enough of their fun to want to spoil it. Like a boy with a toy, I want to keep her all to myself.

I sit down, grab Sabella around the waist, and pull her onto my lap.

She utters a squeal.

Locking my arms around her waist, I pin Fabien with a stare. "I didn't know you were stopping by."

"I was in the area," he says, opening a punnet of strawberries and popping one into his mouth.

"Convenient," I mutter.

Sabella rolls her eyes. "Cut out the territorial stuff, Mr. Russo. Fabien is our friend."

Ourfriend. "And here I was thinking he works for me."

Seemingly immune to my caveman vibes for a change, Fabien waves a hand. "Your wife is easy to like. What can I say?"

What can he say? One more word about my wife, buddy, and I'll fucking cut out your tongue.

"What's that smell?" he asks, sniffing with his nose in the air.

"Shit." Sabella removes my arms from around her waist. "The waffle. It's burning."

I set her free with reluctance, lifting her to her feet as I stand. When she makes a beeline for the toaster, I hold her back. I don't want her to burn her fingers. I go over and remove the charcoaled waffle before dumping it in the sink.

Fabien chuckles. I'm just in time to catch him making a funny face at Sabella when I turn around. He's very fucking lucky he's into men. Even so, I still feel like stabbing a knife into his kidney.

He plates the waffles and covers them with aluminum paper before sliding them into the oven. Of course he knows where everything is. He bought and unpacked the kitchen utensils. It irks me that he's so at home here, but Sabella seems happy, so I tolerate a breakfast of waffles doused in syrup and topped with strawberries and cream with my personal shopper intruding on my time with my wife.

I stay to make sure he leaves. Sabella walks him out. When she returns to tidy up the kitchen, I corner her. She must see the darkness that's clouding my reason on my face, because her brown eyes widen as I back her up to the table and pin her against the edge with the weight of my body while caging her in with my arms.

"No more impromptu visits with Fabien," I say in a soft tone that nevertheless carries the violence surging through me.

She stares at me with parted lips. "Are you serious?"

"Dead fucking serious."

"What am I supposed to do when he shows up? Chase him away?"

I let my gaze play over her stunning features. "Yes."

"He's gay," she exclaims. "Not that anything would've happened if he was straight."

"I don't care." I brush my lips over hers. "I don't want him here when you're alone."

Her jaw hardens. "I'm always alone. Is that part of my punishment? You want to make sure I don't see people and have no friends?"

"It's not a punishment," I bite out, leaning closer still.

She arches back. "Then what is it?"

"A precaution."

She forces a laugh. "Against what? Being attacked by Fabien? Or to ease your jealousy?"

"Doesn't matter," I mutter, sliding a hand under her sweater and cupping her breast.

"You really don't trust me, do you?"

Her nipple grows hard against my palm through the lace of her bra. "Should I?"

She gasps when I give a gentle pinch.

"I can ask you the same," she says.

And the answer would be no. I fucked with her pills. I'm having her watched. I've got every corner of the house under camera surveillance. There's a lot I'm keeping from her.

"Thought so," she whispers, biting her lip as I massage her curve.

At least this is one thing we agree on. The lust. We're like an explosion when we get together. She's boisterous fireworks and gentle sparks and every other degree of raw desire in between, depending on how I rub her up, and how I want her now is with my mouth.

Wrapping a hand around her throat, I hold her face in place and kiss her while I use my free hand to yank her yoga pants with her panties over her hips. I kiss her harder as I work the elastic down her thighs. I only release her lips to crouch down so that I can free her feet from the pants. Once her lower body is naked, I grip her waist and lift her onto the table.

Her ass has barely hit the edge before I have her legs spread. She watches me with heat darkening the brown of her eyes as I lower my head and lick her pussy. The muscles of her inner thighs quiver. I dip my tongue in for a taste. I'm addicted to her, to all her flavors. They were mine first. I licked her first. I fingered her first. Fucked her first. Took her ass first. Came inside her. But all my firsts are hers too. We're meant to be. The thought turns me harder than steel. The idea of us only belonging to each other both soothes and drives me wild. It simultaneously pushes me to being rough and tender.

I fuck her deeper with my tongue before sucking hard on her clit. She throws back her head and catches her weight on her arms. Unable to resist, I press a soft kiss on the seal above her pussy. My mark. For a fleeting moment, I regret promising her that I won't force her into pregnancy. It's the last tie I can hook into her soul, the final mark I can plant inside her body. And fuck. I want it. I want it with my whole being.

"I'm coming." She locks her fingers in my hair and grinds herself on my face. "For you."

Yes, damn it. Only for me. Always for me. Her lower body clenches, and her slickness coats my tongue. So delicious. I can eat her all day.

The minute her body goes slack, I let her down gently, making sure the table is clear behind her. In contrast to the careful action, my movements are frantic when I unzip and take out my cock. I'm inside her in a wink, fucking her so hard I have to lock my hands on her hipbones to stop her body from being shoved over the table.

In three seconds flat, my balls draw tight. I don't have time to aim when I pull out. Cum spurts all over her pussy, crippling me with pleasure. The sight is so hot that I grab the root of my cock and pump to make it last. For just another moment longer. One more dirty look at the mess I made. And what a stunning mess it is. She lies spread out on the table, her sweater pushed up over her chest, her pert breasts flattening to the sides, and her thighs open wide. Her pussy lips are red from my stubble and swollen from being pummeled. Streaks of cum cover my mark and her trimmed curls. Sticky ribbons are already dripping down her slit and the crease of her ass.

I straighten and stagger. Spent. Unsatisfied. Wanting more. Thinking I should flip her over and sink my cock into her ass, but I'm going soft already, and she looks well-fucked. A beautiful, dirty girl on my kitchen table. Point proven. To her. To me. She's mine. That's what this is about, what my jealousy at seeing her with Fabien ignited.

I adjust my clothes and offer her a hand to help her up. Like our bodies, our words are exhausted. Drained. Intertwining our fingers, I lead her upstairs and clean us in the shower.

We're still not speaking when we get dressed. She puts on a pair of jeans and a clean sweater and sits down on the padded bench in front of the mirror. She's brushing out her hair when I button up my shirt.

Watching her reflection in the mirror, I say, "Daisy came to see me." I'm not sharing the fact because I think it's important as much as I'm doing it to break the silence.

Her hand stills on the brush. "What? Here? In Corsica?"

"Yes."

She puts the brush down. "What did she want?"

"The deal with Powell. According to her, it was only a matter of time before Powell was going to sign with her. She was upset that I snatched it away from under her nose."

A frown pleats Sabella's brow. "Why would she want the deal?"

"She started her own import and export business." My lips quirk. "She said you inspired her."

Sabella bites her lip for a second, seemingly contemplating the statement before she replies. "She paid me a visit in Cape Town. She wanted me to talk to Ryan about involving her in the business. I told her she was wasting her time. When she said she merited a cut of the shares, I suggested she start her own company. I didn't mean it so literally. I only said that because she hinted at how good she was at it, having learned all the tricks from my dad."

Chuckling, I tuck my shirt into my pants. "She told me more or less the same thing. So that's why she showed up on my doorstep. After she learned that Ryan didn't inherit the business, she wanted her cut from me. She went as far as suggesting we work together."

"With you?" Sabella exclaims, turning on the bench to face me. "What did you say?"

"I told her to go home. I have no interest in working with Daisy Remington."

She nods and falls silent, her beautiful eyes distant as she slips away from me deep into her own thoughts.

The silence stretches again, and for the life of me, I can't think of anything else to say. It's ironic, seeing how much is trapped in my chest. So many unsaid words and unsolved problems. I have no clue how to untangle that crow's nest of feelings, let alone put names to them or communicate them in comprehensible sentences.

Fuck.

I have to go.

Business is waiting.

I don't want to leave her like this.

So I take my phone, activate a call on speaker, and hand it to her.

She looks from the phone ringing on her palm to my face.

"Sabella?" her mother answers. "Is that you?"

Sabella's lips part with a silent gasp. Her voice breaks on the single word she utters. "Mom?"

"My goodness. Is that really you? Ryan gave me this number, but I couldn't bring myself to dial it. I know it's his."

Sabella twists away from me, facing the window. "The phone is on speaker."

"Oh." The emotion vanishes from her mother's tone. Instead, she turns business-like, no doubt understanding that I'm listening in. "How are you?"

"Good. How about you?"

"As well as can be expected." Margaret adds with meaning, "After everything."

"Are things all right at home?"

"Mattie and Jared are taking care of me, but I'm more interested in hearing your news."

"There's not much to say. The weather is turning."

"Is it cold there?"

"Colder than in Great Brak River, but it's not so bad."

An awkward pause follows. Their words seemed to have dried up. Like ours.

Her mother breaks the silence with, "Did he tell you the good news? We're still waiting for your answer."

"Did who tell me?" Sabella asks. "What news?"

Margaret clears her throat. "Angelo. About National Geographic."

Sabella turns her head and looks at me with a question—or rather an accusation—in her eyes.

Fuck. I forgot about that. With everything that's happening at the moment, the fact that her mother would bring it up didn't even cross my mind.

"What about National Geographic?" Sabella asks in a hoarse voice, not breaking our eye contact.

"They got hold of your shark video."

"What? How? The only person I shared it with was my marine vertebrate professor."

"Your professor sent me a very nice email. He asked how you were doing and said that he was still sorry to have lost such a bright student. Anyway, he said a certain Mrs. Powell contacted him after meeting you in Paris. She told him that you were collaborating on a shark awareness program and that you told her about the video but didn't have the clip with you to show her.

"Don't ask me how, but she convinced him to email her the video, which she forwarded to someone she knows at National Geographic. She called here to ask if I could get hold of you. Apparently, she forgot to exchange telephone numbers when you met, and Angelo didn't return her calls. She sounds like a very nice lady. She reckons the video is too good to be buried in the university archives, and I thought it couldn't do any harm to share it. I knew you wouldn't mind." Margaret exhales audibly. "I don't even want to know how you managed to film it. They want permission to run it during the next Shark Week. Didn't Angelo tell you?"

The contentedness that softened Sabella's eyes after our wild sex turns into something that makes those pools glitter with unshed tears and hurt. Her voice is flat, all the passion gone from her tone. "No, he didn't tell me."

Yeah. I'm the devil. If she ever doubted that, now it's confirmed. I'm her worst nightmare, the man she's tied to for life.

She faces forward again as if she can't stand the sight of me any longer. "What did you say?"

"I said I'd get hold of you and get back to them. I asked Ryan to call, thinking he'd have a better chance of reaching you than me. He left several messages."

Sabella pulls her back straight and says with defiance clearly aimed at me, "You can tell them I say yes. They're welcome to use my video."

"What about the filming?" Her mother hesitates. "They can't wait much longer for you to confirm."

Her narrow shoulders go rigid. "What filming?"

"They want to film in Great Brak River, and they want you to go with them."

The pink of her nails turns white in her death grip on the phone. "When?"

"In the summer. October or November, I think. I can't remember exactly." Margaret breaks off before continuing with caution, "We thought it might be an opportunity for you to visit us."

Sabella's hand trembles a little as she tilts her head and clutches the phone against her ear. "I'll let you know."

"It's been so long." Margaret's voice quivers. "We miss you."

"I miss you too, Mom."

"Love you, honey."

"Love you, Mom."

Sabella doesn't resist when I take the phone from her hand and end the call.

She sits like a rag doll, staring through the window. "What did you tell them about the filming?"

It's not the path I would've chosen for her if she'd given me a choice. I'd much rather let her continue her studies in Marseille as per my original plan. Albeit, devils are devils, the destructors of hope and crushers of dreams.

"Nothing," I say. "Yet."

She nods. "What are you going to tell them?"

And I'm the man who has to tell her, "No."

She nods again, her gaze fixed on something in the distance. "I see."

Her quiet manner cuts me deeply. I prefer that she rants and raves. That, I can handle. I can't stand how she shuts down right in front of my eyes. If only she knew that disappointing her hurts me a million times more, she could've taken comfort from that.

I reach out to touch her, but before I can place my hand on her shoulder, she stands. Tall and regal. She's holding herself together like a queen. My mother would've been proud of this woman. My father would've respected her. My sister would've liked her. But no one can love her like I do.

"Sabella."

She walks past me and out the door.

Me, I do what monsters do. I do what I always do. I take my car keys from my pocket and leave to run a business. To provide for a family. To keep us all safe from the pitfalls and the dangers that come with the life into which I was born.